Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I do hope your leg is not paining you too terribly,” she said to Ghislaine. “My father said that you had a battle wound.”

  Cradled in Gaetan’s arms, Ghislaine replied. “We were ambushed while traveling,” she said. “It is an arrow wound and I have managed to tear the stitches, unfortunately. Your healer was very kind to stitch the wound up again.”

  Lygia looked at her, greatly concerned. “What terrible fortune,” she said. “Are you feeling any better now?”

  Ghislaine looked right at Gaetan, struggling not to grin. “Much, much better.”

  Lygia didn’t miss the expressions of warmth that passed between the lady and the enormous warrior. In fact, it tugged at her heart because, once, she had looked at her husband with the same expression. Feeling sad, and perhaps even a little jealous, she turned away.

  “Then I am glad,” she said.

  Lygia didn’t say anything more after that, leading then through a series of neat rows of cottages until they reached a great pool of clear water beneath the oak trees. The stream ran right into the pool and then out another end of it to continue on, so there was a constant supply of fresh water in the pool. Women were washing their clothes on rocks on the edge of the pool while children played nearby. It was a bucolic scene as Lygia led Ghislaine and Gaetan to a cottage at the end of a row of small structures and opened the door.

  “Here we are,” she said. “The lady will be quite comfortable here. We have already prepared a fire for hot water and we will tend the lady while you go about your business. We shall take great care of her, my lord.”

  Gaetan didn’t doubt the woman for a minute. She seemed sincere enough and he was comfortable leaving Ghislaine in her care. Moreover, Ghislaine could take care of herself. Even wounded, she would be able to defend herself against these three rather pale-looking women. Gaetan had great faith in her abilities; Ghislaine wasn’t some foolish woman that needed looking after.

  That was one of the things he admired so much about her.

  Ducking under the door, Gaetan took Ghislaine right to a small bed that was built into an alcove in the one-room cottage. It was a comfortable little place, and warm with the fire in the crude hearth, and there were already two big pots of water steaming on the fire. Satisfied that Ghislaine would be well-tended, he turned to her.

  “I must see to my horse and speak with my men,” he told her. “I will return as soon as I can.”

  Ghislaine smiled, sorry to see him go, but so very glad that they had spent this precious time together. It had been one of the most moving and important moments of her life, now to know that Warwolfe, the most powerful Norman knight in the realm, belonged to her. And she belonged to him.

  She loved him.

  “You need not rush,” she told him, glancing at Lygia and her timid sisters. “I believe I am in good hands.”

  Gaetan’s gaze lingered on her a moment, feeling the same thing that she was feeling. He was sad to leave but so very glad they’d been able to share some time together. Something about that moment he’d shared with her seemed to make his life complete, filling him with a contentment he’d never known.

  With a subtle wink meant only for her, he left the cottage, leaving Ghislaine dreaming of her heroic knight, the Norman enemy she’d finally given her heart to.

  And she didn’t regret any of it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ‡

  Et pro Gloria dei

  Gaetan had no idea what he was drinking, but whatever it was had a punch to it. Seated on the hard-packed earth floor of the convening hall around a table that was hardly taller than his knees, he leaned over in Téo’s direction.

  “This drink is rather potent,” he muttered.

  Téo, who was feeling the buzz himself, nodded. “Potent like an ax to the face,” he said, peering in the wooden cup he’d been drinking from. “What is in this stuff?”

  Gaetan didn’t have a clue. All he knew was that two cups of it had made his head swim, and that usually didn’t happen to him because he had a strong tolerance for drink. Wellesbourne was on the other side of him and he leaned in Bartholomew’s direction.

  “What is this drink?” he asked the man quietly. “You purport to know these lands. Is this some mad Mercian concoction we’ve been ingesting?”

  Wellesbourne shrugged, but his head, too, was swimming. “It certainly seems to be.”

  “Two cups of this drink and already my head is rolling like the ocean waves.”

  “It is a cursed drink.”

  Next to Wellesbourne, de Lara heard the conversation. He, too, wasn’t feeling so well, making it difficult when he tried to shake his head at Wellesbourne’s comment. “Everything is cursed to you, Bartholomew,” he muttered. “You see more omens than an old witching woman. Why is that?”

  Wellesbourne eyed de Lara. “Because everything is cursed. How have you survived this long without knowing that?”

  De Lara just laughed and took another drink from his cup, but Gaetan had stopped when he realized that the stuff was going to put him to sleep. He’d requested watered wine, or something else without such a kick to it, and a servant had brought him a bowl of juice from apples and blackberries. It was very sweet, but it was better than becoming drunk on cursed Mercian beer.

  All nine knights were at the table along with Antillius and several of the elders of the village. There were even a few of Antillius’ men, who seemed rather intimidated by their visitors though not unfriendly. There were one or two that still tried to strike up a conversation with them. Jathan was missing, however, because he had gone to sit with Ghislaine, taking the watch from Aramis because Gaetan didn’t want the man anywhere near her until he’d had a chance to explain that Ghislaine was no longer an unpledged woman. Now, she belonged to him.

  She was all he could think about.

  Aramis hadn’t been happy with Gaetan in the least for sending Jathan in his stead to sit with the lady while they partook of the evening meal, but he didn’t argue. He simply did as he was told. But even now, he was sitting across from Gaetan, his dark and murky eyes glaring at him from across the table.

  De Russe was an intimidating man when he wanted to be and it was clear that he was trying to convey his displeasure with Gaetan at the moment, but Gaetan wasn’t intimidated in the least. He was, however, growing irritated, something that was magnified by that damnable drink. Therefore, Gaetan tried not to look at Aramis because he was certain if he did, the next step would see him flying over the table and wringing his friend’s neck.

  But he was distracted from the man when the food was brought forth, and it was quite a feast – both boiled and roast pork, pies with pork and carrots and local birds, fish in wine, and other delicacies. For people who lived such an isolated and simple life deep in the woods, it was a great display of both hospitality and prosperity, and the knights wolfed down the food before their hosts were even served. They hadn’t eaten since the meal at The King’s Head the night before, so they were quite eager to put food into their bellies.

  Gaetan found a good deal of satisfaction with the roast pork, which had a wine sauce on it that was marvelous. There was far less conversation now that mouths were full, but Gaetan couldn’t help but notice that the same women who had pledged to tend Ghislaine were also the women who were serving the knights. He wouldn’t have noticed except Antillius, at the end of the table, grabbed one of them and swatted her on the behind, clearly unhappy that she was serving.

  The young woman fled in tears but her two sisters were moving up and down the table, making sure the men had what they needed. Gaetan had to admit that the Tertium were very good hosts but he was inherently curious about them.

  “Have you discovered anything about this place?” he asked Téo quietly.

  Téo was well into his pork and bird pie. “Only that they are the descendants of an ancient Roman legion that settled here,” he said. “Antillius is quite forthcoming about his tribe’s history.”

  “You have spo
ken with him?”

  Téo nodded. “When you went with the physician to tend Lady Ghislaine, the rest of us spoke with him somewhat.”

  Gaetan thought it might be best if he spoke with Antillius now, as the commander of the group, rather than get his information second hand. Swallowing the bite in his mouth, he leaned forward so he could address Antillius directly.

  “You have my gratitude for your kindness towards my men and towards the lady, my lord,” he said. “I apologize that I have not had much time to speak with you, but the lady’s health was my primary concern when we arrived.”

  Antillius was eating but he wasn’t drinking the same alcohol the knights had been served. Gaetan noticed that when a serving woman poured the same apple drink into his cup that Gaetan had requested. All things considered, it put Gaetan on edge a bit as he considered that their host may very well be trying to get them drunk. Either that, or there wasn’t enough drink to go around so he was giving it all to his guests. Still, Gaetan was glad he stopped drinking so at least one of them would have a clear head.

  “There is no need to apologize,” Antillius said, cutting in to his suspicious thoughts. “The lady is doing better, I have heard.”

  Gaetan nodded. “The wound was not as bad as it looked, fortunately,” he said. “Your physician was able to stitch it up and now the lady rests comfortably.”

  “I am glad.”

  Gaetan took a drink of the apple concoction. “I must also apologize for not introducing me and my men,” he said. “It seems rather late for proprieties, but permit me to give introductions – I am Gaetan de Wolfe of the House of Vargr, the kings of Breton. The men you have seated around your table are de Russe of Flanders, de Reyne of Morlaix, de Moray from Rouen, de Winter of the House of Bourbon, de Lara, the Count of Boucau, St. Hèver of Normandy, du Reims of Reims, and Wellesbourne of Wales. As I told you, our comrade was abducted and we are heading north to retrieve him.”

  Antillius was looking around his table, rather shocked at the introductions. He was a man who soaked up information when he could get it so he knew that he had at least three men from ruling or royal families at his table, de Wolfe included. In truth, he was quite impressed.

  “I am honored, my lords,” he finally said. “I fear I have set a simple table for such great men.”

  Gaetan shook his head. “You have been a gracious host and we are grateful for what you have provided us.”

  Antillius banged on the table and more food suddenly appeared, filling up the tabletop with a great deal of excess. “It is my honor,” he said. “And the lady – The Beautiful Maid of Mercia – although her brother is my enemy, I do not look upon her as my enemy. She is my honored guest. If you are allies of Black Edwin, I do not hold that against you.”

  Gaetan glanced at the men across the table; de Russe, de Moray, and St. Hèver were looking to him to see how he would respond. Gaetan thought it best to be honest with Antillius to a certain extent. He saw no harm in it.

  “We are not allies of Edwin of Mercia,” he said. “In fact, it is his brother Alary who has abducted our comrade.”

  Antillius sobered at the mention of Alary’s name. “Ah,” he finally said, nodding his head in a knowing fashion. “Alary Insanus.”

  Alary the Insane. Gaetan snorted softly. “That is fitting,” he said. “You know of him, then?”

  Antillius nodded, but his expression was far from pleasant. “Aye,” he replied, seemed hesitant, but continued. “We have had contact with him and his men on occasion. I have heard of him burning down entire villages to punish women who rejected his advances or tormenting men he wanted something from. Last year, two of our young girls wandered away and we never found them again. Saxon allies we trade with told us that it was rumored that Alary had found the girls and sold them off to the highest bidder. We tried to find the girls, but to no avail. It was as if they had vanished.”

  It was a disheartening tale but, given Alary’s scope of evil, not surprising. “I am sorry to hear that,” Gaetan said. “Has he ever tried to come to your village? It is not terribly far from his seat of Tenebris.”

  Antillius shook his head. “He has been in our lands but he had never come close to our home,” he said, “although there are other tribes about that have attacked us from time to time.”

  Gaetan listened with interest, mostly for his own education on the tribes in the area. “Warring tribes?”

  Antillius nodded. “Mostly,” he said. “Or, they want our women. We keep a very close watch on our women. There is one tribe that tries quite frequently to steal our woman; we call them the Homines Ossium. No one really knows their true name, but they wear the bones of their dead ancestors in great necklaces because they believe the bones of the dead will bless them with the strength of the man the bones once served. Some of the necklaces are quite heavy and elaborate.”

  Gaetan wasn’t sure he liked the sound of savages wearing bones. “Where do they live?”

  Antillius pointed off to the east. “On the other side of the great river is a valley. They have dug holes into the sides of the hills and they live inside of them. They live like animals and they fight like animals as well. We tell our children frightening tales of the Men of Bones so that the little ones do not wander away from the village.”

  Gaetan wriggled his eyebrows in agreement. “It sounds as if those tales are more truth than fable,” he said. “Someone told me these lands are called the shadowlands, where the land itself is cursed. Mayhap that is not far from the truth in some cases.”

  Antillius shook his head. “It is not, I assure you,” he said. “Now, you have asked me many questions, King of the Bretons. I would like to ask you some questions as well.”

  Gaetan grinned. “My ancestors were the kings of Breton,” he corrected. “The last time I checked, that was not my title.”

  “But you have one.”

  Gaetan nodded. “Marquis Aulerci. That is the hereditary title of the heirs of Mateudoi, the last King of the Bretons.”

  Antillius was clearly impressed. “You must command a great many men.”

  “I command enough.”

  “I would believe that. Which is why I would like to know why you are only traveling with nine warriors. Should you not bring more men if you are to extract your comrade from Alary’s clutches?”

  They were heading into an area where Gaetan wanted to be particularly careful. He didn’t want to speak on how Kristoph was abducted or how they, and an entire Norman army, had come to the shores of England.

  “I have two thousand men with me but Alary discovered that we were coming for our comrade and threatened his life,” he said. “I left my men back in a town called Westerham. I believe my knights and I can rescue our friend. We are skilled and resourceful.”

  Antillius cocked his head in a dubious gesture. “I admire your bravery, my friend, but surely Alary carries more than nine men with him,” he said. “Tenebris is a dark and mysterious place to the north. I do not know how many men he has there, but there will be more than just a few.”

  “Any Norman knight in battle is worth twenty Saxons.”

  “And you are confident as well.”

  “You’ve not see us fight.”

  Antillius grinned. Then, he laughed, looking around the table to the men who were stuffing themselves on the pork and pies. “You are as big as mountains, all of you,” he said. “It would be a terrifying thing to meet you in battle. I pray that I never will.”

  Gaetan gave him a half-grin. “You almost did today when you ambushed us with your arrows.”

  Antillius waved him off. “I fear we would have lost too many men in that fight,” he said. “We may have had the advantage, but in the end, I would have had to sacrifice a few. Our numbers are not so great that we can afford to lose men.”

  “Why is that?”

  Antillius’ good humor faded. “Our numbers are less and less every year,” he replied. “Our people have been here for hundreds of years, de Wolfe, and we do no
t marry allii unless it is absolutely necessary. That means we marry within our tribe and, over the years, we are less and less. There are fewer babies born every year. I fear that someday we will die out completely unless we find new and worthy men to marry our women.”

  That comment caused every Norman but Gaetan to look straight at his food and pretend to be occupied with it, for no one wanted to get roped into a marital commitment with a father looking for worthy men for his daughters. Gaetan saw the heads go down and he laughed to himself.

  “Not to worry,” he told Antillius. “I am sure you will find worthy husbands for your women, in time. It would be an honor for any man to become part of your tribe, as you are excellent fighters. I could see that earlier today even though a sword was not drawn nor a weapon thrown. It is clear your men are great warriors themselves. In fact, I shall deem all of them honorary Normans. It will be a bond between your men and mine so that, in the future, we shall remember that bond and hold to it.”

  Antillius was greatly flattered. “We do not have allies,” he said. “We have always kept to ourselves. We are quite honored by your declaration.”

  Gaetan held up a cup to the man as if to toast him. “And I will christen you and your family the House of de Shera, as you must have a Norman name now. Shericus is the ancient name of old, a name of great honor. De Shera is a name for a house that will evolve into greatness.”

  Antillius grinned, looking at his men and seeing expressions of approval. As he turned to some of the men around him to discuss the Norman honor, Gaetan turned to Téo.

  “God’s Bones, did I just say that?” he muttered. “Did I just completely change that man’s entire world and tell him that his name was not good enough in this new Norman realm?”

  Téo was indulging in a compote of berries with honey and cream; it was most delicious. “You took an ancient Roman line and made it Norman,” he said. “That is what our kind does, Gate. That is the Norman way of thinking. We take the world and change it for the better.”

  Gaetan pondered that, toying with his drink cup in one hand and stroking his chin with the other. But in the course of that deliberation, he noticed that de Russe was once again looking at him from across the table. His good mood fled.