by C. C. Wiley
Down to three arrows, Terrwyn held one out to Edgar. “Try again.”
He snatched it from her hand and set it loose, only to catch the edge of the tree trunk. Quivering, the shaft wavered in the breeze, threatening to fall out.
Terrwyn ignored his anger and sized up her target. She shifted for a better advantage and let loose the arrow. It arched through the air and cut into Edgar’s shaft.
Laughing heartily, Simon caught Terrwyn up in his arms and spun her around with dizzying joy. “We’ll champion you!” he crowed. “Won’t we, Edgar?”
Standing rigid and angry, Edgar snarled a curse and spat on the ground. Before Terrwyn could think of something to say, he drew out his blade. Simon stepped toward him, his fist raised.
Thankful she still had one arrow left, Terrwyn prepared to place a shot between them. As she braced her legs and began the release, a shout rang out.
Horses barreled through the thicket. Their bodies protected by leather armor, they crashed through the brambles and came to a skidding halt in front of the two men.
Simon and Edgar paused long enough to heed the command to desist their brawling. The man, dressed in leather jerkin and travel armor, sat astride a huge pale stallion. Without helmet, his hair glistened like a wheat field ready for harvest. He caught Terrwyn’s attention and pierced her with a pointed stare.
Unaware she took a step back, she stifled the automatic urge to curtsy. Fidgeting, she tugged the cap down, ensuring it was snug upon her head. Worry began to swell inside her chest as she waited to hear Edgar and Simon’s explanation for their fight.
Satisfied with his work, James rested his elbows on the small table the innkeeper of the Red Rooster had proudly announced as one of the room’s appointments. It had been well worth the coin.
He straightened the contents of the pouch, smoothed the edges of the leather and tucked it inside his jerkin. If there ever came a time that the pouch landed in the enemies’ hands, they would think the drawings were no more than a flight of fancy. A weak man’s musings and whiling away of time while real men of strength wielded broadswords and maces at one another’s head. The secrets were embedded in the drawings and only he and Henry had the key.
He had learned all he could. It was time to leave the Red Rooster Inn, wash his hands of the unwanted task and make his way back to his home. First, he would have to come up with some plausible excuse why he needed to leave Sir William so soon after his return.
James pulled out a stick of charcoal and traced the face he could not get out of his mind onto the extra bit of vellum. He sat back and examined the likeness. Admittedly, Terrwyn was a cantankerous sprite, but lord how he would love to strip away that hard edge and find the tender heart he was certain existed. He softened the sharp lines. Perhaps he would find a way to erase the anger in her eyes but keep the fire that burned within.
He paused, then tucked the vellum inside the packet with the other drawings. “I imagine one day I’ll have to thank Henry for this damned task after all.”
Chapter Nine
The man introduced as Sir John Grey, a captain of the king’s army, stood with disbelief written in his eyes. His gaze kept shifting from one face to the next. Relief washed over Terrwyn as the pale stranger pointed his scowl away from her direction.
“You dare report this tale, Edgar Poole? You think me daft?”
Edgar paled visibly. Bits of leaves and twigs flew as he shook his head. “Daft, Sir?” he croaked. “Nay, Captain.”
“And you?” Sir John poked his finger into Simon’s wide chest. “You expect me to believe this wood elf won a challenge against our best bowman?” His eyes narrowed as if squinting would help him understand. Gripping the bridge of his nose, he threw back his head and let out a bellowing sound of disgust. “Please tell me that at least you gave this imp a run for his money.”
Red-faced, Simon shook his head. “I know ’tis hard to believe, but I swear Edgar and I tell the truth of it. You see—”
“Ye see,” Edgar cut in, “what with our recent illness, our aim was a trifle off.”
“Simon, if you be yet afflicted with dysentery then perhaps you shall return home to Norwich. Despite your brother’s orders, I haven’t the desire to be your nursemaid.”
Simon quickly shook his head. “I’m mending fast as lightning.”
Sir John clapped his long fingers over Simon’s shoulder. Peering closely, he examined the span of his face. “I am unwilling to lose my commander’s young brother before we even set sail.”
“Maybe after?” Simon joked.
“’Tis not a time to jest about death,” Sir John said. He pinned Terrwyn with a stare. “Demonstrate, wood elf, how you bested Henry’s men.” Grabbing her jerkin, he added a warning. “No trickery.”
Terrwyn nodded. Her legs shook when she bent to pick up her bow. If not for Simon’s help, she would have hit the ground in a miserable heap.
Simon pinched the soft underside of her arm before letting go. “Steady, Archer.”
“Captain,” Simon said. “I’m here to state that this is indeed the archer we have been searching for. Let’s be done with this foolery and be on our way.”
Sir John’s smile held a note of condescension as he lifted a gloved hand. “Allow me to finally witness this archer’s skill. ’Tis best I see this miracle with my own eyes before I deliver him to your brother.”
Edgar strode from behind and whacked Terrwyn’s back. The blow brought stars to her eyes. He gripped her shoulder and nodded with a tight smile. “This one is always ready to perform, aren’t ye, lad?”
Though she wondered why they kept the secret of her sex to themselves, she noted the threat laced in Edgar’s last word. She allowed herself half a glance at Edgar before turning to nod at the towering figure. Jerking her shoulder away, she kept her head down and tugged the brim of her cap tightly over her ears.
“Course, Sir John.”
“Then be done with it. Hit the most recent target with which you trounced my lead archer and you’ll find yourself paid handsomely, marching with Henry’s army before the day is through.”
When Terrwyn first heard Simon’s announcement that the winning archer should save his strength and ride back to the camp, she was thankful.
Then she saw the beast Sir John expected her to mount.
After allowing her several tries, he lost patience and bellowed at them to hurry it up. Simon grinned like a lack-wit fool and flung himself into the saddle with one swift, effortless movement. He reached down, grabbed Terrwyn and tossed her behind him as if she weighed less than a sack of wheat.
Terrwyn straddled the horse’s wide back, her short legs shooting out ungracefully. She gripped Simon’s tunic and prayed she would not fall from her awkward perch.
Satisfied they were finally on their way, the captain shouted for them to move out. Laughing heartily, Simon saluted Edgar and the unseated soldier as they began their short trek.
Terrwyn scoured her memory for the skill to master her seat. It had been over six years since her dear pony had been killed by the Englishman’s arrow. And from the time she rode upon Zeus’s tall back, she did not recall anything but the memory of being in James’s arms. Yet, despite her uncertainty, she felt the thrill of strength underneath her legs. The familiar rolling gait warmed her heart.
Lost in her thoughts, she recalled the adventurous young girl she once had been. Now, every step away from the village brought her closer to finding Drem. Closer to rediscovering herself.
The sound of the camp being packed up reverberated over the hillside. Terrwyn tightened her grip. Flinching, she realized that soon she would no longer have the wide expanse of Simon’s back to hide her face. It would not be long before they saw through her disguise. Although most of the men were English dolts, she could not count on them to be blind as well.
“Keep your head down,” Simon warned. “Beating Edgar’s shot thrice does not ensure your safety. When William learns what you are, we’ll all have our hides st
ripped.”
“I meant no harm. If not for the other soldiers placing bets, I would have let it go at one shot.”
“Watch your step with Edgar. You’ll have no friend there, I’ll warn you.”
“As I am aware,” Terrwyn muttered. “’Tis a wonder he has not exposed me already.”
As they came to the edge of the camp, Simon slowed their horse. “His pride won’t allow it. Never let it be known that a half-sized woman bested him.”
Terrwyn grabbed his forearm as he prepared to dismount. “Wait!”
Frowning, Simon paused.
“What of you?” No matter what Simon thought, he held his tongue in silence and did not turn away when she probed his soul with her eyes. “What do you intend to do, Simon? Why are you willing to help me?”
“I had the stomach ague. The old healer brought to tend me said she was needed elsewhere. The bitter woman did not need to wipe the son of some English lord’s arse. Said the fates demand I pay back what is owed.” His voice lowered as he added, “Or be cursed by the people that live under the earth.”
Terrwyn released his arm and squashed her outrage against fate. Here, standing before her, was the very reason Isolde had not been there to save her mother. If not for the need of his help, she would shoot him and let the devil take the prize. “’Tis why you will champion me?”
Simon nodded. “That and you beat me fair with your skill. Besides, I find your farce amusing.”
He hooked his elbow with hers and motioned her to slide off the horse. She dropped to her feet and stepped out of the way.
Simon dismounted and turned to grip her arm. “Soon, Archer, my debt will be paid. Then I’ll know why you are out here alone.” His hold tightened. “Do not wait too long. Though William is a fair man, he has the disposition of the eldest son. He’ll see through you in a day or so and he will not be amused.”
Jerking free, Terrwyn took the bundle he held out to her. She could not help noting how pitifully small Mam’s wadded shawl looked against his large roll. Her quest to join them in their journey to France seemed insurmountable.
“I’ll see that the quartermaster outfits you. Perhaps one of the knights has a squire about your size. Until then, make yourself scarce. Keep that hat pulled low as you can without the danger of tripping over your own feet.”
Terrwyn nodded, then, after waiting a moment or two longer, she asked, “Where do I go?”
“Usually you would take a position with the other archers.” He scanned the campsite and his jaw muscles tightened. “Though by the looks of it, with or without Sir James in attendance, we’re preparing to push on.”
Terrwyn could not help voicing her growing concern. “This man you speak of. He will return?”
“Aye, sooner or later. And if you ask me, it won’t be soon enough.”
“Does it not bother your brother that this Sir James fellow has deserted the camp?”
Simon frown deepened. “I’ll ask you not to speak of desertion. ’Tis an ugly word. One we take seriously. Death to those who decide the king’s service is no longer for them.” He shoved back his hair and chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “Although William has mentioned his suspicions, the difference is Sir James has always returned happy as you please.”
“Yet your brother does nothing?”
“What can he do?” Simon said. “Sir James’s father may be a Yorkist but his Welsh mother has known Henry since he lived at Monmouth Castle. William has been given orders that James may come and go as needs require.”
Curious, Terrwyn blocked his path. “And what do you suppose he does while he is away? Who does he meet with?”
“Take heed, Archer. A man does not ask so many questions. He recognizes when to keep silent. Something you need to work on.” He looked over her shoulder as shouts erupted from the line of trees surrounding the encampment. “Yonder comes Sir James’s runners.”
Terrwyn pivoted on her heels and stood on tiptoe to see around Simon. “Is Sir James with them?”
Simon gave her a penetrating look as he considered her question. “Nay.”
“How can you tell?” she prodded.
“Zeus is not with them. I’d recognize that horseflesh anywhere. But with them runners of his here, he won’t be far behind. If you still mean to travel with us, you’ll need to keep yourself hid from now on. Go off to that clump of shrubs.” He pointed with a nod. “Do not move from that spot. I’ll find you ’ere we take our leave.”
Terrwyn grabbed Simon before he left her side. She held his hand tight as if he were her only line to safety. “You won’t forget?”
He looked around to see if anyone watched. Satisfied of his privacy, he squeezed her hand back. “Just do as I say and keep your arse out of sight.”
Chapter Ten
The bright sun heated the top of Terrwyn’s covered head. She shifted and wished Simon had pointed her to the spot beside the great oak tree. The cool shade beckoned her. Dark green leaves called, waving to her in the soft breeze. Her eyelids grew heavy and she swayed with the rhythm of the trees.
Someone called out to her…his impatient voice comfortably familiar. He pushed at her with the force of his anger. “Fly away home, birdie,” he said. “You haven’t the stomach for this path where you set your foot.”
Drem looked older in her vision, more ferocious than she remembered. His message delivered, he turned on his heel and did not heed her call to wait. He simply left as he arrived. There had been little time for her to respond, to make him understand she could not turn back. Terrwyn blinked and cleared her head from the sight of her brother. “Oh, Drem, do you not understand? I’ve come for you. I cannot turn back now.”
As the dream faded, she realized the time for Simon to return for her had already come and gone. The command of soldiers had finished gathering their belongings. They stood in formation, awaiting their instructions. The cavalrymen sat at the head of the procession. They rose in their stirrups and shouted, “Look alive men! Mount out!”
Sir John moved his stallion back and let the infantry pass. Watchful, he kept his attention on the soldiers, giving stern instruction to some and encouragement to others. The men shouted good-naturedly, happy to be traveling across the border, nearer to their home and closer to their women’s welcoming thighs.
“Sir William.” Sir John saluted as another man dressed in full armor joined him.
They moved toward Terrwyn’s hiding spot, allowing her to overhear a few scattered words. “—Archer—”
“—imperative—”
“—missive—”
Sir John tucked the packet into a satchel hanging from his saddle. He saluted the commander and rode off at full gallop.
Terrwyn moved behind the bush. Her heart beat so hard she feared Sir William would hear it over the sound of the wheels. Certain he spotted her when he turned in her direction, she ducked down, gathering her quiver and bow to her chest. She held the rolled up shawl and weapon close and set off to join the throng of men.
Her eyes cast to the ground, she nearly stumbled into a redheaded boy no older than Glynis and Adain. He gave her a shove and sent her reeling back. Fighting to hold on to her belongings and still keep her cap drawn down, she fell into the path of a heavily laden wagon. The pair of ponies whinnied and sidestepped, pulling on the leads as they danced out of the way.
The wagon’s cargo came barreling toward her. The wooden slates belched out various shapes of baggage. What could not be contained within hung from leather loops on the outside. The driver squinted at her. The frown plastered on his face pulled his gray whiskers down, where they hung like a big swooping bow.
“Look alive,” the old man shouted. “Get out of the way before you get trampled.”
“Me?” she said.
“Course, you! See any other blind fool who doesn’t know how to keep out of the way?”
The wagon never stopped moving but swayed as it bounced over a rut in the road. Trotting to keep up, she gripped the plank where the drive
r propped his boot. “I didn’t know where to report.” Hearing his grunt of disbelief, she added quickly, “Arrived late.”
“The commander won’t want to lose an archer. Best hop up in the back of the wagon.”
Terrwyn dodged a pothole. “This wagon?”
“Make room. Mind you, don’t knock anything off.”
Nodding, Terrwyn let go of the running board and allowed the bloated wagon to move past. She tossed her bundle into the bed. As a last-minute thought, her bow and quiver followed. Taking a running leap, she caught hold of the tailgate. Her feet scrabbled for a purchase on the ledge. Balanced on her toes, she teetered back and forth. The wooden wheels caught in a rut and jumped before lurching forward.
Terrwyn flew into the wagon, landing on her stomach with a jolt. She flipped over on her back and willed the dancing stars to disappear. As soon as her lungs were able to fill again, a grin spread across her face. Not since her last challenge with Drem had she known that conqueror’s thrill.
“Hey,” a muffled voice called out. “Watch where you’re sticking that bow. Sir William won’t take kindly to you killing off his page.”
“Sorry,” Terrwyn patted her head, making certain the cap remained secure and her hair had not escaped. Pulling the cap forward, she peeked from under the brim.
A fair-haired boy knelt beside her. He held out the bow and quiver. Before she took it, she turned to scrub her dirty fingers over her face.
“’Sall right! No need to weep.”
Terrwyn straightened her shoulders and held her chin high. “Not all slobbered up with tears. Just tired.”
“Oh,” the little boy responded.
After a long pause, Terrwyn could not stand the quiet hurt any longer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”
“’Tis all right. I forgive you.”
Where had the young boy learned his manners? If Glynis and Adain were this well spoken, Catrin would proudly serve them berry pies everyday. Terrwyn could not fathom a boy, an English boy at that, speaking so softly. The child had a funny habit of twirling his short curls around his fingers. Much like he was searching for something that was not there. She cringed, praying he did not have lice. She and insects of any kind had an aversion to each other.