Rogue Knight (Medieval Warriors Book 2) (20 page)

Maerleswein looked up at her. “Osbjorn wants to winter on
the Humber where his men will be fed by the Northumbrians in the marshes.”

“Will you leave with them?”

“Aye, ’twould be wise for me to keep an eye on them since
Cospatric, Edgar and Waltheof want to winter in the north closer to Bamburgh.
Someone must watch Osbjorn. He is not constant.” Her brow furrowed and he
added, “You need not worry. The city will be left with the Northumbrians who
remain. And the guards will stay to see no stray man comes near the house.”

“We will miss you.”

She studied the faces of the children. They loved their
godfather who, years ago, had taken the place of their own father who had died.

“I will not be so far I cannot check on you now and then,
weather allowing. Now that the Danes are gone, I will leave you two guards.
When the winter is over, the Danes and I will return.”

* * *

She stood on the shore of the great North Sea, watching
the twins frolic in the shallows, dipping their toes into the white sea foam
brought to shore by the rushing waters. The sun at her back cast her shadow
onto the warm golden sand. Without warning, the waters suddenly pulled far out
to sea and a wave taller than any castle rose in the distance towering above
them, turning the sky dark. As she stared, unable to move, the great wave came
toward them. “Run!” she shouted, even as she realized with sudden dread, it was
too late.

Emma startled awake, every nerve on end, her heart racing as
she blinked, then stared into the darkness of her bedchamber. The images
persisted causing her to shiver even though she was nestled under the bedcover.
At her side, Inga slept. The fire in the brazier, banked when they had retired,
provided little light. The terror of the dream, for that is what it was, would
not leave her. It was too vivid, too real. Dread encircled her like a heavy
black cloak. What could it mean?

The few dreams she had experienced in her life had always
portended some coming disaster. Those in the last few years, though rare, had
been no different. The dream of a ship swirling in the ocean as it was pulled
into the depths only days before Halden was lost, the dream of the bodies in
the clearing… and now this.

Unable to sleep and wanting to fill her mind with other,
more normal images, she slipped from her bed, donned her clothes and redid her
long plaits. Magnus followed her out of the room and down the stairs to the
kitchen.

As she entered the warm space, Sigga looked up from where
she was stirring gruel over the fire. “You are pale, my lady. Is aught amiss?”

Emma sat on a tall stool, still trying to calm her heart
pounding in her chest. “I have had a dream…”

“Oh, no.” Sigga stopped stirring and removed the kettle from
the fire. She knew Emma’s dreams to be omens of ill and had come to trust the
warnings.

“Aye. And I fear what it portends. Something dreadful is
about to descend upon us, Sigga.”

Emma’s gaze locked with the servant’s. Both spoke at the
same time. “The Norman king.”

Silence hung in the air as Emma faced the one thing that had
occurred to both of them. She could think of nothing more terrifying. “Aye, the
Norman king and his army, they will come and none in York will be safe.”

“We must be prepared to flee, Mistress.”

“Yea,” she said on a sigh, “but I wish it was not winter we
were facing. The Humber is too far and the fields too open to go there. This
time it will have to be the forest, where the dense stands of trees can provide
shelter and Magnus can hunt.”

“What about that cave the twins discovered last summer?”
Sigga asked. “It was in the forest.”

Her gaze met Sigga’s. “I had forgotten about that. Yea, it
might serve. We must take the villeins, Jack and Martha, with us. And we must
prepare for bitter cold, for winter is nearly upon us.”

Sigga’s brows furrowed. “What about Inga?”

“We will go slow and she can ride Thyra. I will make her a
soft pillow to sit upon. But Sigga, we must tell her the truth of it. It may be
that her babe, like the Christ child, will be born in a cave.”

* * *

Geoff awoke to a silence he had not known since they were
taken captive. Always there had been the sounds of the Danes coming and going,
drinking or loudly speaking in their harsh tongue. In the gray light of dawn
filtering in through the boards across the window, a thought came to him and he
whispered it aloud. “They are gone.”

“Who has gone?” Alain asked in a sleep-filled voice that
told Geoff the Bear was not quite awake. He had recovered from his wound, as
had Geoff from his, in the many weeks they were held prisoner.

“Our captors.” He stood up from his pallet and crossed the
room to shake the still sleeping Mathieu, the rustling of Geoff’s chains
sounding loud in the stillness of the early morning.

They had slept in their clothes since the day of the battle
so he did not need to dress. Their mail had been taken from them long ago. By
now, what they wore smelled rank, some of it bloodstained. He walked to the
door the Danes had kept barred. He tried the latch and it opened.

In the main room, the hearth fire had been allowed to die.
The front door stood ajar. “Aye, they have left, mayhap in a hurry.”

“Why?” Alain said, approaching with Mathieu.

“I know not why they have gone, but the better question is
why we still live. They could not hate us too much for they have left us our
lives. And the keys,” he added, seeing on the table the ring of keys he had
seen one of their guards carry.

After several tries, he managed to get the key into the
lock. Once he was free of the heavy chains, he quickly unlocked those that
bound his companions, the metal rings slipping from their hands and feet.

Alain rubbed his bruised wrists. “Mayhap your widow’s pleas
did not go unheeded.”

Geoff shrugged. He did not want to think about Emma. She was
gone, most likely with her rebel father.

He strode through the main room to the kitchen of the
well-appointed home just off Coppergate where they had been kept prisoner. They
needed to eat. “Food!” he exclaimed when he saw the remnants of a meal
scattered about the kitchen.

Alain picked up the bread on the worktable and broke off a
piece. “They must have left in a hurry and could not take it all.” He brought
the hunk of bread to his mouth and chewed. “Not old either.”

“Mayhap they did not think to need this food,” suggested
Geoff.

“Looks like they had roast chicken last night,” observed
Mathieu, looking at a half-eaten fowl sitting on a side table. “’Tis not what
they served us.”

“Well, ’tis ours now. Might as well eat while we can,” urged
Geoff, even as he realized food no longer appealed as it once had. The long
days of imprisonment with only the memories of the slaughtered garrison and
Emma’s betrayal to haunt him had robbed him of his desire for food. But they
had to eat to survive and survive he would. “We can carry enough for the next
meal while we search the city.”

He ate some of the chicken but his own smell was ruining
what little appetite he had. “I want out of these bloodstained clothes. Mayhap
they left us water to wash. Mathieu, when you have finished, take a look at the
chests in the chambers above. See if there are any clothes we can wear. Since
we have not shaved and our hair has grown long, we look more like Northumbrians
than Normans.”

“With your fair hair, you could pass for one of the Danes,”
said Alain, piling a plate with food.

“The Danes might have difficulty understanding me,” said
Geoff with a grin, “and you know I would have difficulty keeping silent.
Besides, I suspect the Danes are gone, at least for a time. If we wear the
Northumbrians’ clothing, mayhap we can go among them unnoticed. I doubt the
city is deserted.”

“We will need weapons,” said Alain.

“We might find some knives here in the kitchen,” Geoff
suggested and began looking on the shelves. In a basket on a shelf next to some
clay jars, he found a supply of knives. “Ah, just what we need. And a
sharpening tool!” Geoff had never been so happy to see such crude weapons and
idly wondered who was wearing his fine steel sword.

An hour later, cleaned up and garbed in the clothes Mathieu
had found in the chambers above, they cautiously stepped from the house. Each
had a knife tucked into his leather belt. With their fine woolen tunics and
leggings, and cloaks fastened around their shoulders with metal brooches, they
appeared like good citizens of York, save for their more powerful builds that,
to a discerning person, would identify them as warriors.

Dark clouds told Geoff rain would soon fall. They ambled
down Coppergate, trying to appear as unthreatening as possible. The street was
not empty but many structures lay in ruin. Only a few people now had reason to
traverse the street that had once been home to many shops and homes. In a few
places, he observed new buildings had risen from the rubble.

The tower castle, or what was left of it, was not far, but
it was not Geoff’s destination. He wanted to see if the dragon ships still
occupied the River Ouse.

They reached the bank of the river and he peered down its
course as far as he could see. Nothing. “’Tis as I suspected. The Danes have
deserted York. I wonder why.”

“Mayhap they have what they came for,” Alain suggested, his
voice dripping sarcasm. “They took much plunder in Ipswich and Norwich and a
horde of armor from the knights they killed here in York, horses as well.”

“Whatever the reason, I am glad to be rid of them,” said
Geoff.

“’Tis as if every man went to his own home,” observed
Mathieu staring at the river with nary a ship on it. “… the Danes to their
ships and the Northumbrians to their woods.”

And where has Emma gone?
Geoff wondered.

Something in Emma warned her they had little time. It was the
same feeling she had when the sky grew dark just before a storm. And so it was
with haste and a quickening pulse that she hurried about packing what they
would need, what she must take should they not be able to return. Magnus lay on
the floor, his intelligent eyes watching her every move. It seemed only days
ago she had gathered the same things when the fire threatened their home.

Finna walked into the chamber and stood next to the chest at
the foot of Emma’s bed, gripping her poppet tightly to her small chest. She
watched Emma stuff clothes into the familiar tapestry bag. “Emma,” she in her
little girl voice, “are we going to Jack and Martha’s again?”

Emma paused and came to kneel in front of the child. Taking
her into her arms, she held Finna close, then kissed her on her forehead.

“Yea, we will go to their cottage and then all of us will
have an adventure in the forest.”

“The forest?” Ottar asked from the open doorway where he’d
been listening.

“Aye,” said Emma. She stood and resumed her packing. “Do you
remember the cave you found last summer?” she asked him.

“It was a splendid cave,” he said.

“Well, you can lead the way,” said Emma, “for that is where
we are headed.”

“It was dark,” said Finna, a frown forming on her face.

“You need not worry, Finna. We shall make a warm fire and
there will be candles for light.”

Finna’s brown eyes were full of trust, but Emma sensed she
was not as eager as her brother to take to the woods.

“Do we go for the day?” Ottar asked, his tone revealing his
growing excitement.

“Yea, for the day. But we will also stay for a time.” She
did not want to tell the twins they were fleeing the Normans, or that they
might have to live in the cave for the winter with the ground covered with
snow. For now the sun lingered in the trees and it was not so cold a cloak
failed to provide adequate warmth.

“Why not see if you can help Sigga and Artur pack the food
we will take to make sure she includes your favorites?” The kitchen would be
the best place for the twins. Inga was packing the twins’ clothes and those for
the coming babe. She did not need the two children underfoot.

Ottar, followed by Finna, raced from the chamber, Magnus on
their heels, leaving Emma alone to gaze about the room, realizing how much she
must leave behind, the chest of tapestries, the fine gowns she would not wear
in the woods, her father’s things in his chamber, things too heavy to carry.
She did not like the idea of leaving her home, of fleeing into the forest with
her small family, but she would not ignore the warning. To do so would be
folly. The Normans, even her lover, now considered her one of the rebels though
she had yet to lift her seax against any of them. If the Normans returned, she
and her family would be first on the list of those to be killed. Or, they might
take them prisoners to use against her father.

The two guards her father had left with her had not wanted
to leave their post but it hardly served to guard an empty house. Still, she
gave them a choice.

“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.