by Robyn Carr
“Good point, Sir Verel,” Hyatt said with a smile. He readied himself for combat anew, a smile on his face. “The pity is, now that you’ve drawn blood, we best be done. I can’t parley any longer. Remember that. When your opponent draws blood or batters your head, it’s time to be done, lest you lose too much blood or good sense to finish. Come lad, give your best, and quickly, or the fight won’t be fair.”
“What care I for a fair fight, Hyatt? So long as you die!” Verel made to stab at Hyatt, again hasty and hot-tempered, and Hyatt deftly knocked the sword from his hand, sending it flying. He grabbed a wrist, twisted Verel’s arm behind his back, and positioned the blade of the hunting knife under the young man’s throat. He looked around the dozen men who looked on.
“Well, lads? One landed knight for a leader?”
None approached him. They obviously valued Sir Verel greatly. Pulling Verel with him, Hyatt backed away from the group, out of their circle, until he had reached the tethered horses.
“Kill me quickly, you black-hearted bastard,” Verel snarled.
“Why? These men need you. I shall warn my own not to travel in this forest unarmed, for I would not sacrifice even one to you, but you need not die, Sir Verel.”
“I would rather die than be beaten by you!”
“Why so? Is a good knight never bested? You show your inexperience and youth, Verel. A good knight learns from each contest, bettering himself. Don’t be a fool. Don’t accept death as an honorable venture. Once dead, you will never again raise a blade to defend what is right.”
“I despise you,” the young man uttered, pain drawing each word.
Hyatt sighed, backing toward the horses. “Such unnecessary passion will only slow you down. Take ease; clear your head. You are a good fighter, Verel, but I have been a scavenger in the forests of England much longer than you. For me, it was a challenge to learn to fight by courtly rules, but for you the reverse will be true. You must learn to fight as scavengers do, if you are to live like this. ’Tis a pity, if you are satisfied with such.”
Hyatt threw him to the ground and Verel lay face-down in the grass. In a single motion Hyatt had the tethered reins in hand and was astride the stallion that had been taken from De la Noye.
“If you change your mind, Sir Verel, you may present yourself at your old home. Perhaps you will be allowed to earn a position with a decent troop of soldiers.”
That said, Hyatt gave the stallion a firm heel and whirled away from the camp. He bent low over the horse’s mane, tucked his legs in tight, and rode like the wind through the trees, under low branches, down narrow paths. The steed’s hooves were swift and graceful and not once did the beast stumble or falter. It was a good horse Verel had gotten off with.
Hyatt heard the three horses behind him for a time, but not for long, for as he neared De la Noye the scavengers gave up the chase. Hyatt paused when he reached the forest’s edge. The sun was setting and the distance from the wood to the gate was long, but he sat in pause, admiring the silhouette of De la Noye at sunset. From the distance the castle seemed to sit in three tiers; the wall surrounding the outer bailey with a massive gate and bridge and seven parapets made the first layer. Within the outer bailey were peasant housing, a huge stable and smith shop, and room for a thousand horsed men-at-arms. Next was the inner wall, with portcullis and iron gate. Beyond that was the rising structure that was the main hall, shaped like the cross of Christ, with four wings and a rising citadel, the donjon, from which Aurélie had viewed the conquering forces.
There was room there for even more than they now housed. Yea, a dynasty. Hard to win … hard to lose.
He thought about Verel for a moment and dismounted, tethering the horse at the forest’s edge. Let one knight from De la Noye ride away from the magnificent castle on a worthy steed, for her sake.
It was dark by the time Hyatt called to the gatekeeper for entrance. He was met as all were met when they came to the wall, by a group of armored knights astride, lest there be any threat or trick at play. His chest swelled with pride at the way they carried out his orders even when he was away.
He spurned their worry at the sight of the blood on his thigh, but accepted a mount to make the hall in shorter time. He left that borrowed horse with a page and took the stairs swiftly for an injured man. Within his chamber Aurélie sat upright, her face colored again with health, her loosed hair brushed to a high sheen, and a tray of food on her lap.
He stood in the doorframe studying her. There were comfort, softness, beauty, and strength in her sweet smile.
“My lord, you have chosen to return to us,” she said brightly.
“And you have chosen health,” he replied.
Her chin slowly fell in a single nod, her eyes glittering with happiness. “Of course,” she said. “I told you it was nothing.”
He approached her quickly, leaning down to kiss her lips. Her arms went instantly around his neck and she answered his kiss with enough energy to convince him that she had fully recovered.
Oblivious to the servants still in the room, Hyatt released her lips and smiled at her. “ ’Tis well. I would not have wished to live without you.”
“Of course, my love,” she whispered. “We must henceforth be cautious not to ask it of each other, for it is not my desire to be without you, either.”
The room slowly emptied of unwelcome spectators and Hyatt and Aurélie were left to say the many things that thus far had not been said. She did not remember she had been ill, and he forgot the wound on his thigh. The most important tending to be done was done to the hearts of lovers.
Chapter Sixteen
By the first of September the fruit trees were heavy with their crops, piglets were fat, and chickens were laying. Baby goats born the previous spring were leaving their mothers’ udders, giving village women plentiful goat’s milk to serve their own children. The largest crop of vegetables ever seen at De la Noye were harvested, and fourteen calves had been born.
Lady Aurélie rose from her sickbed, more ravishing than ever before as she began to round most proudly with her first child. But she stood under Hyatt’s watchful eye, for the knight was insistent that she not be weakened by work or pregnancy, and the noble dame was ordered to bed by husband and a bevy of servants each afternoon, whether she protested or not.
Nima was no longer confined to a bedchamber, kept out of sight to wither with age and loneliness. The old woman sat in the main hall, ever near the hearth, watching her great-grandson play on the rushes with his toys, and offering advice on medicines and poultices and philters. Though she was ancient of form and face, her eyes held a new glitter of usefulness, for finally she made some contribution other than covering the evil flaws of her ward.
“Humph,” Hyatt snorted as he entered the hall one afternoon. “I don’t know that this is an improvement,” he said, gesturing toward his son. The boy scampered among Nima, Aurélie, Perrine, and Baptiste. “Now he will be made soft by all the skirts that indulge him. Dolls, balls, and what is this? A pillow that he clutches?”
“You may have him soon enough, milord,” Aurélie said with a smile. “He is too tender for your brutish ways. But if you protest his keepers, you may perhaps ask Sir Girvin to swaddle his bottom and rock him to sleep.”
A snort came from the corner, and Girvin looked up with a scowl on his face. Hyatt glanced about the room and noticed many a weary soldier. The outer bailey was stacked with goods; fruits, hens, sacks of grain, vegetables, barrels of ale, large bolts of cloth from the looms, and every product rendered by the people of De la Noye. After the lord had taken his share and selected the goods for trade, the people would have theirs. There was a great plenty to divide. And the effects of hard work was obvious all around. His men had given assistance, but not in replacement of their knightly duties. Those who guarded the wall by night, harvested by day. Those who guarded the wall, protected the farmers, and rode perimeters of the demesne by day, stacked goods by night. Everyone therein, it seemed, hoped for some
bonus.
“Is our work done?” Hyatt asked, glancing around the hall. “Everyone seems much at his leisure, and it is not yet noon.”
“Hyatt,” Aurélie said in an admonishing tone. “These men have worked hard. Let them enjoy a meal, at least.”
“Why? Do I take my rest before the work is done?”
“Humph! You should have been given a whip, rather than a broadsword.” Lady Aurélie frowned at her husband, for there was not much left to do.
“Sir Trevor,” Hyatt barked at a young knight who had worked night and day and appeared to be near dozing. “Is there some feast or fair I have not been told about? There seems to be a mood of laziness and frivolity amongst my men.”
The youthful knight blushed and rose wearily, straightening his aching back. “Nay, my liege,” he sighed, moving toward the door slowly.
Aurélie grunted some sour, disapproving remark that Hyatt did not quite hear as the knight reached the door. Girvin muttered, “There will be burying to do when these poor lads die of their labors.”
“You are right, Trevor,” Hyatt said to the young man’s back before the door for the hall was opened. “ ’Tis a feast I have not been told of. Did no one have the courage to suggest to your warlord that we celebrate our good fortune? Am I such a cruel taskmaster as that? Sir Trevor, find a good-sized hog to slaughter. And beef; we need not take so many calves from the castle. There is no time for a hunt, and I think there is too much ale for the wagons Delmar built us. Why not drink a bit and lighten the load?”
Everyone turned wide, surprised eyes toward Hyatt. He stood in the center of the large room in his dark chausses, boots, a linen shirt rolled up to his elbows, and a leather jerkin belted at the waist. He looked more like a farmer than a knight, his hair tousled, a thick blade at his waist, and growth of beard that spoke of more time spent on work than grooming. Aurélie’s eyes sparkled, for she thought him almost more handsome when he wore the effects of hard labor. And Girvin smiled, proud of the young lord he had reared. The others, stunned, sat in silent wonder.
“Very well, if you are not interested …”
“Consider it done, Sir Hyatt,” Trevor said, bolting out of the hall. A dozen men followed, one with his hand ready to draw out his short blade for the slaughter of good meat. Perrine jumped up, clutching her mending, and ran in the direction of the cookrooms to give instruction. Baptiste hoisted up young Derek, making for the stairs. Nima struggled to rise and follow. Soon there was a flurry of activity that could be heard all over the castle and courtyard as the word was passed, and only Hyatt, Girvin, and Aurélie were left in the large room.
Hyatt nodded toward Girvin. “Let’s see what we can do to keep our wall safely tended and yet enjoy the day. Can you divide the men into groups that will relieve each other?”
“Yea, Hyatt,” he said, rising. “And I shall keep fifty, thirty of whom will be sober enough to call a guard and fire an arrow straight.”
Girvin lumbered toward the door and Aurélie rose with a sigh, leaning her head against Hyatt’s chest. “Are we unsafe for even a day of harvest feasting, Hyatt?”
“I am never too sure of our safety, my love, but ’tis their day more than mine. I shall be mostly at the wall, myself.”
“But Hyatt, you deserve to celebrate more than anyone.”
He touched the softness of her cheek with his roughened hand. “I shall, chérie. Later, when the others have fallen on their pallets.”
Pleased with him, Aurélie did not interfere with his design for the feasting celebration. She cautiously supervised the preparation of food, most often from a chair. This was the one day she did not indulge in her afternoon rest, but Perrine’s hovering frown warned her that she would not be allowed to overtax herself. “I am treated like an old woman,” she complained.
“You are treated like a woman we would all like to see become old,” she was reassured.
The meat was pitted in the inner bailey rather than the hall so that more of the farmers and villagers could gather together. Huge pots were carried out and placed on large fires, the steam, smoke, and savory smells rising to fill the early fall air. A villager entertained with a gittern and songs were sung. The meat was nearly cooked, the brewis boiled, bread was baked, and huge trays of fruits and vegetables graced the trestle tables that had been brought outside. The sun was lowering in the sky and the feasting would begin when Aurélie went in search of Hyatt.
Good to his word, he was more attuned to safety than to celebrating and could be found in the donjon, looking out over his keep and lands, simultaneously watching the wall and parapets to be assured his own men did not slump at their task. Aurélie climbed the steep, winding stairs without spilling a drop of the cool ale she delivered. He frowned when he turned to see her.
“You should not come up here, my lady. The way is steep and the climb is demanding.”
She smiled at his worry, finding that this suited her very well. Being protected by him was nearly as gratifying as being his wife. “But this is my favorite place, Hyatt. I came here daily before I was sick, and I mean to again, after my lying-in. It is from here that De la Noye is most beautiful.”
He took the ale and drank down a hearty gulp. He gestured toward the wood with tankard in hand. “Look there, my love. At the forest’s edge.” Aurélie strained to see what Hyatt pointed toward and finally she saw a slight stirring and gasped. “Nay, be at ease,” he said, watching.
“But someone goes there. Sound the horn.”
“ ’Tis Verel, my love. I venture it is more the smells of feasting than want of fighting that draws him near.”
“Verel? How do you know? You can barely see.”
“I caught a glimpse of the stallion I left him.” Hyatt sighed and dropped an arm about her shoulders. “ ’Twas Verel I met in the wood as I returned to De la Noye. We had a contest and he made his point on my thigh.”
“Hyatt, you told me that was a mishap. You did not tell me about Verel.”
“Aye, my love. I thought to spare you, and myself. But Verel has not gone far. He is a woodsman now, leading a little troop of scavengers through the dense wood. When he left De la Noye he must have quickly learned that there is no French force nearby and the other English warriors are more dangerous than I. He keeps himself deep in the forest.”
“And you did not kill him? You left him a horse?”
Hyatt nodded. “Verel is good stock, though angry and misguided right now. This is the pride of youth, yet untempered, not yet honed with wisdom. When I judged the hatred and shame in his eyes, I saw myself, for as a youth I was driven into the woods, left there to fight my way back to a decent life. I left Verel a horse, but when I was imprisoned in the forest I had Girvin. It was a better lot I had to aid me.” He turned her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Can you send Sir Trevor up here? I would speak to him.”
“Do you mean to go after Verel now?”
“Nay, my lady.”
“I am surprised you did not kill him.”
“On an earlier day, I would have. I am glad for us both that my temper has eased. The young knight is too good to waste. Leaders of men are hard to find.”
Aurélie looped her arms about his neck and rose on her toes to kiss him. She pressed her body close, wove her fingers into the errant locks at the base of his neck and parted her lips under the flaming heat of his. She yielded all, moving her mouth under his and drawing a deep sigh from the hearty warrior.
“You make me forget my watch, my lady.”
“ ’Tis well, Sir Hyatt. You have come nicely to heel.”
“Have I now?” he laughed. “And who better to conquer a brutish knight than the vanquished one? Go, my love. Find Trevor for me.”
She looked down into the inner bailey, as did Hyatt. They saw village girls dancing with Hyatt’s knights, captive knights turned serfs in contests of strength against armored knights, with much laughing and swigging of drink to accompany them, and serf and warrior together turning spitted meat.
A scene like the one that lay below them had not been possible even with Giles, and with her eyes she flashed him a look of love that melted his heart and filled him with longing.
She left him to his high tower and beckoned away from an arm-wrestling match the young knight her husband sought. She tarried over a steaming pot, pinched the bread, and sampled a fresh, cool bean before Trevor returned to the courtyard, shaking his head in bemusement.
“Whatever troubles you, Sir Trevor?” she asked.
“My lord troubles me. He has not suffered enough drink to go daft, yet his instructions are a mite strange to bear out. I am to find a dozen armed men not bidden to the wall and take a wagon of food and drink to the forest’s edge. We’re to unload it there and return with the wagon.” He shook his head again. “Does he mean to feed the beasts of the forest as well?”
Aurélie laughed, covering her mouth. “And if he does, Sir Trevor, are you bound to argue with him?”
“Nay, my lady,” he said, still shaking his head in confusion.
“Then you had best find the men that Hyatt requires.”
As the young man went off to do as he was asked, Aurélie looked up toward the donjon, but she could not see Hyatt. He was obviously intent on watching over the whole of this property singlehandedly. She beckoned to a squire and asked him to carry a tray to Sir Hyatt, and the lad was overjoyed to be chosen for the task. And then a swirl of robes caught her eye and she saw Father Algernon among the group, near the food. She made her way toward him.
“So you have decided to join us after all, Father. I’m glad you came.”
He frowned at her. “I suppose you are very enamored of your able warrior now, since under his sword he has provided so much. But do you ask yourself what there is of Christ in this burg?”
“We have you, Father. Is not your task to deliver us the gospel, the saints, the salvation of our souls?”
“It was my mission under Giles, but under this new master I am not bidden do my cleric’s chore.”