Master of Craving (37 page)

He did so, and she flew east, then turned on the north road to the longships that awaited Bjorr and his one hundred men. What had taken them hours to travel by foot, Arian caught up to them in a fraction of time. When she approached Bjorr, he scowled and looked past her for her escort.
“I come alone, sir. I beg a private word with you.”

He nodded, and moved away from his men, who watched her with shifty eyes. They held her responsible for their lord’s death, to be sure, but she was not so sure that had they known of his plot with Sven they would have defied their young king, who wished only for peace with England.

“Sir, I need your help, and that of your men. Moorwood is under attack. Lord Stefan’s own cousin betrays him, allying himself with the angry Saxon lords. If you do not come, all will be lost this day.”

“You ask me again to support the man who slew my lord?” he asked, incredulous.

 

“Your lord, my husband, was about to betray his king and his people!”

 

Bjorr shook his head. “ ’Tis hearsay at best.”

 

“Nay, you know in your heart it is not. Sar was proof, and while your lord may be dead all that was his is mine, including you.”

 

He drew his ax. “I can easily remedy that, milady.”

 

Arian spurred her horse closer, unafraid of what he threatened. “Aye, you can, or you can hear my offer, then decide where your true loyalties lie.”

 

He regarded her for a long silent moment, then said, “I am listening.”

 

“ ’Tis reminiscent of Hereford, Stefan. We are outnumbered, and this time by seasoned Normans!” Rorick cursed. “Ralph! The craven lout!”

“He is most ambitious, but more foolish. He has sent riders ahead to stall the garrison William has sent, and knows we are thin here,” Stefan mused aloud. He turned to Robert. “Strip your mail and keep the destrier light. Take your squire, slip through the back gates, and ride like the wind to the west. When you come upon William’s men, expose Ralph’s man and his plots. Then return. We have enough to keep them at bay for a day, maybe two, and even should they break through the outlying walls we can hold up here until you arrive with reinforcements.”

Robert made a short bow, then hurried to the task. Stefan faced his men: Ioan, Rorick, Rohan, and Warner. “So here we are again, outnumbered by treacherous Saxons and a treacherous cousin. As at Hereford, let us continue to use the archers to our advantage. The Welsh up on the walls have done a good job so far keeping them at bay, but they gain ground. We retreat only when we have no choice, but we will not open the gates to engage. Let us go now and aid them with our own bows.”

They all nodded, and when Stefan climbed down from the tower, he looked for Arian, but found only her ancient maid, nervously wringing her hands. Dread instantly filled his heart. “Milord,” Jane cried, “Lady Arian has flown.”

“Flown! Where? Why?”

 

“She was in a fit of agitation, but said she would beg the Viking for his assistance.”

 

“How?”

 

“A horse through the back gates.”

 

Stefan ran from the hall to the back of the bailey, near the stable where he found his guard. The minute the man looked up at him, Stefan knew he had let her past. “Where is she?”

 

“Gone, milord.”

 

“You let her go?”

 

“She threatened to kill me!”

 

“Bah!” Stefan turned back to the manor to see his men, precious few that they were, alongside Arian’s men set up along the high walls.

His heart tore him in half. One part wanted to stay with his men and fight to the death should he have to, and the other wanted to go after his wife and bring her back to safety. But was it truly safe for her here? He climbed the ladder to the wall and looked down upon the sea of Saxons. They were doomed. In one mad rush they could scale the walls, and they would have to retreat to the manor, and while it was sturdy, it too would fall.

Why, he wondered, had they not already done so? On closer inspection the Saxons appeared to be disorientated and unsure. Ralph did not have control, but from where Stefan stood ’twas a Saxon noble, who had pledged fealty just the day before, who led the mob of mostly churls with pitchforks and scythes. There were other nobles amongst them ahorse, but they too did not appear to have much of an appetite for a fight. Had they the conviction of their cause, they would have rushed the walls.

“They have no clear leader,” Stefan yelled to Rohan. He pointed to Ralph, who watched the disarray from his horse toward the far left flank. “And he seems to have no authority.” Stefan pulled his bow from his shoulder and notched three arrows. “Notch your bows, men, and aim for Ralph’s black heart!”

Like a dark stormcloud, a score of arrows sailed through the sky, their path straight and true. Stefan watched them arc, then come together as one mighty rod and fall short several long strides from where Ralph sat upon his horse. The traitorous Norman raised his fist toward them, and Stefan knew he laughed at them. So be it.

“I’m going to circle back, and one by one, I’m going to pick off the Normans and the Saxon lords. With no leader, the churls will run home,” Stefan told his men. He grabbed several full quivers and threw them over his shoulder, then ran out the back gate, where he kept to the wood and circled up and around. His going was slow, and it took him considerably more time than he had first thought. By now the sun was in full rise, and he could not help but worry over his wife’s safety. When he got his hands on her, he would shake her until she could not see straight! How dare she put herself in jeopardy? There was no pleading with the Vikings. The only string that held Stefan to Moorwood was his unwavering trust in the woman whom he called wife. In the short time he had known her, she had transformed from a naïve princess to a great lady to be reckoned with. Yes, they would both survive this day, and their bond would be as unbreakable as hewn steel.

As he broke from the wood behind where Ralph and his captain had lurked for most of the morn, Stefan stopped cold. More Saxons poured in from the north road, armed Saxons, and he could see that mixed in were many warriors of northern descent. Great hulking men with battle-axes. Were these part of Sven’s men? Stefan hunkered down and watched, waiting for the first opportunity to strike. Though Ralph was well mailed and wore a helm, Stefan was a good enough shot that with an opening, he could hit him in the throat and be done with his cousin forever.

He moved farther down the tree line to where the leading Saxon huddled with his men. As quiet as a breeze, Stefan notched an arrow, aimed, and let it fly. Before it hit true, Stefan turned and made his way deeper into the wood and back toward the Normans. A shout rang through the field. And Stefan knew the man lay dead on the ground. Word quickly spread, and as the Saxons thinned in their panic, he took aim at another lord who had just the day before pledged his fealty to Stefan. He dropped to the ground. Continuing to keep low and to the wood, Stefan set his sights on the huge Dane who led a small but deadly contingent of foot soldiers.

Ralph called for the archers to turn to the wood and they let loose a flurry of arrows. But they were far off the mark. With the hailstorm of arrows, Stefan took aim and brought the mighty Dane to his knees. The man bellowed in outrage and yanked the arrow from his chest.

Stefan moved back whence he came, and for the next span of time, he played a cat-andmouse game with his enemies. His hope was that the harassment would send them all running in a hundred directions, in fear and disarray. But Ralph was smarter than that. He knew Stefan’s game, and he pulled them all, Norman, Saxon, and Dane, together on the far side of the field, where they awaited his direction.

Unless Stefan crossed without cover, he could not make it to the other side and take a shot at his cousin. Stefan watched and waited, musing on his options. He had taken out a dozen men, most of them well-armed leaders. Somehow, Ralph had managed to escape him, and had also managed to renew the fighting spirit in the troops.

Angrily Stefan watched from the trees as Ralph assembled the men, setting the few archers he had to the front, then the foot soldiers, then the knights. Stefan shook his head. The man was not known for his tactics. The foot soldiers should go first to soften the walls and throw the hooks, whilst the archers bombarded the bailey, preventing those within from protecting the walls. Then the knights should come when the doors were breached, and hack at any who stood in their way.

But Ralph’s idiocy would be Stefan’s gain. When Ralph lit the arrows, Stefan scowled. He would burn the place and every living soul inside to the ground. He watched, furious and afraid for his brothers, as the swarm of flaming arrows rose high in the air, and was glad to see a good number of them sputtered out. But many landed along the wooden wall and beyond.

Buckets of water poured down the walls. Angrily, Stefan watched as Ralph led the men to form a thin circle around the manor. ’Twould make it nearly impossible to defend. Robert’s men were only fifty; Arian’s Welsh guard thirty more, and his Blood Swords who were worth three men apiece. Not one churl had stayed to take up arms in defense of Moorwood. They would be stretched to their limit. Their only hope of survival was to hold Ralph off until reinforcements arrived. He prayed that Robert had made it through Ralph’s men; with more knights, the craven traitors would flee for their lives.

Stefan took up his weapons and jogged around to the far side of the wood, closer to Ralph. He watched as the walls were repeatedly engulfed in flames then doused with water. They seemed to be concentrating on several spots and the fires were doing their damage. If Stefan could not get a clear shot and take Ralph from the battlefield, he would lose his men. And he would not allow that to happen, not again!

As the sun began to set, it became clear to Stefan that part of the high walls had weakened, to a point that with a battering ram they would be easily breached. He had managed to pick off a few more of the armed Danes, and even a few of Ralph’s men. Though Norman, they were traitors, and when the time came he would see each of them dead. He knew what Ralph planned: he would say they were all set upon by the local lords and the Blood Swords fell. What he did not count on was Robert breaking through his lines west.

Frustrated with his inability to get closer to Ralph, Stefan stripped off his mail. Breaking branches from the trees, he stuck them down his back and front and in his sword belt. He rubbed dirt on his face and waited for the sun to dip more to the west. When the light had shifted to his advantage, on his belly he slowly crawled out from the wood. Stealthily, he made his way toward the camp where Ralph held court, giving directions.

“We do not need a ram,” Ralph boasted. “The walls will fall by sundown, and when they do, under the cover of darkness we shall spill into the interior and see the day won!”

 

Rousing cheers erupted. Crouched behind one of the great destriers, Stefan slowly withdrew his bow. Silently he notched an arrow and took aim.

 

“Men approach!” the lookout called.

 

Ralph moved so quickly from the fire that Stefan lost his opportunity. “Norman?” “Nay! The Norse guard has returned and the Lady Arian rides with them!”

 

“The bitch!” Ralph cursed.

 

Stefan’s heart nearly dropped from his chest to his feet. Arian returned? With Magnus’s guard? How did she—

Caught off guard with word of Arian, Stefan was exposed as the men mounted their horses. “ ’Tis the Norman Stefan!” a Saxon cried. Stefan let the arrow fly at the closest man and notched several more before he was overpowered by several Normans. He lay pinned to the ground as Ralph stood over him and threw his head back and laughed uproariously. “Ah, cousin, you are finally beat!”

Ralph drew his sword. “It will give me great pleasure to slit your throat. Be sure I will comfort your lady on the cold winter nights to come.”

Stefan shouted out his mighty battle cry, and as he did, with supreme strength he kicked at the two men holding his feet and half-rolled from them, breaking the grip on his hands. He drew his sword and crouched backward. Normans surrounded him, and he saw doubt in some of their faces.

He rose to his full height and wagged his sword tauntingly before them all. “You may win the day here, Ralph, but Robert has made it to the garrison on the road here. You cannot kill us all. You are doomed.”

“Robert never made it past the edge of the wood, dear cousin. You will be dead before the lady’s guard arrives.” He raised his sword.

 

Stefan laughed. “Your greed is only surpassed by your foolishness, Ralph. Do you think you can best me with a sword?”

 

“The minute I falter, my men will finish you off.” He gave him a short bow.

 

Stefan looked to the thick circle of men surrounding him. “You will all hang from the highest gibbet for your treason.”

“Nay, Stefan, we will be hailed as heroes for saving the day.” He jabbed at Stefan with his sword; easily he parried it. In a slow circle, they measured the other. Ralph was tall and competent enough with his sword, but Stefan was highly trained in the art of swordplay. Ralph jabbed again, and just as before, Stefan easily parried it. He would toy with him as long as he could, hoping that Arian and her guard would get to the field in time, and when they arrived all hell would break loose. The Jarl’s men were battle-hardened and bloodthirsty, and Stefan still could not understand how she had convinced them to return and fight for the man who slew their lord.

“You toy with me, Stefan,” Ralph said, as the circle closed around them. “You bide your time. Fight me now or I will let them loose.”

Stefan nodded, and in a short hard jab that caught Ralph off guard, he lunged, catching him on the right forearm. Ralph hissed, and returned the blow, narrowly missing Stefan’s shoulder. Without his mail he was lighter, but completely exposed. Carefully he moved around the Norman and struck again, this time to his back. The velocity of the hit shoved Ralph halfway across the circle. His men began to cheer and jeer. And in the distance, Stefan watched the walls surrounding the manor go up in a sudden burst of flames. More cheers followed. Stefan took advantage of the moment. He thrust again, catching Ralph once more on the forearm. As the knight returned the strike, Stefan twirled out of his way, landing low as Ralph’s blade swished across his back. Stefan popped up and kicked the knight in the knee. Ralph screamed in pain as he toppled backwards.