Gorm wiped his palms on his thighs. ‘Where shall we go?’
Godric looked out of the doorway. The Normans had almost reached the stream.
‘It is too late.’
Gorm almost moaned in his fear. Godric pushed him towards the house.
‘Edwin and Aud are inside. Tell them. Perhaps they will have time to hide Edith and Sweyn.’
‘What about Rowena?’
Godric picked up an axe. ‘She is my trust,’ he said.
Gorm gaped. Never before had he seen Godric with a weapon in his hand. He looked as frightening as the Normans. When Gorm hesitated, Godric turned sharply.
‘Go!’
Gorm puffed away. How he hated Godric then for his calmness and decision. Why was it that Godric always knew what to do? How was he always able to take in a whole situation? And never a thought for him, the man who brought him up – oh, no! He could think of Aud and Sweyn and Edith – even Edwin, an outsider. But not a flicker of interest in him. Only one thing on his mind now – that arrogant daughter.
He fumbled with a gate latch. Between the two of them they would do for the whole household. Godric would provoke them with the axe and Rowena would push out her chin and flash her eyes, and where would that get her?
And when he had once before suggested a more – well – friendly attitude, what had she said?
‘Would you rather your daughter was a Norman whore just to save your skin?’
Of course he had not meant it like that. Trust Rowena to see the worst possible meaning. Now Aud – she had understood. Aud would be willing to – make sacrifices – in the interests of all. But not Rowena – oh, no!
His breath came shorter. God, how he needed a drink!
Aud looked up in alarm when he burst in. She nearly dropped the platter she was placing on the table. Edwin took one look at Gorm’s face, laid down his knife, and rushed to the doorway. The Normans were splashing across the stream. Berry growled quietly.
‘Get them to the loft, under the straw. Quickly!’
Gorm had to carry Edith up the ladder. Sweyn whimpered. Aud tried to get a glimpse of the Normans through the door before Edwin pushed her up too.
Then he went to the threshold, forgetting his knife.
‘Where are you going?’ said Gorm in alarm.
Edwin turned on him in surprise. ‘To be with Godric, of course. Where else? Are you not coming?’
He was not being heroic. It was simply that, if they were going to die, he could not think of a better place to do it than beside Godric.
Gorm writhed and sweated and made feeble gestures. ‘I – I must guard my family.’
He clambered up the ladder. Edwin gave him one glance that made him feel worse, then went out to join Godric and Rowena.
He reached them just as the two leading horsemen dismounted. Godric, who had placed himself in front of Rowena, put out an arm to keep him back. Berry came and sat at his heels.
Edwin picked out Gilbert, who made a small but helpless sign.
Baldwin summoned Sandor forward and began to question Godric through him. Godric was surprised; the queries were about mill machinery and sacks of corn and local bread ovens.
There followed others about animals and stocks of winter food.
Godric answered evenly enough, without taking his hands off the axe. The Normans could find out easily anyway; asking him was only saving time. Answering them might get them away faster before any of them thought of mischief. Judging by the numbers, this was more than a mere spying patrol.
Edwin had noticed the numbers too, and had seen the hard set of the faces. He had seen that look on Norman faces before, when he had been with the King in France. He had attended on Harold and the Duke on campaign in Brittany, and he had seen looting and wasting in the captured towns of Dol and Rennes and Dinant.
He felt a great sadness, not only because his beloved friends might die, but because he too would die without a weapon in his hands. How stupid to have left his knife on the table. The one time above all that he needed it. He had so wanted to fight beside his king in the coming battle. It would surely be a glory to die protecting one’s lord; what faithful servant could hope for more? It seemed such a waste that he should fall here, cut down by a Norman sword from behind, and left to bleed to death, alone, sprawled among dried cow dung.
Gilbert watched in alarm as Capra and Pomeroy dismounted. They took no notice of Baldwin as he put his questions and peered at his map, but walked slowly about the yard. Capra tore staves out of a fence and stooped to gather handfuls of straw to tie about the ends of them. All the while he whistled tunelessly. Pomeroy wandered off towards the buildings. Gilbert again felt loathing rising in his throat.
He edged towards Edwin and whispered, ‘I am sorry. It is not my doing. I will try and—’
He broke off when he saw Capra looking straight at them and frowning.
Capra tossed two prepared torches to the men-at-arms. Baldwin replaced his map, walked to his horse, and pretended to fiddle with saddle straps.
Here was a fat valley indeed. The trouble was that he could not be sure from the map whether or not it was on one of the avenues they were planning. He did not wish to betray his confusion, so it meant coming to a decision on his own initiative. He pressed his face against the horse’s belly and puffed as he tugged at the girth.
There was plenty here. His quartermaster’s instincts told him that it would prove an excellent camp site. When the Duke moved on London after the battle, the valley could possibly take the whole army. There was an ideal water supply, and the mill would provide flour for fresh bread, a rare luxury on campaign. He had seen orchards and beehives, and the large Saxon had confirmed his estimates of other supplies and livestock.
On the other hand, those louts Capra and Pomeroy had challenged him once, and would probably challenge him again. Would the Duke back him if he punished them? All for the sake of a Saxon mill? Was it on one of the avenues? He could not be sure.
Would it not be easier to go along with them? If he gave way, they might be more amenable, and more tired, when it came to leaving the next farms untouched on a confirmed avenue. After all, they were all the Duke’s men, and the Saxons were the enemy. Out here in an unknown Sussex vale, who was to record what happened? It would be better for his authority if the decision were to come from himself. If he did not lead them, he might have to follow them.
‘Just give us the word, Sir Baldwin.’
The back of Baldwin’s neck went redder.
Damn the man’s insolence!
Gilbert whirled on Capra. ‘You animal!’
Capra paused, looked round to make sure his audience was attentive, and smirked.
‘Master Senlac to the rescue again?’
Gilbert drew his sword, almost spitting with rage.
‘Touch this place, and I kill you.’
Sandor came forward; Gilbert swept him away with an arm.
Capra’s eyes narrowed. ‘No Norman does this for Saxons without reason. You know this place. You have been here before.’
‘He is a scout,’ said Sandor. ‘It is of course he knows it.’
Capra was not so easily put off.
‘I saw him speaking to one of them. He knows them. There is more here than we have seen.’
‘He spoke with them,’ said Sandor. ‘Asked many questions. It is thanks to him the Duke knows of this place. It is part of the Duke’s plan,’ he lied valiantly.
Capra hesitated for a fraction, then sneered. Gilbert’s temper, which Sandor wanted to damp down, flared again.
‘Never mind whether I have been here or not. They are people; you are an animal. Touch one of them, and I shall kill you.’
Capra spat. ‘You are getting above yourself, dog-boy. Do you think you could match me? And what about these men here?’
He pointed to the men-at-arms, crowded near on jostling horses and thoroughly engrossed.
Gilbert, still hot with temper, surprised himself with the sharpne
ss of his answer.
‘I am in rage, and I care not what happens. I may die, either by your hand or by theirs. I may not have your skill at killing, but I am stronger than you, and, I promise you, you will die too.’
He grasped his sword hilt with both hands.
Capra swallowed, and changed his tactics. He looked past Gilbert and spread his hands in dramatic appeal.
‘Well, Sir Baldwin? Who commands here – you or this . . . kennel boy?’
Baldwin licked his lips. He had been in war and in authority long enough to know that the situation could suddenly change, and had. He had found an unexpected ally. That brought fresh difficulties. If he accepted Gilbert’s support and forbade Capra to go ahead, he knew Capra would taunt him about ‘leaning on Master Senlac’. If he rejected Gilbert and gave the word, he was playing into Capra’s hands, and losing Gilbert’s loyalty as well. They were several miles from camp. He might need Gilbert, and that scruffy little Magyar of his.
Screams came from the house. Rowena’s hand flew to her throat. Godric turned to look, but stayed with her. Everyone forgot Gilbert and Capra for a moment.
First Edith rushed from the doorway. Then Sweyn. Then came Gorm, prodded from behind by Ralph Pomeroy, who paused on the threshold to pull something after him.
‘Look at this, lads.’
He dragged Aud after him by a bony wrist. He was so pleased with himself that he did not notice Gilbert’s agitation or Capra’s unease.
Gorm fell to his knees. ‘I am a poor man, sir. A poor man.’
Aud continued screaming until Pomeroy dumped her on the ground beside her father at Baldwin’s feet.
‘Well, Sir Baldwin, you have a choice now. Which one do you fancy?’
Aud crossed her arms over her chest as if she were naked. She was still panting, and there was a dark flush on her cheekbones. She was surprised at the sudden stillness. Sweat stood out on the stretched skin below her throat. She looked at the hard faces round her as if she were not sure which one to scream at.
Baldwin swallowed.
‘I should go for this one,’ said Pomeroy. ‘She is hot and sweaty already. She will make a lot of noise, but I think she half wants it anyway. What do you think, Will?’
William Capra was glad of the diversion. He sniggered. ‘I agree. Just right for you, Sir Baldwin, especially since you are not used to it.’
The men-at-arms roared with laughter.
‘Good for learning on, sir,’ said a stray voice from the back.
The goad snapped Baldwin’s temper.
He walked across to the group of men-at-arms and stood before them. He pointed to one man.
‘Down.’
After a furtive glance at his companions, the soldier dismounted.
‘Sir?’ he said, with as near an innocent voice as he dared. He was still holding one of Capra’s prepared torches. He put it hastily behind him.
Without warning, Baldwin hit him with his gloved hand so hard that he fell, and turned away before he hit the ground. Gorm stopped his frightened gabbling and watched. Baldwin strode back to Aud, who still crouched in excited fear. He stooped and held out his hand.
‘Rise.’
Aud gazed up at him, still not moving. Her lips parted. The flush deepened on her cheeks.
Baldwin shouted to Sandor over his shoulder. ‘Tell her I want her to stand up. Nothing more. Tell her nothing will happen to her.’
Sandor translated.
Aud looked at him with wider eyes.
Suddenly Baldwin felt sorry for her. Something else too. He was conscious of an odd familiarity, and groped in his mind for an explanation. Recognition came with a shock like a physical blow.
Agnes! She reminded him of Agnes.
It was uncanny.
Baldwin took off his glove and again held out his hand. The first time he had meant it to be a gesture of defiance to Capra. Now it had a totally new dimension.
Slowly, very slowly, she too put out a hand. All the while she kept her eyes on his. At the first contact, fingers clasped tight, with feverish intensity.
As he raised her slowly to her feet, Baldwin found himself wanting to soothe her hot cheek. For the first time in his life he did not feel awkward with a woman, despite the language barrier, and he knew she was not awkward with him either. Rowena had never known till that moment that Aud could make such a graceful movement.
Without taking his eyes off Aud, Baldwin shouted over his shoulder again. ‘Sandor? Tell her there is no danger. Tell her we shall soon be going. Tell her no suffering will come to her family.’
Sandor translated again.
Aud withdrew her hand, but slowly. For each of them it was like gold dust running away between their fingers.
Baldwin watched Aud stride to stand beside Rowena and Godric. She took Edith’s hand.
Without looking at Gorm, she said, ‘Get up, Father. There is no fear now.’ She could not understand why she felt so sure.
Gorm, his face glistening, his brow puckered in disbelief, scrambled to his feet.
William Capra would not yet admit defeat. ‘You know you punished the wrong man there, Sir Baldwin.’
Baldwin stood up straight, pulled on his glove, and looked at Capra. ‘Oh, no. I am just about to deal with the right one.’
A small part of him stood back amazed at his coolness. He could not explain it, but he suddenly knew exactly how to deal with the situation, instead of hovering with worry between two ghastly possible results.
‘Your orders are as follows. You will refill your flasks and water your horses. You will stay in formation beside your mounts. You will not go near the buildings, you will break those torches across your knees, and you will not lay a finger on any of the people who live here. Is that clear?’
Capra looked straight back at him.’
‘Why have you changed your mind – sir?’
‘I have not changed it,’ said Baldwin. ‘I have simply not told you before of my decision. This valley lies on one of the avenues that we have decided to leave open for Harold. He can not be more than a few days away by now.’
‘We have only your word for it,’ said Capra.
‘That is all you are going to get,’ said Baldwin.
Capra once more tried a mass appeal.
‘Who cares what happens to this place anyway?’
‘I care,’ said Baldwin, meeting him head on. ‘Because I have my orders. And I have just given you yours.’
‘And if I do not carry them out?’ said Capra, coming out into the open.
‘Then I shall give orders for you to be whipped – here – now. Just look around you. As you are more stupid than you are insubordinate, I must point out the obvious. I have the Magyar with me, and young Senlac, the Saxon boy here, and that giant with the axe. He alone could cut you in half with one hand if I gave the command. As for your . . . audience . . . one already has the marks of my glove on his cheek. The others will be pleased to seek my favour when I tell them how many more camp fatigues await them when we arrive back. I can not see your . . . loyal comrade Pomeroy here risking his dirty neck against all of us, just for you. Can you? Not even Pomeroy is that much of a fool.’
Capra hesitated. Baldwin drove him back.
‘I should not bother to think of telling his Grace the Duke either. Use what little intelligence you have. Whom will William trust and believe – his quartermaster, of many years’ service, kin to the ducal line, oath-bound comrade of twenty-six years? Or a pedlar’s bastard fit only for scavenging and petty terror?’
Baldwin spat at Capra’s feet and turned away to Sandor.
‘Tell them we shall water the horses, take a little food and water ourselves, and then after a rest we shall move on. My men will not enter the house.’
Nevertheless, it was an uneasy time, to begin with.
Godric never moved from Rowena’s side, and never let go of the axe. His body was not tense, but his eyes were constantly alert. Nor would he pay any attention to Gorm’s nervous
chatter.
Gorm forgot most of his fright in his indignation. Could this great oaf not see that the whole place was in danger? Had he no care for the safety of anyone else – Sweyn, or Edith, or Aud, or himself, for that matter, who had taken him in and raised him?
Aud – by some mystery that he could not divine – had somehow secured some sort of reprieve for them, and this ox was about to shatter it with his misplaced idea of gallantry. Did he fancy himself as some champion from Charlemagne’s court of heroes? What a fool! Could he not see that any one of those Normans could slash his hamstrings from behind and then dispatch him at leisure as he wriggled helpless like a dog with its back broken? It would give the rest a taste of blood; before you could turn round the other soldiers would have run berserk and killed everyone. With his stupid devotion Godric would have done for them all.
Gorm’s forehead wrinkled in bafflement. Why? Why? Godric had never shown the slightest sign of possible violence before. Gorm could still see the patience in the boy’s dark eyes as he put a hand up to his cheek where the marks of Gorm’s drunken fingers still glowed. Even as Godric grew to full strength, Gorm had found it difficult to break the habit of striking. His foster son steadfastly refused retaliation either of word or of deed. It baffled Gorm and annoyed him, so much so that he often struck again.
In his drunken musings Gorm put it down to lack of spirit, poor breeding, or even stupidity, and sympathised with himself for being stuck with such a pudding. But when Godric read his thoughts, or cured him of his many stomach ailments, or simply looked at him in the firelight, he knew that behind his eyes lurked spirits and passions of a nature and depth totally beyond his reach. It was then that he was not only baffled but frightened.
Godric, he decided, was not wholly human. He showed no violence, no temper, no fear, no worry. There was no weakness that Gorm could seize upon and use. Godric owed his upbringing and his livelihood to him, yet Gorm sensed that in the right situation, none of that would matter. He raged inwardly that Godric never showed himself; there was never a glimpse of his soul.
Until now.
Gorm raised his eyebrows, then lowered them again. Had this been going on under his nose and he had never seen it? Was this dark-spirited, silent young ox a prey to common human feelings after all? And was he daring to climb above his social status by lusting after his benefactor’s daughter?
The Last Conquest Page 19