A Warrior's Heart

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “Return to my father on the Humber or go with us. We cannot remain here for the Norman army is coming.”

  They chose to go with her.

  Inga appeared at her door, her hand on her swollen belly. “I have finished, but I fear we will have much to carry.”

  “It will be all right. Thyra will carry you as well as our bags. And the guards—though they will surely complain—will carry those things we cannot give to Artur, Jack or Thyra. We will go slow, Inga.”

  Inga had never complained, but now Emma saw fear in her beautiful gray eyes. Placing the last of her things into the bag, Emma walked to where Inga stood and hugged her as close as she could, given the child that was between them. “Oh Inga, you will not be alone,” she said into the girl’s honey hair. “I will be with you. And Martha has midwifery skills. She and Sigga will help deliver you a healthy babe if we have not returned by your time.” She wanted to encourage her friend and hoped with all her heart the words she spoke were the truth. Her only experience with birth was the babe she had lost.

  When Emma pulled away, leaving her hands on Inga’s shoulders, there were tears in both their eyes.

  * * *

  Geoff felt certain William would come. The king’s ego would demand it if not his desire for revenge. Other rebellions in the South might have demanded his attention, but he would not fail to return to York.

  Geoff spent a part of each day standing on the top of the motte gazing south to where the River Ouse flowed into the distance, watching for William’s return. At those times, he thought of Emma. He had been to see the garden she had planted with Helise on Baille Hill, a sad reminder of happier days. The wooden fence was torn down on one side and the vegetables had been harvested. What remained of the herbs was now crowded with weeds. He did not go to her home to see if, per chance, she was there. His heart and his body ached for want of her yet always there was her betrayal between them. Besides, he could not imagine she was still in York. If Maerleswein had left with his Danish allies, he would have taken her with him.

  Much of the city was deserted and lay in ruins. With winter coming on, the people remaining in York would take shelter in the homes that still stood. Each night he, Alain and Mathieu returned to the house they had been confined in.

  They spent most their days securing food and seeing to the horses. He was glad the Danes had left the stables and many of the Norman horses and their saddles. To his great relief, his first search had revealed Athos in a stall in the rear of the stable, next to Mathieu’s black palfrey. But Alain’s tall gray stallion and Geoff’s fine destrier he rode only into battle were missing, likely claimed as booty by some Dane. Alain found another horse to his liking and Geoff contented himself with his chestnut stallion that was his favorite after all.

  Geoff stroked Athos’ neck, brushing off the coating of dust that dulled the horse’s rich chestnut color. “You need a good curry, boy.”

  “Aye,” said Mathieu from behind him, “I will see to it.”

  Geoff shook his head. “Nay. For the time being, we will each tend our own.”

  Geoff found a horse comb and curried his horse until its coat shone. In his days as a squire he had enjoyed the task.

  Mathieu and Alain set to work tending their horses. Hay and oats had been stored for the winter, so there was sufficient feed.

  They found a few village boys milling about who, when asked, told them they had been enlisted by the departing Danes to care for the horses. Mayhap the Danes intended to return after all. The thought did not please him. He could only hope William arrived first.

  The job of caring for the horses was a large one for the boys, and so he, Alain and Mathieu joined in feeding and grooming the other horses as well as their own. Fine horses required much care. And the horses would serve William’s army when they finally reached York.

  Not wanting to give away their identity as knights, Geoff told Alain and Mathieu not to ride the horses, but to lead them around the bailey for exercise. The boys were happy to have the help and seemed to accept them as Northumbrians.

  Geoff and his two companions were careful to speak only English, even to each other.

  In late November, in the midst of a cold, spitting rain, Geoff stood on the motte, looking south when a dark cloud appeared moving over the ground. Horses! A cavalry rode in formation followed by hundreds of marching men-at-arms.

  William had finally arrived in York.

  Now Geoff had no qualms about riding the horses. With Alain and Mathieu at his back, he mounted and sped over the bridge they had managed to repair, meeting William on the other side of the River Ouse.

  As they approached the king, his personal guard closed ranks in front of their sovereign. “Hold!” said the captain raising his gloved palm in front of Geoff.

  Geoff reined in his stallion and Alain and Mathieu pulled up on either side of him. “My Lord,” he shouted over the guard to William, “’Tis Sir Geoffroi, your knight and two who rode with me from Talisand.”

  William shouted to his captain, “Let them pass!”

  The knights of the guard parted, leaving Geoff a clear path to the king. Beside William on a handsome steed sat a younger man, noble in appearance with the familiar look of William about him, the same sun-streaked brown hair, prominent nose and blue eyes. Both he and the king wore fine tunics with much decoration and purple woolen cloaks trimmed in gold thread.

  When he reached William, Geoff bowed his head and, in a quieter voice, explained, “My Lord, I apologize for our appearance. We have been hiding among the Northumbrians who remain in York. Our numbers are too few to allow them to see us as French.”

  William laughed and wiped the rain from his face. “And so you fooled even our guard who should have recognized one of our knights by the way he sits a horse, no matter his apparel or the length of his hair.” The king’s gaze paused on Geoff’s face. “You will need a sharp blade for that beard, sir knight.”

  Geoff grinned, fingering the ragged beard he had grown in the last few months. It was darker than his hair and now wet with the rain. “Aye, sire, I will see to it straight away.”

  “Robert,” said William to the younger man riding at his side, “this is Sir Geoffroi de Tournai, the one who rides with our wolf.”

  And to Geoff, the king said, “Our brother, Robert, the Count of Mortain.”

  Geoff dipped his head to the brother, trying to remember what he had heard of him. As he recalled, Robert was a half-brother who had gained many lands from his royal association. Geoff’s memory of the man was vague but there was something at the back of his mind. Then he remembered. This half-brother was rumored to beat his wife. A side-glance in Alain’s direction told him the Bear had also heard of it.

  William gazed toward what had once been the tower castle, where now stood only a bare motte. “We have heard that our castles are destroyed, our garrisons overrun.”

  “Aye, My Lord,” Geoff sadly admitted, “’tis true. The Danes came with their hundreds of ships and joined the Northumbrian rebels to attack the castles. Your knights fought hard but, in the end, they were defeated.”

  “We would have been here sooner,” said Robert, “but we were delayed three weeks by violent resistance, swollen rivers and a downed bridge.”

  “How is it you have survived?” demanded William.

  “We were spared when the daughter of Maerleswein, the rebel leader, pleaded for our lives.” The king’s brows lifted in question, but not wanting to discuss Emma, Geoff went on. “There were a few other men and guards who were also spared, but I know not what became of them. We were separated and I did not see them again. When the Danes left, the keys to our chains remained behind.”

  “And what of Malet, FitzOsbern and Gilbert?”

  “Your nobles were taken captive, along with Helise Malet and her two sons. As far as I can determine, they are no longer in York.”

  William’s eyes flashed. “Damn the Danes! We would send them and their ships to Hell.” The frown that
formed on the king’s face was deep, his lips set in a thin line, his eyes cold. Dropping his royal speech, he spoke in a tone that sent a chill down Geoff’s spine. “By the splendor of God I will have my vengeance on the North!”

  Casting a glance at his brother, William said, “Robert, you will go to the Humber where, no doubt, the Danes have retreated to their ships and get our nobles back.”

  “Mayhap I can negotiate the Danes’ removal as well,” said Robert in a manner that suggested he had dealt with his brother’s anger before.

  “Their history,” said the king, “is one of accepting gold to leave England’s shores. If we must, we will deign to pay it. We do not wish to see the pirates again.” Returning his gaze to Geoff, the king clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing. “Our army will rebuild the castles, but we will personally punish the rebellion of York’s people. You will ride with us, Sir Geoffroi. And when we are finished, there will be no more rebellions in the North.”

  At the king’s gesture, Geoff, Alain and Mathieu turned their horses to join William’s guard. Mayhap the king had always known conquering England would not be accomplished in a few years, but did he anticipate that his reign would be so vehemently resisted?

  “Now,” said William, “we would see the city, or what is left of it.”

  * * *

  Geoff was amazed at the king’s energy. Before the day was out, hundreds of tents dotted the far bank of the River Ouse and meat roasted on spits over fires. The next morning, Robert and a part of the army left to chase the Danes to the Humber with orders to negotiate the release of the nobles and to pay whatever gold was necessary to send the raiders home. Another group of men was consigned to rebuild the castles. But, true to his word, William took up the hunt for the rebels himself.

  “With God’s help we will hunt them down!” shouted the king to the group of knights assembled in his tent. His blue eyes were fierce as they narrowed their focus. “Like hounds after a fox, we will find the holes they hide in and kill them all. Then we will destroy the holes.” Studying the map of England before him, William swept his fingers from York north to Durham. “We will not return until this land is a waste.” Raising his eyes to his men, he said in a commanding voice, “Burn it all!”

  The knights standing around the king were somber as they nodded their acceptance of the king’s orders. Some had lost friends, some brothers to the Danes. They wanted revenge. Wasting the North was not too high a penalty for the rebels’ treachery.

  “Word has it,” said one of William’s men, “that the Ætheling has sought refuge in the valley of the Tees north of York. Here,” he pointed to an isolated area on the map.

  “Then that will be our first destination,” said the king.

  The next morning, Geoff, Alain and Mathieu rode north with William and his army. It was not to be an easy path. At times, they crossed ground so rough they had to dismount and proceed on foot. Each day the weather grew worse, as snow fell and a harsh winter closed around the knights huddled beneath their cloaks.

  When they finally arrived at the place where Edgar was supposedly encamped, he was gone. But the trip was not without its rewards.

  They cornered the rebels and after fierce fighting, defeated them, slaying all those who had not fled or were taken prisoner. Earl Waltheof, who had led his own men, wielded his axe with powerful strokes, but ultimately even he surrendered and agreed to make his submission to William. The tall, blond Northumbrian swore his allegiance, kneeling before the king. Geoff remembered the axe-wielding giant from the battle in York and was amazed to see that William granted him mercy.

  It was from Waltheof they learned that the Ætheling had retreated to Scotland and King Malcolm’s court.

  Cospatric also made his submission to the king, but he did so by messenger. It was clear to Geoff the Earl of Bamburgh did not trust William. The fact that the king accepted the submissions, even the one by proxy, told Geoff that William must need the earls if he was to hold the North.

  After the rebels had been slain or captured, the knights took their vengeance on what was left, burning every village and cottage, slaying even the serfs. Geoff had no taste for such vengeance. But William had told them never again would the Danes use the North as a base from which to attack. In the villages and alongside the roads the knights left rotting corpses lying where they fell. The stench of death was so thick he could have cut it with a knife. There was no one left alive to cover the bodies with earth.

  “Mark our words,” William said to his senior knights one evening in his tent. “We shall be feared as none before us, for we mean to destroy not only the rebels’ hiding places, but also their means to survive.”

  Geoff understood the king’s aim, even the reasons for it, but he was sickened by the slaughter and the destruction of a land so beautiful it often left him in awe. And much to Geoff’s regret, William ordered his men to salt the land to assure that nothing would grow. Beyond that, the king was ruthless with the hostages they had captured, ordering the torture of many. Geoff and Alain were thankfully spared such an order and turned away in disgust.

  To Geoff, the decision to destroy an entire people was a stain on his sire’s honor, for the innocent died along with the guilty. Never before had William showed such cruelty. Geoff’s own taste for vengeance on those who had slain his fellow knights had waned with every mile they traveled, every village they burned, every acre of land laid waste. In the end, he and his fellow Normans had proved just as vicious as the Northumbrians who had slain Robert de Comines, the Earl of Northumbria, and Richard FitzRichard, the first castellan in York. He could not help but wonder what the people who had fled and still lived would do to survive the harsh winter. To survive the years to come. He wondered if survival was even possible, for he had heard the wolves howling in the forest at night.

  What would Emma and her children do? The king had not spared York or the lands around it. Before they had left for the north, William had given orders for his remaining knights to lay waste the land.

  After nearly a fortnight, satisfied with the results of his march to Durham, William turned his army south. The return march to York was a treacherous one, as winter descended with a cold fury and the king chose a perilous route through forested mountains and snow-covered valleys. Even the hardened knights and men-at-arms suffered.

  “’Tis freezing,” said Alain, crouched on his saddle beneath his thick, woolen cloak as they rode side-by-side down a treacherous mountain path. Mathieu followed behind them, the hood of his cloak pulled down over his eyes.

  “I could wish for that beard I had when we lived as Northumbrians,” Geoff wistfully remarked. Even his gloves had not prevented his fingers from going numb. He could no longer feel his feet. “The cold pierces like an arrow. I even heard trees cracking last night.”

  “And wolves howling,” said Alain.

  The talk of wolves reminded Geoff of an earlier time and place. “The last time I lived through such a winter was the one Ren and I endured in the County of Maine when he was attacked by the red wolf.”

  “I once heard him tell of it,” said Alain. “He remembers that night as if it were yesterday.”

  “’Tis not a thing he or I would ever forget,” said Geoff. Nor was the fifty-mile swath of destruction William had cut from York to Durham. Geoff would remember it always.

  As his taste for vengeance subsided, Geoff’s love for Emma returned. Perhaps it had always been there, for Emma was too much a part of him. Removed from his rage that day he’d discovered she was Maerleswein’s daughter, he could now see she had been caught between opposing forces, a father she loved and a man to whom she had freely given herself despite his being a French knight. It was a position thrust upon her by circumstances not of her doing. Circumstances that made them enemies from the beginning.

  She had not lied, just never disclosed her noble lineage or that her father was chief among the rebels. He could hardly blame her. And in the end, she had saved his life. In his mind he heard M
augris’ words. You will find an ally where you least expect it. The daughter of the rebel leader was an unexpected ally indeed.

  He had once believed Emma was all that was good. But that conviction had disappeared at her betrayal. Now, that inner conviction of her goodness returned. I love her. I will always love her.

  William’s war on the North had brought them together and then it had torn them apart. He had lost her.

  With cheerless effort, they straggled on to York. Nearing the city, Geoff said to Alain, “I would rid myself of the blood that stains my mail and tunic. I find I crave a wash even more than food.”

  The Bear chuckled. “Now that is a change all at Talisand would find amusing.”

  “Aye, well, food will come after. I would have roast pork tonight and some of that hot bread dripping in butter. Surely they must have found a stray pig or a wild boar somewhere.” His mouth watered. “And wine. Much wine.” He wanted to forget the horrible scenes he had witnessed in the past week and he wanted to forget the haunting image of Emma’s beautiful face that had never left him in the ride south to York.

  “Do you think William would have brought a supply with him when he came to York?” asked Alain.

  “I have never seen him travel without—”

  “Look,” shouted Mathieu, “the castles!”

  In the distance, Geoff saw what appeared to be new square towers rising from the snow-covered mottes. William’s new castles. “Dieu Merci,” he said on a sigh. “A place to sleep other than the cold ground.”

  As they neared York, the tents of William’s encamped army filled every space of level land near the castles. Palisades circled the baileys, the wooden stakes repaired where they had been knocked down or burned.

  Having destroyed his enemies, William was once again asserting his authority over York.

  “I grow tired of the fighting,” Geoff said to Alain, “if that is what it was. ’Twas no even match with William’s ordering the slaying of mere serfs.”