The Red Wolf's Prize

by Regan Walker

  She could see fear in his eyes and knew it was for her. At that moment, she was glad she’d not told him of the child she carried. His anger would then know no bounds. “I’m not sorry I disobeyed you, my lord. I could not stand idly by while you and my brother were in danger. I had to be here.”

  “Did you not trust me?” he pleaded. “Did you not believe I could defeat the mercenary?”

  “I was worried.” Was it the face of a caring husband she looked into?

  “Aye, well, if ’twas worry for your brother, the English rebel I encountered earlier with your same eyes and hair was still standing when I left him. But William is not yet through with York, Serena. Of that, I am certain. He has ordered the torching of the city, and he intends to build a castle here where he will garrison hundreds of his knights.”

  “Your Norman castles are becoming as numerous as the stars,” she said, unable to resist the sarcasm. “And just as cold.” She did not want to fight him. She wanted him to take her in his arms again and hold her again. For all her bravado, the sight of the battle had taken its toll. Feeling wobbly, she needed his strength. And she wanted his love.

  “You fight what you cannot change, Serena.”

  “I know you are right,” she said casting her gaze to the field of bodies lying in the sun, “but I cannot do otherwise.” She looked up to study his face and saw the anger that still lingered. “I loathe the burning, Renaud. Must it always be? The English cause is lost. You have won. Why destroy all that remains of this city? On our way here, Rhodri and I saw many cottars’ homes laid waste. It was horrible.”

  “The fires were set on William’s order.”

  “Must he be so cruel?”

  “William intends to put his stamp on York so the Northumbrians will not soon forget. Come,” he took her arm, “I will see you back to my tent where Jamie waits.”

  “Nay” she wrenched her arm free. “I must find Steinar first. I must see him!”

  From the midst of the body-strewn battlefield, she heard Rhodri’s shout, “Serena, over here!”

  Without thinking and fearing the worst, Serena ran toward the sound of the bard’s voice.

  Renaud shouted, “Serena wait!”

  She did not turn back, but as she ran, she heard his heavy steps following.

  They reached Rhodri together. The Welshman was kneeling beside the still form of a wounded Northumbrian. She knew even before she looked upon his face that it was her brother. His helm had been removed and the ends of his long blond hair were matted with blood, as was his tunic.

  “Steinar!” Falling to her knees, Serena took his limp hand between hers. His skin was cold. His eyes fluttered open, the same blue violet eyes that were her own.

  “Ser…Serena,” he breathed haltingly. “How—”

  She smoothed the blood-spattered hair from his face. “Steinar, do not talk. I am here and I will get help.”

  “What wounds has he?” Renaud asked Rhodri from where he stood above her.

  “His right leg, my lord. A nasty gash, and the bone is badly broken. We must get him to a healer, and soon. He has already lost much blood.”

  Serena’s eyes shifted to her brother’s bloody leg. “I’ll need help with the bone,” she explained, “but for the rest, I’ll tend him myself.”

  “Serena, there are others—” Renaud urged.

  “Nay! I’ll not leave Steinar in the hands of others, but I would be grateful if you could ask your Norman healer to set the leg. We must move him where we can clean the wound.”

  “I will carry him,” said Renaud. His words brought her comfort.

  “Let me first try and staunch the bleeding,” she said. “Fetch my satchel, Rhodri, and two sticks.”

  Rhodri returned with two sticks and her satchel containing the herbs and bandages she had brought with her. She did what she could with Rhodri’s help, and then stood wiping her hands on her tunic.

  “I can do no more here.”

  Renaud lifted Steinar and began to stride away. She and Rhodri trailed behind the tall knight whose strength never wavered as he plodded through the muck of the field to where the Norman tents were clustered some distance away.

  “Serena!” Jamie exclaimed as she followed his master into the tent. She gave the boy a quick hug. Jamie’s face looked stricken when he recognized the one Renaud carried. “Is Steinar—?”

  “I do not know, Jamie,” she said, setting to work.

  “Mathieu,” the Red Wolf addressed his squire, “fetch some water from the stream and see that one of the king’s healers is summoned. ’Tis my lady’s brother who lies wounded.”

  “Yea, my lord,” said the squire, darting a glance at the wounded English warrior laying on the pallet before hurrying off to do his lord’s bidding.

  Serena lifted Steinar’s tunic off his leg and, as carefully as she could, peeled down his hose. With a sharp knife, she cut the braies from his thigh. Tears rolled down her cheeks and blurred her vision as she took in the terrible wound he had suffered. A sword had cut him to the bone below the knee and the blow had left the bone sticking out of the wound. The damage was such she could not be certain it would heal, or that he would even survive.

  Rhodri and Jamie dropped to her side offering their help.

  As she worked on Steinar, Renaud’s knights returned, one by one, to report to their lord. Sir Alain was wounded with a slash to his face. There was so much blood on the men it was difficult to tell whose blood it was.

  Her husband expressed his thanks to God his knights were still on their feet, though he had lost a few men-at-arms.

  Sir Geoffroi entered the overcrowded space. She barely noticed him as she gave her attention to Steinar. But she heard the knight say, “I have news, Ren.”

  Renaud and Sir Geoffroi stepped out of the tent to confer in hushed tones.

  Serena was weary when her husband returned to the tent, vaguely aware that he donned a clean tunic as she finished her work.

  Coming to where she knelt, Renaud looked down. “I go to see William, but I will not be long. The healer should be here shortly. When I return, we have much to discuss, my lady.”

  Seeing his stern countenance, Serena could only imagine what he wanted to say.

  Chapter 23

  Renaud headed toward William’s tent, Geoff silently walking beside him. He was relieved the battle was over and Serena was safe. There was a chance her brother might live, and because he knew what Steinar meant to her, he prayed it would be so. He could not bear to look into those tear-filled violet eyes if her brother were to die from wounds inflicted by a Norman sword.

  “What of Sir Maurin’s condition?” he inquired of Geoff, not sure he wanted to hear the answer. The news Geoff had brought him earlier—that his knight lay gravely wounded—had chilled him to the bone.

  “He took a blade in his side near the end of the battle. My squire tells me Sir Maurin still bleeds.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “In his tent. One of the healers is seeing to him.”

  “Will he live?” Next to Geoff, Maurin de Caen was his most senior knight, with him since Normandy. While he would not want to lose any of his men, this knight was also a friend.

  “It is not known.”

  “As soon as I’ve seen William, I will go to him.”

  Renaud acknowledged the guard posted in front of the tent flying the royal banner, then entered. William’s tent was larger than the others and set apart. Inside, the king sat upon a chair, his retinue standing around him discussing the day’s events while they studied a map of the city of York spread on top of a small table.

  The king raised his eyes in recognition.

  Renaud bowed. “Sire.”

  “You are late, sir wolf, leaving us to wonder if you lay among the dead.” The king scrutinized Renaud, seemingly satisfied he had all his parts. “We are glad you and Sir Geoffroi stand whole before us. Come, see our map and hear our good news.”

  Renaud and Geoff joined the knights gather
ed around the table.

  The king slapped his leg. “We have won! The thegns of York have surrendered in terror of our army and presented us with keys to the city and hostages. Better still, Archil, the leading thegn, has offered us his son as hostage.” The king straightened his shoulders. “What think you of that?”

  “A victory, My King,” said Renaud. He exchanged a glance with Geoff. Renaud’s only emotion was relief the rebellion in Northumbria was over.

  “We have told the thegns if they swear fealty to us, they will retain their holdings,” said William “but we are loathe to keep that promise.” The king shrugged as if dismissing the thought of something so mundane as breaking his word. “Just now, we are choosing a site for our castle.”

  Acknowledging the knights with a nod of his head, Renaud leaned over the map.

  “We would have your opinion, Lord Talisand,” said William.

  Renaud studied the drawing. York was an important city, the second in all of England after London, prosperous since Roman times. He looked at the two rivers running through it. The “V” shaped area formed by the confluence of the larger River Ouse and the smaller River Foss drew his attention. “If you put it here,” he said, pointing to the area, you will have all the water you need for a large moat as well as a good defensive position.”

  “A worthy idea,” said William. “One that occurred to us only moments ago.”

  Renaud smiled at his king. He had served William long enough to know he never asked a question to which he did not already have an answer. “I am not surprised your judgment precedes mine, Sire.” The returning smile on his king’s face told him William was content, both with the outcome at York and his plans to leave his imprint on the city.

  “My Lord,” said Richard FitzRichard, standing to the king’s right, “the creation of such a moat will require us to flood the whole of the Coppergate area. Over a hundred acres would be lost.”

  “A necessary loss, for it will accomplish our purpose,” said William. “See to it, Fitz. We will leave you in charge with five hundred of our knights as a garrison. We name Malet here,” he gestured to the stout man standing on his other side, “Sheriff of Yorkshire to see to the peace.”

  Renaud knew William Malet because both had been with William at Hastings. FitzRichard was another the king trusted. The decision to leave them in charge of a place as significant as York did not surprise him.

  “Any news of the leaders?” Renaud asked Malet.

  “Edgar, the Saxon who would be king, and Cospatric have escaped to Scotland, my lord. Morcar and Edwin, with their usual distaste for battle, have sought the king’s pardon.”

  Renaud turned his eyes on his king.

  “And we have granted the brother earls their request,” said William, “though they will be closely watched since they are currently in our disfavor. Any sign of disloyalty and, by the splendor of God, we will have our revenge!”

  Renaud said nothing, only nodded. What could he say? William would suffer no rebellion without assuring it ended in a crushing defeat. As Serena had reminded him, William had allowed his men to harry wherever they would on their way to York and Renaud deeply regretted it.

  A strange thing had happened once he claimed Talisand as his own. No longer was he merely a knight following the orders of his sire. This was now his country and the north was his home. He would not see it ravaged if he could help it, not even to please his king.

  As for Morcar, Renaud would have liked to deal with the earl himself for his bold attempt to claim Serena, but that would have to await another day.

  He knew the English defeat at York would leave a bitter taste in the mouths of the Northumbrians. As at Exeter, there had been English among the soldiers in William’s army, but that would matter little to the Northumbrians who thought of Wessex as another land.

  Renaud had a sense of foreboding as he thought of the brief battle, followed by the Northumbrians’ quick capitulation. Many of them lived to fight another day, and Edgar was safely ensconced in Scotland should they be of a mind to engage in further rebellion on his behalf. But he did not remind his sovereign of those facts. William would not have appreciated them.

  Once the castle’s location had been agreed upon, and Renaud had spoken with a few of his fellow knights, the king gave him leave to depart.

  His last words to Renaud made him sigh. “We have a mind to visit you and your lovely English bride before we return to London.”

  “As you wish, Sire. We would welcome you at Talisand.” He bowed and with Geoff at his side, departed, hastening to Sir Maurin’s tent. He was worried about Serena but first he had to see to the welfare of his knight.

  The large man lay on a table in the middle of his tent, pale and unconscious. His black hair was still coated with blood from the battle and his mail and tunic had been stripped from him. A blanket, thrown over his body, was pulled up to his chest.

  Renaud raised a brow in question to the aged healer who looked up from where he stood washing blood from his hands.

  “If the fever does not claim him, my lord,” the old man advised, “he will recover. The wound is not deep but it is long and required many stitches. Now he needs rest. He should not try to walk for a sennight or more. Can you take him home on a litter?

  “We’ve done it before,” Geoff said to the healer. And then to Renaud, “With your permission, I’ll have the squires prepare one.”

  “Yea, see it is done. And one for Steinar, should he live.”

  “Aye,” Geoff said, and departed on his errand, leaving Renaud to stand vigil over his knight, whose deathlike visage caused him to pray for Sir Maurin’s life.

  “He sleeps?” Renaud asked the healer who was drying his hands on a cloth.

  “Aye, I’ve given him a potion of hemlock, wormwood and henbane mixed with ale. He will sleep like the dead until tomorrow. It will help him endure the pain.”

  Renaud was familiar with the combination of herbs used to induce sleep in those who would suffer much pain. Mayhap ’twas the same potion given to Serena by Morcar.

  “I may need more of your potion for our travel tomorrow,” he told the healer. “He will have a litter but he will certainly be jostled about.”

  “Here is the rest of what I made,” the man said handing him a leather flask of liquid. “Take it; I have more. But try and feed him, broth at least, before you give him another drink of it.”

  Renaud accepted the flask and handed it to Sir Maurin’s squire who stood at the end of the table. “Guard this and your master well. I will send someone to relieve you in two hours.”

  Anxious to return to his bride, Renaud stepped into the sun and rapidly covered the ground to the trees that sheltered his own tent.

  * * *

  Serena knelt at Steinar’s side, tears streaking down her cheeks. She could not stop them. He slept now, but for a time he had suffered so much his shouts of agony had cut through her heart.

  She had cleaned his leg as best she could while he grimaced and bit on a strip of leather, as sweat rolled off his face. Before the Norman healer had begun his work, he gave Steinar a potion. But it did not take effect soon enough. He set the bone and stitched the wound, all the while Steinar moaned, valiantly bearing the pain. The leg now lay between wooden boards secured tightly with wrappings of cloth.

  Steinar had finally succumbed to the effects of the herb potion, allowing Serena to relax a bit. The pain he bravely endured was more than she could bear.

  As he slept, she looked down at his face and thoughts of the young boy, her valiant protector, filled her mind. He had oft played with her at the river’s edge, teasing her with his friends. Yet if any boy harassed her overmuch, Steinar would rush to her defense. Steinar had always been her staunch defender.

  I cannot imagine life without you. You are the only one who shares with me memories of being a child. You are all that is left of my family. The brother of my soul. Unable to quell her sobs, Serena pleaded with God. I beg of you, spare his life.<
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  Rhodri and Jamie shared the small space in Renaud’s tent, standing vigil over the man they both loved. Through her tears, she glanced up to see them. Jamie’s face still reflected despair. Rhodri was more stoical, his emotions hidden beneath his calm exterior.

  Once the healer left, she sat back, wiping her eyes. “There is no more to be done,” she told them. Weariness overcame her. She wiped her hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. “He is in God’s hands now.”

  Jamie nodded, hope evident in his blue eyes. Rhodri said nothing.

  A shadow fell across the interior of the tent as the light from the open flap at its entrance was blocked. She turned to see her husband stepping across the threshold.

  “How does he fare?” asked Renaud, coming to hover over her.

  “The wound has been tended and the bone set. He sleeps now but he was in much pain for a while.”

  “He’ll have a litter so he can travel with us on the morrow,” he assured her. Then kneeling by her side, he took her face in his hands. His gray eyes were filled with emotion and with something she’d not seen before. “I will do all I can to see that your brother is well again, Serena.”

  “Thank you,” she said. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

  With his thumbs he wiped away her tears and kissed her forehead.

  She drew upon his strength and allowed him to hold her. Then she sat back and looked at him. “When Sir Geoffroi came to get Mathieu to help build the litter, he told us of Sir Maurin. How is he? Cassie will be distraught to learn he was hurt.”

  “He’s been seen by a healer and the bleeding has been staunched. Now he sleeps. The healer gave him a potion, probably the same one given your brother.”

  “Yea, the healer left some for Steinar,” she said. “It must be their remedy for all those gravely wounded.”

  “So it would seem.” Turning to Rhodri and Jamie, he said, “Leave us.”

  Without a word they departed.

  Alone with only the sleeping Steinar between them, Renaud stood and helped her to rise. She looked long on his face. Though the blood of battle was gone, he appeared tired, the few lines in his face now etched deeper. Yet his strength had not failed her.