The Conqueror (Hot Knights) (24 page)

As Edeva neared the hall, the priest called to her. She met his shrewd gaze, and he motioned that she should follow him to the chapel.

“A pity,” he said once they were inside. “You know, of course, that your brothers will be hanged.” He sighed. “... or something worse.”

“What could be worse than death?”

The priest’s air of melancholy grew more pronounced. “My lady, no matter what Brevrienne has told you, King William is not a man known for lenience. If he doesn’t hang your brothers, he will maim them. Do you not think that they would prefer death to life without their tongues or hands?”

His words made Edeva’s stomach roil. “Why do you tell me this when there is naught I can do?”

He patted her arm. “Only God can aid them, my child. But there are other ways to see that justice is done.”

Edeva, wary, said nothing.

“I do not think it is God’s will that Brevrienne hold Oxbury. He is merely a younger son of a lord of modest means. No more than a common knight. King William raises these men to power, but he forgets that they are not born to rule.” The priest steepled his hands, looking thoughtful. “I believe King William will eventually see the error of his ways and appoint someone else to hold Oxbury. ’Twill be a man more deserving than Brevrienne, someone worthy of wedding the daughter of an important Saxon lord.”

“Why do you tell me this?” Edeva asked again.

“There may come a time when your aid will be required by the new lord. I wanted you to know that I do not think it proper you are forced to share the bed of a man like Brevrienne. You had no choice but to submit to his crude ravishing. But if you act wisely you can better your circumstances.”

Edeva stared at the priest. She had always sensed he did not like her, nor any of the Saxons. Now he spoke as if he wished to help them. She longed to confront him with his hypocrisy, but instinct held her back. Better to learn more of his plans.

“Brevrienne is a strong commander,” she said. “How can you think that he will allow another man to usurp his property?”

The priest’s features twisted into a sinister smile. “Brevrienne has gone to London. By the time he returns, ’twill be too late. Oxbury will already be lost.”

Edeva swallowed her shudder of fear and tried to appear cool and calculating. “Do you know the man who comes to seize control?”

The priest grew uneasy. “I cannot say more,” he said hastily. “I risk much to warn you.”

“I am surprised that you do so,” Edeva could not help saying. “I would not think you would want to aid any Saxon.”

“When I first arrived in England, I shared the prejudices of most Normans. But over time I have come to admire your people. The wealth and luxury goods you possess make it clear that you are not the barbarians I once believed. And you, my lady....” the priest drew near and Edeva stayed her ground only by sheer force of will. “Your beauty is exceptional. I would not see it wasted on one such as Brevrienne.”

Edeva smiled stiffly. The cunning cleric sought to flatter her into betraying Jobert. She had no doubt that if she did so, Father Reibald would immediately argue for the new lord to have her executed as a traitor.

“I will think on what you have said.”

She started to leave. “Don’t forget your brothers,” the priest called after her.

Outside the chapel, Edeva paused, trembling with mingled dread and rage. The priest’s chilling hints filled her with fear, while his obvious manipulation infuriated her. He meant to use her to destroy Jobert. Did he truly think she was that disloyal?

She took deep breaths to calm herself and tried to think. It was obvious that Oxbury was in danger. Jobert had suspected as much, which was why he left her behind. Somehow she must prepare for the upcoming conflict.

Edeva knew little about defending a fortress. Oxbury had never been besieged in her lifetime, and her brothers had not sought to defend the palisade from within, but rather to ambush the Normans before they reached it.

But an ambush would not work in these circumstances. There were not enough of them to even try such a strategy.

With dismay, Edeva thought of the burned place in the palisade wall. The rebels had done much damage to the fortress defenses, only to be captured and defeated anyway. Now Oxbury lay vulnerable to attack from other enemies.

The wall would have to be repaired, and quickly, and Edeva was certain there were other precautions that must be taken. She would have to speak to Fornay. She wondered if she should tell him of the priest’s words?

Nay. Fornay would either not believe her, or imagine she had some sinister motive for warning of an attack. His distrust of her was so great that if she suggested some plan of defensive action, he might very well decide to do the very opposite. But, surely he could not argue against repairing the wall. That was only reasonable.

She went looking for Jobert’s captain and finally found him in the gatehouse. “Sir Alan, if I might speak with you.”

He regarded her coldly, and then followed her down the ladder to the yard. Edeva decided they should seek some privacy. Having seen the priest leave the chapel, she now led the Norman that way.

“Where are you going?” he demanded. “What do you have to say to me?”

“Before he left, Lord Brevrienne suggested that Oxbury might be attacked. If we are in danger, I think it prudent that we plan for it. Jobert also hinted that he did not trust all who dwell here.”

Fornay nodded grudgingly and followed her into the chapel. There in the flickering candlelight, Edeva chose her words with care. “I know little of defending a demesne and must rely on your expertise in these matters. It seems to me that the palisade wall must be repaired. What else must we do to prepare for attack?”

Fornay regarded her skeptically and said, “We will need archers to man the walls. Are there any among your people who have the skill?”

“Of course. Many of the villagers and sokemen hunt game with bow and arrow.”

The Norman’s mouth twitched. “Can these men be relied upon to follow the orders of a Norman?”

Edeva squared her shoulders. “If I asked them to help defend the palisade, they would do so.”

Fornay scrutinized her again. Then his tone became matter-of-fact. “We will need a good supply of arrows for the archers. Set your people to making them. We have food and water aplenty and should be able to endure a long siege. The chief worry is of fire. We must have vats and buckets of water ready. Also rags and raw wool to wet down and smother the flames.”

“In this weather, water left out will freeze.”

Fornay nodded. “We’ll have to store it somewhere, mayhaps in the blacksmith shop and the hall, wherever there is a hearth to keep it from freezing.”

“What else?”

“If we are attacked, there may not be time to send a messenger to the village. How will we alert your people to come to the defense of the palisade?”

Edeva frowned. Although Oxbury was situated so it was easy to sight an enemy entering the valley, it would still take time to get the archers inside the palisade and into position on the walls.

She looked up at the nave. “There is a bell in the upper part of the chapel. It has not been used since my mother died, but I’m certain it still works. We could ring it when we wanted the men to gather.”

Fornay’s gaze followed hers. “I’ll have a squire climb up and search for the rope.”

“P
oor bastards.” Giles nodded toward the Saxon prisoners crowded into the wain.

“I vow it is warmer where they sit among the blankets and hay than it is out here in the wind,” Hamo growled in response.

“I would rather suffer the rawness of the wind than be a Saxon facing King William.”

Hamo gave a grunt of assent and reached up to take his pack down from his saddle. “Still, I do not relish trying to sleep in full armor. Jesu! Are such precautions really necessary?”

“Yea, they are necessary.” The two knights turned as Jobert strode up. “Bands of rebels still roam England, and with our cargo, we make a most enticing target. Would you rather sleep sound and wake up with a war axe in your back?”

At Jobert’s words, Hamo shrugged and went off to the fire. Giles remained to unload his horse. “Do you think William will hang the Saxons?” he asked.

Jobert glanced at the prisoners in the wain. Would William think him weak if he argued for mercy for the youngest of Edeva’s brothers? “I don’t know what William will do,” he answered. “Much will depend upon whether he’s had trouble with the English recently, if he sees them as a serious threat.”

And whether he believes Valois’s lies, Jobert added to himself.

He looked around warily at the copse where they had decided to camp for the night. The tall pines and firs that appeared sheltering by day had acquired a menacing aspect as the light faded. Jobert repressed a shiver, thinking of what dangers might be waiting for them in the shadows.

He approached the wain where the Saxons huddled together, their hands bound in front of them and linked together with stout ropes. There was room to sit in the cart, but not lie down, and Jobert briefly considered allowing them to bed down on the ground. Some inner sense warned him not to.

His squire came up and asked where Jobert wanted his tent set up.

“I’ll sleep out in the open so I can take first watch at guarding the prisoners,” he answered.

After a visit to the cookfire for a welcome hunk of hot venison and a few swallows from a skin of wine, Jobert did just that, arranging his bedroll a few paces from the wain. He told himself that he need not worry about falling asleep, that the ground was too hard, especially with the sharp rings of his mail digging into him.

The next thing he knew, someone was shouting. He shook himself from dull, heavy unconsciousness and started to sit up. The feel of cold iron against his throat froze him in place.

There was more shouting from the wain. Although he could not understand much of it, he did recognize the Saxon word for “kill.” His predicament grew clear. Somehow the prisoners had cut their bonds and one of them held a knife to his throat.

His heart thudded so loud he seemed to hear it above the moan of the wind in the trees.

His attacker spoke to him, whispering some vile epithet. Jobert inched his hand down toward the
misericord
he wore at his ankle. The blade at his throat sliced into skin, releasing a trickle of warm blood.

“Brevrienne! To Brevrienne!” There was a commotion across the camp. Jobert used the moment of distraction to jerk away and roll sideways. By the time the Saxon caught up with him, he was on his feet.

He could see the glint of the knife in the light from the fire as he faced his attacker. The man swore and threw the knife, narrowly missing Jobert’s face.

The Saxon turned and darted toward the woods. He screamed as Jobert’s
misericord
caught him in the back.

Jobert grabbed his sword and took off after him. A dozen paces into the trees, he stumbled over the fleeing Saxon, facedown in the wet leaves.

The man was still alive, breathing in choking rasps. Jobert grabbed his tunic and rolled him over. The Saxon made rattling sounds in his throat. Jobert struggled to think of the Saxon words to ask who had been helping the rebels. The words would not come.

“Is he dead?” Jobert’s squire, Will, spoke from behind him.

“Not yet.”

The man’s breathing grew more labored, then stopped. Jobert stood. “Where are the other men? Why did they not come to my aid?”

“They must have been drugged. Only now are the knights rousing.”

Drugged. Someone had provided weapons for the prisoners and drugged the wine. Jobert’s sense of foreboding increased, and he led the way back to camp with cautious steps.

“Brevrienne, thank God!” Hamo stumbled toward them as they reached the copse. “We thought the Saxons had you.”

Jobert started to answer, then saw Alnoth and Withan in the wain. “What the devil?” he whispered.

Giles and the other knights came up with a torch. “What’s happened? Where are the other prisoners?”

“Gone,” Jobert said, “except for the one who tried to kill me. He’s dead.”

They all stared at the two Saxons in the cart. Alnoth’s young face blazed with proud defiance. Withan watched them with a weary expression.

Jobert approached the wain. “Why... not... run?” he asked haltingly in Saxon. He gestured toward the woods.

Alnoth answered rapidly, baffling them all. Withan spoke in a slow, careful voice. “Swear to you... Brevrienne.” Alnoth nodded.

Jobert drew a deep breath. Edeva’s brother and the old man had honored their vow to serve him. They had not escaped with the others, and it had been Alnoth’s shout that had alerted him to the attack.

“Thank you,” Jobert said in Saxon. “I accept your oath.”

But would William honor the loyalty of a Saxon? The thought troubled Jobert. He might well argue for mercy for the remaining prisoners, only to have the king order them hanged.

Yet, he had to try. Edeva’s brother had saved his life. He must try to do likewise.

He rubbed his forehead as a throbbing headache began. “Fetch the wine,” he told Hamo.

The knight returned with a wineskin. Jobert pretended to drink the contents, then acted as if he was falling asleep. He held out the skin. “Who?” he asked in Saxon. When they didn’t answer, he gestured as if pouring something into the skin.

The two men shook their heads, clearly puzzled. Jobert started to walk away, but Withan called out, “Golde... Godric... lovers.” When Jobert looked at him, Withan nodded meaningfully.

Jobert’s jaw went rigid. The serving wench had obviously helped plan the escape attempt. But had she done it all on her own, or did she have an accomplice? The plot seemed far too complex for a one woman.

Jobert threw the skin to the ground. “Pack up and saddle your mounts,” he told his men.

“Now? ’Tis hours til morning,” Hamo protested.

“Do you want to stay here and risk the other Saxons coming back and murdering us in our sleep?”

“I could stay up and watch,” Will offered.

Jobert shook his head. “I’d not risk it. I’ll not leave one man to face seven cunning Saxons.”

“Six,” Will reminded him

Jobert grunted and went to retrieve his pack.

When all was ready, they mounted and proceeded cautiously through the dark forest. The strain of trying to see the pathway ahead helped Jobert stay alert, but his head still felt fuzzy and his stomach pitched. He’d only had a few swallows of wine. He pitied the men who had indulged in more.

Every time a branch swayed or there was other movement in the gloom around him, his muscles tensed. He had been far too close to death this night. He could still feel the crust of dried blood on his neck and his instincts thrummed with warning. There had been a spy at Oxbury. There might be a spy with them still.

He recalled the expressions on the faces of his men as they gathered around while he questioned the remaining prisoners. They had all appeared groggy and addle-minded, except Will, and he, like Jobert, had only had a few sips of wine:

The moon peeped out from behind the clouds, abruptly lighting the ghostly bare branches and bushes around them. For the dozenth time, the hair on the back of Jobert’s neck prickled with warning.

But nothing happened.

* * *

“My lady!” Osbert rushed up, looking alarmed. “I think you should come to the gatetower. There are knights in the valley.”

Edeva gathered up her skirts and ran headlong across the yard. Knights. Although the guard did not say it, she knew what he feared. If they were attacked by a strong force, they had no hope of holding out.

But why should they be attacked? What was it that Jobert anticipated? Why had he warned them to prepare to defend the manor?

By the time she reached the tower, Edeva was breathless and gasping. The sight that met her eyes forced the rest of the air from her lungs. A whole army spilled along the river trail, a force of Norman knights at least as large as the one Jobert commanded. And they with barely twenty trained soldiers and a half-repaired hole in the palisade walls.

“Sweet Mary,” she whispered. She turned to Osbert. “Do you recognize the leader’s banner? Are they allies of Brevrienne?”

“Nay, I’ve never seen that device before. At least I think not.”

Osbert squinted, staring down at the black banner with some sort of gold figure adorning it. “A fleur de lis, I think it’s called, but I cannot remember which Norman lord carries it.”

“Would Alan know?”

Osbert shrugged.

“Get him,” Edeva ordered. “Before I deal with these men, I would know their connection, if any, to my lord Brevrienne.”

Osbert hurried down the ladder. Edeva continued to scrutinize the approaching force. They did not look as if they meant to attack. They had not drawn their weapons and only a few wore their helmets. But they proceeded toward the palisade with a purposeful air that chilled her blood.

“Payne.” She called down to the knight at the bottom of the ladder. “Run and get one of the stable boys to climb the chapel tower and ring the bell.”

The man ran to do as she bid.

Edeva turned to look down at the valley again. Her heart raced; her hands felt clammy with perspiration. Unless Alan could identify these men as otherwise, she must assume that they were enemies of Jobert. She must not let them inside the gates. Although the timber walls afforded little protection, it was better than nothing.

The bell in the chapel tower began to ring and the yard filled with people as women, children, and workmen assembled in the open area near the manor house. Edeva knew she should speak with them, reassure them somehow, but she had not yet decided what to say.

She saw Alan come tearing across the yard, his mail shirt hanging crooked and his helmet in his hand. “What’s going on?” he shouted up to her.

She motioned that he should climb the ladder and see for himself. He did so, still yelling, “Osbert said that we were about to be attacked. Who is it? What army does he speak of?”

When he reached the tower, panting, Edeva said nothing but merely waited for him to look out and spy the approaching force.

He stared hard. “I don’t know the device, but ’tis a Norman one.”

“Can you think of what their business with us might be?”

Fornay shook his head.

“We must decide what to do, whether to let them into the palisade.”

“Why would we not let them in?” Fornay asked.

“Did Jobert not warn us that we might be attacked?”

“But it looks as if these men come in peace.”

“It might be a trap. They may mean to lull us into thinking they mean no harm, then, when we allow them into the palisade, turn on us and attack.”

Fornay’s eyes narrowed. “So, it is your judgment that we do not let them in?”

“Yea,” Edeva answered, “At least until we know their purpose and whether they mean us ill.”

Fornay gave her a cold, suspicious glance, and then smiled bitterly. “That is enough for me.” He started toward the ladder.

“No!” Edeva grasped his arm. “Don’t do this! Don’t let them in merely to spite me, I beg you!”

Fornay turned. “We really have no choice. If we refuse these men hospitality, and they go to William and complain of it, ’twill go bad for Brevrienne. Nay,” he shook his head, “we cannot risk it. I will order the men to open the gate.”

He turned and started down the ladder. Edeva stared after him. Every instinct warned her not to let the band of knights inside the walls. But what could she do? She was merely a woman, and Fornay was officially in charge of Oxbury’s defense.

A plan flashed through her mind, and in another second, she followed through with it.

There was a pottery jug on the walkway. Edeva picked it up and hurried toward the ladder. As Fornay neared the bottom, she threw the jug, hitting him in the head. He crumpled and slid the few feet to the ground. The helmet in his hand went spinning, landing some distance from his prone body.

Edeva hurried down the ladder and knelt by the knight. He groaned and mumbled something, reaching for his temple. She breathed a sigh of relief. She had not meant to kill him, merely disable him for a time.

“Jesu, what happened to Sir Alan?”

Edeva flinched as Osbert came up behind her, “He fell,” she said flatly. “I think he hit his head. We must get him into bed.”

“Now?”

“Yea, ’tis dangerous for him to be up with a head injury.”

“But what about the soldiers in the valley? Mayhaps if we splashed him with water, he would come to.” She could hear the doubt in Osbert’s voice. She fought panic as Fornay began to groan. Leaning over the injured man’s body so she blocked Osbert’s view, she put her hand over Fornay’s mouth.

“Heed me, soldier,” she said to Osbert, making her voice sharp. “I know enough of healing to be certain what I am about. If we do not get this man to a bed, he could die!”

Osbert responded immediately to her imperative tone. “Of course, my lady. Stand aside and I will carry him.”

Edeva straightened, praying that Alan would stay unconscious for a little while longer.

The burly Osbert picked Alan up and hoisted him over his shoulder. “God’s feet, I wish he did not have mail on,” Osbert grumbled. “It adds near two stone to his weight.”

“Hurry,” Edeva implored.

She helped clear a way through the yard, explaining to the crowd that Sir Alan had fallen from the ladder. Several of the Saxons stared at her in puzzlement, and she guessed some of them must have seen her deliberately cause the fall. Fortunately, the Norman knights and squires had been too busy arming themselves to have observed the happenings on the tower. No one stopped them as they headed toward the manor hall.