Rogue Knight (Medieval Warriors Book 2) (21 page)

“Word has it,” said one of William’s men, “that the Ætheling
has sought refuge in the valley of the Tees north of York. Here,” he pointed to
an isolated area on the map.

“Then that will be our first destination,” said the king.

The next morning, Geoff, Alain and Mathieu rode north with
William and his army. It was not to be an easy path. At times, they crossed
ground so rough they had to dismount and proceed on foot. Each day the weather
grew worse, as snow fell and a harsh winter closed around the knights huddled
beneath their cloaks.

When they finally arrived at the place where Edgar was
supposedly encamped, he was gone. But the trip was not without its rewards.

They cornered the rebels and after fierce fighting, defeated
them, slaying all those who had not fled or were taken prisoner. Earl Waltheof,
who had led his own men, wielded his axe with powerful strokes, but ultimately
even he surrendered and agreed to make his submission to William. The tall,
blond Northumbrian swore his allegiance, kneeling before the king. Geoff
remembered the axe-wielding giant from the battle in York and was amazed to see
that William granted him mercy.

It was from Waltheof they learned that the Ætheling had
retreated to Scotland and King Malcolm’s court.

Cospatric also made his submission to the king, but he did
so by messenger. It was clear to Geoff the Earl of Bamburgh did not trust
William. The fact that the king accepted the submissions, even the one by
proxy, told Geoff that William must need the earls if he was to hold the North.

After the rebels had been slain or captured, the knights
took their vengeance on what was left, burning every village and cottage,
slaying even the serfs. Geoff had no taste for such vengeance. But William had
told them never again would the Danes use the North as a base from which to
attack. In the villages and alongside the roads the knights left rotting
corpses lying where they fell. The stench of death was so thick he could have
cut it with a knife. There was no one left alive to cover the bodies with
earth.

“Mark our words,” William said to his senior knights one
evening in his tent. “We shall be feared as none before us, for we mean to
destroy not only the rebels’ hiding places, but also their means to survive.”

Geoff understood the king’s aim, even the reasons for it,
but he was sickened by the slaughter and the destruction of a land so beautiful
it often left him in awe. And much to Geoff’s regret, William ordered his men
to salt the land to assure that nothing would grow. Beyond that, the king was
ruthless with the hostages they had captured, ordering the torture of many.
Geoff and Alain were thankfully spared such an order and turned away in
disgust.

To Geoff, the decision to destroy an entire people was a
stain on his sire’s honor, for the innocent died along with the guilty. Never
before had William showed such cruelty. Geoff’s own taste for vengeance on
those who had slain his fellow knights had waned with every mile they traveled,
every village they burned, every acre of land laid waste. In the end, he and
his fellow Normans had proved just as vicious as the Northumbrians who had slain
Robert de Comines, the Earl of Northumbria, and Richard FitzRichard, the first
castellan in York. He could not help but wonder what the people who had fled
and still lived would do to survive the harsh winter. To survive the years to
come. He wondered if survival was even possible, for he had heard the wolves
howling in the forest at night.

What would Emma and her children do?
The king had not
spared York or the lands around it. Before they had left for the north, William
had given orders for his remaining knights to lay waste the land.

After nearly a fortnight, satisfied with the results of his
march to Durham, William turned his army south. The return march to York was a
treacherous one, as winter descended with a cold fury and the king chose a
perilous route through forested mountains and snow-covered valleys. Even the
hardened knights and men-at-arms suffered.

“’Tis freezing,” said Alain, crouched on his saddle beneath
his thick, woolen cloak as they rode side-by-side down a treacherous mountain
path. Mathieu followed behind them, the hood of his cloak pulled down over his
eyes.

“I could wish for that beard I had when we lived as
Northumbrians,” Geoff wistfully remarked. Even his gloves had not prevented his
fingers from going numb. He could no longer feel his feet. “The cold pierces
like an arrow. I even heard trees cracking last night.”

“And wolves howling,” said Alain.

The talk of wolves reminded Geoff of an earlier time and
place. “The last time I lived through such a winter was the one Ren and I endured
in the County of Maine when he was attacked by the red wolf.”

“I once heard him tell of it,” said Alain. “He remembers
that night as if it were yesterday.”

“’Tis not a thing he or I would ever forget,” said Geoff.
Nor was the fifty-mile swath of destruction William had cut from York to
Durham. Geoff would remember it always.

As his taste for vengeance subsided, Geoff’s love for Emma
returned. Perhaps it had always been there, for Emma was too much a part of
him. Removed from his rage that day he’d discovered she was Maerleswein’s
daughter, he could now see she had been caught between opposing forces, a
father she loved and a man to whom she had freely given herself despite his
being a French knight. It was a position thrust upon her by circumstances not of
her doing. Circumstances that made them enemies from the beginning.

She had not lied, just never disclosed her noble lineage or
that her father was chief among the rebels. He could hardly blame her. And in
the end, she had saved his life. In his mind he heard Maugris’ words.
You
will find an ally where you least expect it.
The daughter of the rebel
leader was an unexpected ally indeed.

He had once believed Emma was all that was good. But that
conviction had disappeared at her betrayal. Now, that inner conviction of her
goodness returned.
I love her. I will always love her.

William’s war on the North had brought them together and
then it had torn them apart. He had lost her.

With cheerless effort, they straggled on to York. Nearing
the city, Geoff said to Alain, “I would rid myself of the blood that stains my
mail and tunic. I find I crave a wash even more than food.”

The Bear chuckled. “Now that is a change all at Talisand
would find amusing.”

“Aye, well, food will come after. I would have roast pork
tonight and some of that hot bread dripping in butter. Surely they must have
found a stray pig or a wild boar somewhere.” His mouth watered. “And wine. Much
wine.” He wanted to forget the horrible scenes he had witnessed in the past
week and he wanted to forget the haunting image of Emma’s beautiful face that
had never left him in the ride south to York.

“Do you think William would have brought a supply with him
when he came to York?” asked Alain.

“I have never seen him travel without—”

“Look,” shouted Mathieu, “the castles!”

In the distance, Geoff saw what appeared to be new square
towers rising from the snow-covered mottes. William’s new castles. “
Dieu
Merci
,” he said on a sigh. “A place to sleep other than the cold ground.”

As they neared York, the tents of William’s encamped army
filled every space of level land near the castles. Palisades circled the
baileys, the wooden stakes repaired where they had been knocked down or burned.

Having destroyed his enemies, William was once again
asserting his authority over York.

“I grow tired of the fighting,” Geoff said to Alain, “if
that is what it was. ’Twas no even match with William’s ordering the slaying of
mere serfs.”

“I could not find any honor in it,” said his friend, “and
was glad when you steered us away from the burning of the cottages. I long for
the peace of Talisand and Aethel and our babe.”

“Mayhap William will release us if the Danes do not return.”

With that happy thought, Geoff dismounted and left the
horses to Mathieu, telling the squire they would see him at the evening meal.

Once Geoff and Alain had what sufficed for a bath, they
donned the clothes and weapons supplied by their fellow knights, then took
their places at the new trestle tables. There was no head table as yet so the
king sat among them, his half-brother on one side and Geoff on the other. The
hall smelled of new wood, the hearth fire and roasting meat.

Mathieu, along with the other squires, helped serve the king
and his knights since there were few servants to be had.

Over a dinner of roast boar, Robert, who had returned from
the Humber, told them of his encounter with the Danes.

“We kept a close watch on their ships where they were
anchored on the north shore of the Humber. With us there in large numbers, they
could not leave to forage for food.”

“Were the rebels supplying them?” asked William.

“Indeed,” said Robert taking a drink of his wine. “We found
their camps in the marshes but we soon cut that line of supply.”

“Men cannot eat treasure,” said William. “They would soon
grow desperate. But what of our nobles?”

“I sent a messenger,” said Robert, “asking to talk. Left
with the prospect of a miserable existence and little food for so many men,
their leader, Osbjorn, agreed. After much haggling, he was persuaded to accept
your gold in exchange for our nobles’ return and the Danes departure at
winter’s end.”

“We do not like leaving our nobles with the raiders for the
winter,” said the king, “but ’tis not surprising they demanded it of you. Do
you believe the pirates will keep their word?”

“Aye, I believe Osbjorn means to return them at winter’s
end. He wants your gold and he did not seem to want to face your army.”

“They will not leave empty-handed,” William ruefully
acknowledged. “In addition to our gold, their ships are full of treasure taken from
East Anglia.”

“My men will remain,” said Robert, “allowing only food to
pass to the ships. The Danes cannot endure the winter without a few hunting
trips.”

“Then you have done all we could ask,” said the king.

Relieved to hear the Danes would not be returning to York
when William and his half-brother took their leave, Geoff lifted his cup to
Alain. “To our soon return to Talisand!” While the thought pleased him, inside
he was not all gladness, for he had never believed he would return to Talisand
without Emma. Their days in the meadow had convinced him she would finally
agree to become his wife. How wrong he had been.

Later that evening, on his way to his chamber, William, who
stood at one end of the hall with Robert, stopped him.

“We are determined to celebrate Christmas in York,” said the
king, “no matter it will be amidst the Minster’s ashes. But after that, we ride
to Cheshire. And you will accompany our army, Sir Geoffroi.”

Geoff bowed his head. “As you wish, Sire.”

“You will be pleased to hear that after Cheshire,” continued
William, “since we will be near the Red Wolf’s den, you and your companions may
be released. If all goes well, I might even pay our wolf a visit.”

Geoff watched the king stride away, thinking of the awful
punishment he had inflicted upon the North, hoping to never see the likes of it
again. In his mind echoed Maugris’ words.

William is a great king, but terrible in his wrath.

Emma woke to the call of a thrush, its flute-like song one
she could not ignore even inside the cave. The long days of summer were gone.
No longer did the linnet send its melodious notes over the green meadow that
had once provided a soft bed for her and her Norman lover. No longer did the
lavender flowers bloom at the forest’s edge. Now the brown thrush with its
spotted chest trilled its solitary song over the bleak, winter forest.

A longing filled her heart for those earlier sun-filled days
of love, so strong at times it caused her to shudder. She missed her gallant
knight, his easy smile and his welcoming arms. He had brought laughter into her
life. Now it was gone. But ’twould do no good to ponder what could not be. She
had her little family to care for and protect.

Ottar had shown them the way to his cave. Once Artur and
Magnus had chased away the small animals that dwelled there, its chambers,
leading deep into the limestone cliffs, became their home. The main chamber was
very large, at least fifteen feet in height. Deeper into the cave, the chambers
were smaller and devoid of light. They always took candles when going into
them. They stored food in one of the chambers. The twins, Inga and Emma slept
in another, Artur and Sigga in a third and Jack and Martha in yet another.
Inside the cave, the ground was hard, coarse rock but their pallets and furs
made it tolerable.

A boulder and a dense stand of trees hid the opening of the
cave, which was large enough near its entrance to provide shelter for Emma’s
mare. At night, the two guards slept by the fire they made inside the main
chamber, giving Emma a sense of safety, though she well knew if the Norman army
discovered them, the guards would afford little protection.

From the guards, who scouted far afield, she had learned the
Normans had returned to claim York and now a large part of the army was headed
north toward Durham, destroying all in its path. She was glad for the dream
that had allowed them to escape. Were there others who had fled? She had warned
her neighbors but was not certain they would heed her plea to leave.

Living in the forest required everyone to do their part, but
the duties were not onerous. Ottar fished in the stream near the cave and
foraged for plants with Sigga. Magnus hunted for hares and squirrels, but Emma
would not allow him to leave the cave at night for it was then the wolves
howled. The women cooked and saw to the needs of the children. Finna helped.
The guards, who grumbled that they had been turned into serfs, helped Artur and
Jack to hunt and kept the fire going. During the day, all of them gathered
wood. Each night before they took to their pallets, the men laid heavy brush
across the cave’s entrance.

With December and the onset of winter, the days grew short
and the air so cold, Emma could see her breath. The frost on the morning ground
did not always melt in the midday sun and seeing the thick coats of the
squirrels, she knew it was only a matter of time before the forest was
blanketed in white.

Hearing the twins stirring, Emma rose and fumbled to light a
candle. Once it burned brightly, she donned her woolen tunic over the
undertunic she slept in, and pulled on her woolen socks and leather shoes. She
let Inga sleep, for the babe had given her a restless night. By Emma’s
counting, in a sennight Inga would become a mother.

Emma found her way to the main chamber where Sigga huddled
under her cloak, tending the cooking fire. “Artur and one of the guards have
gone for water. Magnus is with them.”

Emma added a log to the fire and sat beside her servant who
had begun to measure out grain for gruel. Sigga had been a stalwart soul
throughout the ordeal. “Thank you, Sigga, for your faithfulness. We would not
eat so well if I were to cook our meals.”

The servant gathered her cloak around her with one hand
while she reached for a bowl with the other. “Mistress, you are the one who
holds us together. You carry the weight of us all. If it were not for you, we
would not just suffer the cold, we would be long dead by now. You have kept us
alive and safe.”

Emma reached for the dried berries to add to their morning
meal, wondering how long any of them would be safe. “God and the archbishop’s
prayers that live beyond him protect us, Sigga. I can think of no other reason.
Did not God send the dream to warn us?”

Sigga’s hazel eyes held a glimmer of hope. “Aye. I believe
he did.”

“Once winter has passed, we will find a new home,” Emma
encouraged, all the while knowing it would not be anywhere near York. Sigga
said nothing, mayhap because, like Emma, she did not know where they would go.

Since the guards had cleared the brush away from the entrance
and let Thyra out to be watered, the cave took on the faint light of the new
day, making it easier to see using only the light of the cooking fire.

Finna was the next to rouse from the rear chambers,
stumbling out as she rubbed sleep from her eyes while clutching her poppet. The
cloth plaything had become her constant companion, its red tunic now soiled
from being dragged everywhere with the child. It occurred to Emma the poppet
was, to Finna, a symbol of happier days.

She held out her arms to Finna who came to sit in her lap.
“Are those your warm socks?” she asked the child.

“Yea, and my warmest tunic, but I’m still cold.”

She hugged the girl to her. “Soon the fire will warm you and
we will have some hot gruel in our stomachs.” She rubbed Finna’s belly making
her laugh.

Artur and the guard returned carrying water and more wood.
Magnus, trailing alongside the men, trotted over to greet Emma and Finna. The
child stroked his rough fur as he plopped down next to Emma.

“I think your hound likes living in the forest,” said Artur,
handing his wife the wooden bucket, water sloshing over the sides. He took the
wood from the guard and stacked it next to the cooking fire. “Magnus was a
happy fellow, running in circles around us.”

Magnus’ tail beat against the ground as if he were anxious
to tell her of his morning adventure.

As the men sat around the fire, Jack and Martha came from
their chamber to join them, reaching out their hands toward the warmth of the
fire. Jack scratched his belly, then ran his fingers through his mussed hair.
“I sleep right well in the cave,” he remarked with good humor.

“Speak not for me, husband,” said Martha, rubbing her back.
Her brown plaits were graying but she was not old. “I can nay get used to the
hard ground.”

Once Ottar and Inga had risen from their pallets, they all
sat together around the fire, breaking their fast. Emma was glad for their
company, for each had given to her in his or her own way. And she had given to
them all she could.

When they had finished the meal, they went about their
chores.

Emma set aside her half-eaten bowl of gruel. Her stomach
lurched and her head suddenly began to pound. She did not feel at all well.
Raising her palm to her forehead, she felt her burning skin. Unlike the others,
she had not felt the cold.

* * *

Two weeks before Christmas, because rumors persisted of
rebels around York, William ordered Geoff to lead a group of knights to make a
sweep of the buildings that still remained in the city and to scout out the
surrounding countryside. Geoff selected nine knights to accompany him, Alain
and Mathieu, who was nearly a knight himself. All had been with him on the
march to Durham.

Inside the city walls, there were enough homes and shops
remaining, even some that had been newly rebuilt, that it seemed prudent to
Geoff to divide the men into four groups of three, each taking a different
section of the city. He reserved the quadrant containing Emma’s home to search
for himself.

With Alain and Mathieu on either side of him, he rode
through the debris-filled streets of York, past the burned out Minster, to the
part of the city where Emma had lived. A rain had melted much of the snow but
patches of white remained. The homes in that part of the city had not fallen
victim to the fire, but as they began their inspection, it was clear they had
been ransacked and were devoid of people.

Entering Emma’s home, Geoff was assaulted by memories. It
was cold now, but he imagined a blazing fire in the hearth ring and Emma
sitting beside the flames. In his mind, he heard the laughter of the twins. He
could smell the stew they had shared. He could taste the honey wine.
Where
had Emma gone?

“’Tis a mess,” said Alain when they discovered the chests in
Emma’s chamber, the remains of their contents scattered on the floor, the
things the departing Danes or arriving Normans did not want.

Geoff stared at Emma’s bed, remembering the first time she
had brought him here and their first coming together. He turned away, but not
before Alain had seen his regret.

“At least with her father, she is safe,” the Bear said.

“Aye,” was all Geoff could manage to say.

They walked through each room, taking more time than they
might have with another dwelling. The house had more memories for him, each
room bringing a picture to his mind of the twins or Magnus, Sigga and her berry
tarts, even the sword-maker and his daughter.

He could see by the gloomy expressions on the faces of his
companions that he was not the only one with fond memories of the times they
had spent in this home. “Come, let us be done with this,” he urged Alain. “We
still have the woods to search.”

Before he left the house, Geoff retrieved one thing he had
hidden there under some boards beneath the work table inside the kitchen.

As had been his plan, sometime later they joined the rest of
the men on Coppergate. Other than a few villeins who had taken shelter in some
of the homes, they found nothing of note. There were no warriors and no rebels.

“You did not kill the people you found, did you?” he asked
the others.

“Nay,” replied one of the knights. “Done enough killing of
serfs.”

“
Bien
. I too would have spared them. Now for the
woods.”

To better enable them to cover the surrounding countryside,
Geoff divided the twelve men into two groups and chose for himself the woods to
the west of the city.

“We will meet back at the castle before the evening meal.”

The one appointed to lead the other group waved as his group
of six rode off toward the east.

Geoff turned Athos toward the woods.

* * *

“Her fever still rages,” Sigga informed the worried Martha,
standing at the entrance to the chamber where Emma lay at the back of the cave.
Candles lit the dark space but added little warmth. Magnus lay close to the
pallet his head on his paws. “This wet cloth does little to cool her even with
the chill in the air.” She reached out to bathe her mistress’ face once again,
despairing of hope. As soon as she laid the cloth on Emma’s forehead, it became
hot to the touch. “She is out of her mind most of the time. Once she awakened
but she was so confused I do not think she recognized me. She takes no
nourishment. Martha, I am scared.”

“At least she no longer spews up her stomach,” encouraged
Martha.

“That is because her stomach is empty, poor mistress. I made
her some ginger tea but even that she would not touch.” Looking up at the
villein who had come to inquire after Emma, Sigga chided, “You should not be
here, Martha. You cannot become ill; Inga will need you for the babe. ’Twill be
here any day. If you were to come down with the sickness that has befallen our
mistress, it would leave only me and I do not have your skills.”

Martha hesitated, her worried gaze fixed on Emma. “Ye think
we might lose her?”

“I refuse to consider it. She will recover. She must.”

Three days had passed since Emma had fallen ill. Sigga was
gravely worried. She had friends who had died of such fever. Emma had lost
weight for lack of food. And she was weak. They had moved her to a chamber deep
in the cave to isolate her from the children and Inga. Only Sigga had spent any
time inside the chamber where Emma lay too fevered at times to know where she
was.

Emma moaned in her sleep, mumbling, “Geoffroi, Geoffr—”

Sigga dipped the cloth in the bowl of cold water, wrung it
out and placed it on Emma’s forehead. “It will be all right, Mistress.”
I
know you miss him
.

“Who is it she calls for?” asked Martha.

“Sir Geoffroi.”

“A… a French knight?” Martha stammered, disbelieving.

After all they had lived through, the question did not
surprise Sigga. “Aye, but one to whom we owe much.”
One whom her mistress
loved.
Sigga had observed the inner light that had shown from Emma’s face
whenever she was with the Norman. After each of her trips to pick flowers last
summer, her eyes had sparkled with some secret knowledge; her face had glowed
with happiness. Sigga had known from the beginning that it was not the flowers
that drew Emma to the meadow. It was the French knight. Sigga was certain the
two loved each other. Sadness overcame her as she thought of the pair. Her
mistress had only found love only to lose it.

“You should go, Martha,” Sigga urged the woman.

“All right,” Martha said at last. “I will leave… for Inga’s
sake.”

“’Tis best. Will you ask Artur to take Ottar to gather some
pine needles and herbs? Some garlic root, chickweed and St. John’s Wort? Even in
winter they can be found buried under leaves beneath the snow. Ottar has picked
those herbs with me before. He knows where to find them. I must have them to
make a tea for the fever. She cannot go on like this. If I can get her to take
the tea, it may help.”

“Aye,” said Martha, her brows drawn together as she gazed
down at Emma. “I will send Artur and Ottar with the guards. Jack can stay with
us.”