The Red Wolf's Prize (14 page)

His hazel eyes had sparks of green and his dark brown hair
was wavy to his nape, a sensual man with a face that said he’d experienced much
of life. “What know ye of what I think, sir knight?”

“I know you were jealous of Lady Serena even when we all
thought her to be a servant. It need not be so. You are a beautiful woman and
should have a man of your own.”

Aethel hardly knew what to say. She had played second choice
for so long she had become used to the role though, in truth, she had always
wanted more. “A man like ye, sir knight?” she teased, assuming he was not
serious. With his large muscled chest and arms, he was a giant of a man. And
not unattractive. “Would ye be wanting me for a night?” She had no intention of
giving herself to this man, if that is what he sought, but she would know.

“Nay, Aethel. I would have you for more.”

Aethel shivered at the heat she observed in his eyes, a
fierce look that seemed to peel away all her layers of defense.

“I would have you for my wife.”

“Wife?” Was the Red Wolf’s banner man sincere? Though men
had desired her, even some of the Red Wolf’s men, Aethel had never been offered
marriage. And since Theodric had rejected her love, and she’d gone to the old
thegn’s bed, she thought she would never have a husband or children of her own.
She knew enough of herbs to assure she would not birth a bastard. But as a
child, she’d had dreams. Always they were of the fair-haired Theodric, captain
of the thegn’s guard, who she’d watched at swordplay from the time they were
both children. But those dreams died years ago.

“Aye,
wife
.” His gaze did not falter and in his eyes
she saw a challenge. He meant what he said!

“Ye seem very certain of me when ye know me not at all, Sir
Alain.”

“I know this, Aethel: you would make me a fine wife. Though
I have seen you make eyes at the Red Wolf, you have been with no man, be he
knight or villein, since I came to Talisand. I want a family and I want a woman
I desire above others to birth my sons. You will be that woman.”

A shyness suddenly came over Aethel, as if he had stripped
away the crust she had formed to protect her broken heart. Glancing down at her
feet, she whispered, “I am not worthy. Ye should have a fine lady, one who has
known no other man.”

“I shall have the woman I want, Aethel.” Taking her hand, he
lifted her fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. “And I want
you.”

* * *

Standing in the yard, Serena’s gaze followed the Red Wolf as
he departed Talisand, sitting tall on his gray stallion at the head of the
column of knights and retainers. A sudden jolt of pride made her chest swell
knowing he was hers, yet that pride warred with the knowledge he rode to battle
against yet another English city.

Brown hosen covered his long muscled legs, crisscrossed by
leather straps from his ankles to just below the knee where they were met by
tunic and mail. Over his mail, beneath his cloak, he had donned the pelt of the
beast, announcing to all he rode as William’s knight.

Though the knights rode palfreys and other horses, their
powerful destriers traveled with them, ready for battle. The Red Wolf’s banner,
held high by the burly knight, Sir Alain, waved in the breeze, a snarling red
wolf on a dark blue field.

Jamie now rode in the Red Wolf’s personal attachment. When
she’d bid the boy safe travels, his smile beamed from where he’d sat atop the
small horse, delighted to be accompanying his master to battle. A foreboding
swept over Serena as she thought of the terrible scenes the boy might witness,
battles where a small boy might be caught in the fray. Jamie had never seen
war, though he knew well men could be slain and never return. The Red Wolf had
assured her he would keep the boy safe, but she had witnessed the knights in
their mail securing their shields and lances to their saddles and experienced
the unease of one who has bidden warriors farewell never to see them again.

As she had said she would, she had wished the Red Wolf
“Godspeed” from where she stood next to his stallion in the yard. In response,
with his chestnut hair blowing across his forehead, he reached down, wrapped
his arm around her waist and lifted her to him, soundly kissing her for all to
see. The kiss was possessive and nearly punishing, but it roused within her a
longing she could not deny as she brought her arms around his neck to hold him
close and return his kiss. When he had set her feet on the ground, she had flushed
with embarrassment seeing the smiles on the faces of his knights.

Aethel and Cassie had been in the yard as well, but they had
been looking at other knights. Cassie had eyes only for Sir Maurin, and to
Serena’s surprise, Aethel was waving to a smiling Sir Alain who rode behind the
Red Wolf.

The column of knights grew smaller and began to disappear
over the hill in the distance when Serena climbed to the roof walk. Raising her
hand to shelter her eyes against the midday sun, she gazed at the men and their
horses fading from sight. She felt a deep sadness at the Red Wolf’s going, and
that surprised her. Embarrassed by her feelings for the Norman knight, she
dropped her hand, intent on returning to her duties as the Lady of Talisand.
She would stay busy and soon he would return.

The sound of a hammer striking wood drew her attention to
the yard below where a man mended a wooden sheep’s pen. A boy walked toward the
kitchen, carrying a catch of fish. And a few chickens squawked as they found
themselves in the path of a tinker and his cart pulled by a donkey slowly
plodding through the gate.

The traveling merchant was clearly English, his beard
showing below the wide brimmed straw hat he wore upon his head. From beneath
the cart’s cover, she observed a flash of bright sapphire blue, and next to it,
a deep shade of crimson, bolts of cloth he had come to sell. ’Twas most unusual
to see such cloth in a tinker’s cart, but now that she was once again wearing
the clothes of the Lady of Talisand, she needed a new cloak and a few gowns for
she’d had no new ones since before her father left for Hastings.

Descending to her chamber, she found Cassie attending the
room. “Cassie, a tinker has come and his wares look more like those of a
mercer. Perchance he will have some velvet for us to see.”

Her handmaiden set aside the linens she was folding. “He
might have silks as well. Ye should have a fine silk gown for yer wedding and
also one for court. Sir Maurin told me the Norman king favors the Red Wolf. Ye
may be asked to go with him now that ye’ll be his countess.”

“Oh, Cassie,” she sighed, sinking onto the chest at the foot
of her bed. “I have no desire to dance attendance on the Norman king I despise,
but I will go with you to see the tinker’s cloth. Mayhap he will have a riband
or two for us.”

Cassie’s eyes lit up. “I would love a new one!”

When Serena and her handmaiden reached the yard, they found
it filling with women who had left off their chores to peruse the wares of the
traveling merchant. The weavers, Ingrith and Annis, appeared especially curious
to compare the woolens he had with their fine cloth. Aethel, who had been
distant since Serena had returned to Talisand with the Red Wolf, seemed
remarkably cheerful as she examined some ribands in colors of scarlet and
emerald green.

Hulda, the potter’s wife, and her young assistant, Edith,
who had been injured in the kiln accident, were peering eagerly into the
merchant’s cart.

“Are you well, Edith?” asked Serena. She had not seen the
girl since being told she would recover.

“Aye, m’lady. I am. A few scars that will nay go away, but
’twas to be expected. I thank ye for what ye and the Norman lord did fer me.
Hulda told me of yer kindness. I’m making a special bowl fer yer wedding feast.
This time,” she said with a blush, “I’ll be asking fer Godfrith’s help.”

Serena’s cheeks warmed at the reminder that the day was not
far off that would bind her to the Norman for the rest of her life. That is, if
he returned from Exeter. But she refused to consider he might not. Instead, she
thought of her people who seemed to be looking toward the future. A wedding
blessing and a feast would be expected for the lord and his bride.

“’Tis most kind of you to think of me, Edith.”

Cassie fingered the blue silk the man had spread out on top
of the other bolts.

“My lady,” she directed her comment to Serena, “this would
make a fine wedding gown.”

“Aye, it would.” Serena stroked the shimmering cloth and
looked at the merchant. “You have brought us rich wares, good sir.”

He glanced at the silver and gold circlet that still graced
the crown of her head. “Me name’s Fugol, m’lady. Be ye the Lady of Talisand?”

“Aye, I am Lady Serena. Do you travel far?”

“From Mercia, m’lady.”

Serena knew Mercia to be the lands of Earl Edwin, but she
would not speak his name to this man. “’Tis a far distance you’ve come.”

“Not so far, m’lady. No more than few days’ ride. Though my
cart travels more slowly, ’o course. I had heard the old lord of Talisand
clothed his people well and loved his daughter much. ’Twas why I came. I thought
mayhap ye’d want some of me fine velvets and silks.”

She smiled at the merchant. “You are correct, good sir.”
Running her hands over the shimmering cloth, Serena glanced at the women of
Talisand standing around the cart, captivated by the rich fabrics the likes of
which were rarely seen in the village. “Though my father is no longer with us.
We lost him at Hastings.”

“You have me sympathy, m’lady. England lost many good men
that awful day.”

She nodded sadly and let out a sigh. But it was no use
dwelling on the past or the father she would not see again in this life.

She perused the silks among the mercer’s wares. They were
too fine for daily wear, but Cassie was right, she would need a wedding gown.
Such a gown would be needful when she entertained the Red Wolf’s guests. “Some
ribands and some silk for a gown would serve well, good sir.”

Serena made a selection and gave Fugol the coins to buy the
blue silk that Cassie had found for her, some emerald silk for another gown and
some ribands for her handmaiden. While Cassie was engaged in a conversation
with one of the village women, Serena also bought some green velvet and a
fabric of the same color green to go with it that was imprinted with a gold
pattern. They would make a lovely wedding dress for Cassie with her red hair.
Perfect for a harvest wedding, though she did not tell her friend of her
thinking.

Sir Maurin was spending the time that was his own with
Cassie, and though the handmaiden had said nothing, Serena believed the two
were falling in love. She had never considered the possibility either she or
Cassie would wed Normans, but it seemed her thoughts mattered little. For
Cassie to marry a knight was a good match, more than she might have expected.
Sir Maurin was no fool. Anyone could see Cassie was a woman to treasure.

Two weeks passed with no word from the knights who had
ridden south. Serena anxiously awaited a messenger while working hard at her
duties, and sewing with Cassie the gowns they were making together. The stands
of wheat grew high and turned golden in the long days of summer. The orchards
were showing the new apples they would harvest in the fall. And rising above
the manor to the south was the wooden castle set on the large motte of earth.

Rhodri lingered at Talisand and he and Serena sang for the
people in the evenings. It was almost like the days of her youth except that
Norman French could be heard in the hall and Normans sat at the high table.

As summer lingered, Serena struggled with her emotions. Most
of her people appeared resigned to their new lord now that she was to be his
bride. But a niggling question persisted in her mind. Was she?

Morcar was eager for news. “What did you learn?” he anxiously
asked Fugol while his brother looked on. “Does she remain unwed?”

“My lord,” said the brown-haired Saxon, his beard now
trimmed and his attire resembling that of a freeman in the employ of a wealthy
earl, “I met Lady Serena when she came to see the wares ye gave me to sell. She
wore no ring and her hair was uncovered, but the people spoke of a coming
wedding to the Norman who has been given Talisand.”

“I knew it!” shouted Morcar, slamming his fist on the table,
the sound reverberating off the walls of Edwin’s solar in Mercia. “Damn William
for promising one of the fairest English maidens to one of his knights when her
father would have given her to me.”

“Not just any knight, my lord,” added Fugol. “’Tis Sir
Renaud, the one they call the Red Wolf.”

“I know of him,” said Edwin from where he sat at the end of
the table stroking his beard. “He has long fought at William’s side. When we
were dragged off to Normandy as William’s
guests
, the Red Wolf was one
of the senior knights the king left in London, one he trusted with his
affairs.”

“Yea, and I seem to recall him when we were still at
William’s court,” said Morcar. His eyes narrowed on the spy. “He wore that pelt
that has branded him as vicious as the animal he killed. Was he at Talisand?”

“Nay,” said Fugol. “He and most of his knights and
men-at-arms were gone ere I came, summoned by William to Exeter to join him in
a siege of that city where some Saxons are holding out against him.”

“I pity the good citizens of Exeter,” said Edwin.

“The only Normans left at Talisand,” said Fugol, “are guards
or those supervising the work on the castle they are building.”

Directing his words to his brother, Morcar said, “It seems
William is intent on leaving his mark all over England with those infernal
castles. Our hopes to be left alone to rule the north are crumbling to
nothing.”

“I still hold Mercia,” said Edwin, “though for how long I
cannot say.”

Morcar shifted his gaze to Fugol. “What about her brother
Steinar?”

“He’s no longer at Talisand, my lord. According to the woman
Aethel, he is in Scotland.”

Morcar traded looks with his brother. They had been in
contact with Edgar who was safely ensconced across the border, waiting for an
opportunity to return to reclaim the English throne. And they knew Steinar must
be with him.

Returning his attention to the spy, Morcar asked, “Can the
lady be taken?”

“Aye.” The spy smiled. “As I told ye, there be few guards,
though one of the Norman knights follows her about and sits near when she dines
at the high table with Sir Maurin, the knight left in charge. The wench ye sent
me to, Aethel, may know how best to get in and out of the manor unseen. She
seemed willing enough to help. She told me Lady Serena had twice tried to
escape, but was brought back each time.”

“She sought to escape?” asked Edwin.

“Aye, she did,” said Fugol. “Brave lady that she is. But
when I was there, she bought silk for a wedding gown from my cart.”

“Mayhap she feels she has no other choice,” said Morcar. He
would give her another choice and soon. “Ye said naught to Lady Serena?” He
wanted to limit those who were aware of his plans. Though he knew Serena must
be unhappy at the prospect of being forced to wed a Norman, he did not want his
spy’s presence to become known.

“To Lady Serena, I spoke only about the cloth I sold. About
my mission I spoke only to Aethel.”

Rising, Morcar faced his brother. “Then we go forward as
planned. As it happens, there is a Norman mercenary knight who only a few days
ago approached me offering his sword. Though I trust not a turncoat, this one
by fortune’s chance has been at Talisand and may be of use. It seems he rode
with the Red Wolf only a short while ago. They disagreed over some matter
leaving the mercenary bitter.”

“Oh?” Edwin raised a brow. “And who might he be?”

“He gave the name Sir Hugue.”

* * *

Renaud and his men neared Exeter and still his thoughts
lingered on Lady Serena as they had on the long journey south. He had not
wanted to leave her; their relationship was too new, too tenuous. But William’s
summons could not be refused.

The sounds of the siege filled the air, interrupting his
thoughts, even before he and his knights were close enough to see the old Roman
walls. The projectiles shooting from the Norman catapult made a loud whooshing
sound renting the stillness of the countryside. Close up, he knew the noise
would be deafening.

As he and his men drew nearer, he heard the clash of steel
upon shields a short distance away. The Norman knights were practicing the
skills they would need when the siege broke through the ancient walls. Even
now, William’s men assaulted those walls, and Renaud paused to study the
effects of their efforts.

From where he sat on Belasco, hundreds of knights and
men-at-arms circled the red walls. Arrows rained down from the battlements on
those close enough to be within range. In response, William’s archers launched
a blast of arrows tipped in flaming oil. The sound of the flying shafts was
like a rushing wind. The odor of the pungent oil rose to his nostrils.

Some of William’s men attempted to scale the walls. From
this distance, they looked like ants climbing over a mound of earth, only to be
repelled by the defenders at the top with kettles of rocks and scalding oil.
Shrieks of men sent plunging to their deaths reminded him of the ugliness of
war. Though it had been his life for nearly two decades, he longed to see the end
of it.

It looked as if William was throwing everything he had at
the English rebels, yet still the stubborn walls stood.

Surely there must be a way…

“Look! There lies William’s tent,” shouted Geoff over the
tumult.

Renaud turned his attention to the golden leopards on a
field of red flying above the largest tent in the middle of those housing
William’s army.

“Have Sir Alain and the men find a place for our tents while
you and I report to William.”

Geoff passed the orders to the banner man as Renaud made his
way toward the tent displaying the royal standard.

He dismounted as Geoff caught up with him. They entered the
striped tent together to find William, wearing his hauberk, standing over a
table. Several of his closest advisors and knights huddled around him as the
king studied a drawing of the walled city.

“Sire.” Renaud dropped to one knee and Geoff followed suit.

“Ah, the wolf comes!” said the king. “Rise, Lord Talisand.
We are glad you are here. We have need of you and your men.” With a nod to
Geoff, William continued. “As you have no doubt seen,” he gestured in the
direction of the city, “we assault the walls of Exeter and yet the stubborn
English remain, over two thousand of them defying our request for their oath of
fealty and payment of tribute.”

“I am surprised they refused,” Renaud said. “After all, you
have conquered half of England.”

“Humph. We have been up and down with that,” said William.
“First the chief citizens sent a message saying they would not swear allegiance
to us, though they would condescend to pay a tribute ‘according to ancient
custom’. We suppose they did not get our message when we sacked the towns of
Devon on our way here.”

Renaud heard the sarcasm in his king’s voice and knew well
enough the citizens had made a grievous error ignoring such warnings. William
would show them no mercy if they persisted. “Surely they could not be thinking
to hold out against you.”

“Well, they did, mayhap spurred on by the English who joined
them from Somerset and Dorset. Then there is Gytha, the mother of Harold
Godwinson, to consider. No doubt she has stirred the Saxons to a fervor in
their rebellion.”

Renaud remembered Serena’s words describing the woman’s
urgent request for her son’s body. A request William had denied.

“We told them their offer of tribute according to ancient
custom does not suit,” the king continued. “We will not have subjects on such
conditions. We will have no conditions at all!”

“And what of your army?” Renaud asked, incredulous. “Did not
the English fear so many?”

“Oh, yea,” said William. “When they heard we had an army,
they changed their course. The elders of the city came out to meet us, crying
peace, offering hostages and swearing they would do all we asked. But the good
citizens within must have disagreed for when we approached the city, we found
the gates locked against us. We had the eyes of one hostage put out, and
another hanged, all to no avail. The stubborn English have tried our patience
overmuch.”

Renaud inwardly cringed at the memory of revenge he had seen
William exact when his will had been defied.

“So we brought our army to the city and laid siege. Yet, as
you see, the walls still stand. We must have those walls down!”

It was clear to Renaud the affair had put his sire in a most
foul mood. The siege must be brought to a successful conclusion, and soon, if
any of the English behind the walls were to be spared. He did not want to tell
Serena of another bloodbath.

“One of the English had the audacity to insult the king,”
said the knight Renaud recognized as Sir Baldwin de Meules, “dropping his
chausses and loudly breaking wind.”

The dour look on William’s face told Renaud it had been the
final insult.

“How long has the siege gone on?” Renaud asked.

“We ordered the siege begun nearly two weeks ago,” said the
king. “The English have manned the walls continuously ever since. Their
missiles have taken a toll on our army. With God’s help, I mean to see them
pay.”

“How many have we left?” Renaud asked Sir Baldwin.

“Two hundred on horse and more on foot. Some over-hasty
assaults early on by enthusiastic knights led to many losses.”

William shrugged at the news of the men he had lost.

“You are just in time to lead a task we’ve in mind,” said
William, his mouth set in grim determination. Renaud had seen that look before.
It did not bode well for the Saxons behind Exeter’s walls.

“As you wish, Sire.”

The king was in his element. His sun bleached brown hair was
in slight disarray beneath his crown as he fingered his mustache. His intense
blue eyes focused on the parchment spread before him. “We’ve been studying this
drawing with the idea of undermining the walls from beneath,” said William,
shoving a chart toward Renaud. “What think you?”

Renaud carefully examined the drawing, remembering what he
had seen as he’d scrutinized the old walls on his approach. Pointing to the
East Gate, he said, “It seems like this might be a weak place worthy of your
attention, Sire.”

“We thought so,” said the king with a gleam in his eye. “But
we are glad to have you confirm it. That is where the dry moat lies.”

“We’ll need protection from their arrows and boiling oil, of
course,” Renaud said, speaking his mental list aloud, “and your engineers to
dig the tunnels. But it can be done.”

“His Grace has ordered the protection you speak of and his
engineers stand ready,” offered Sir Baldwin.

“See to it, Lord Talisand,” ordered William. “We want those
walls down!”

The last thing Renaud wanted was to slay more English. The
people of Talisand were now his people, their lady soon to be his lady. If he
could undermine the wall, the city could be taken with fewer casualties and
William might be persuaded to grant clemency.

It took nearly a week before they began to see the progress
in the tunnel that Renaud had been hoping for. In the meantime, William’s army
continued the assault with the utmost force, Renaud’s own men joining the
attacks on the English stationed on the walls while the engineers supervised
the digging to provide them access from beneath.

The thirty-foot siege tunnel under the East Gate was nearly
complete when Renaud thought to add another, smaller tunnel, this one under the
wall itself. It might weaken the structure enough to bring down the wall. It
had just been completed this morning.

“M’lord, ye must see it!” said Jamie excitedly as he ran to
where Renaud was honing his skills in the practice field. “A huge cloud of dust
rises where the wall has collapsed from yer tunnel!”

Handing his shield to Mathieu, Renaud signaled Geoff to
follow him. “Aye, Jamie, I will see it.”

The two knights ventured forth, Jamie running before them.
As they neared the red walls, his page pointed and shouted, “See how the wall
caves, m’lord!”

In the distance, Renaud saw the remnants of the wall laying
in a ruble and the cloud of dust settling over the debris. At that moment, he
heard the launch of arrows from atop the city walls. The lad ran ahead, unaware
of the danger that streaked toward him.

Geoff shouted, “Jamie, no!”

Renaud yelled, “To me, Jamie, to me!” The boy turned to obey
his lord’s command. Sensing his page would not be fast enough to outrun the
arrows streaking toward him, Renaud broke into a run, his longer stride quickly
closing the distance between them. He leaped upon the boy, dropping them both
to the earth just as an arrow sliced through Renaud’s mail into the back of his
arm.

He flinched as the jolt of pain reverberated through his
body. Only a bodkin arrowhead could have pierced his hauberk, but the English
had learned the importance of such arrows at Hastings and now used them to
great effect. Realizing Jamie’s slight chest was beneath his arm, Renaud gave
thanks his action had kept the arrow from the boy’s heart.

Grunting in pain, he rolled off the boy who sat up and
stared in confusion. With Geoff’s help, Renaud rose from the ground.

The arrow had gone through his arm, the tip just piercing
the other side. “Break it off!” he commanded Geoff. His knight obeyed as Renaud
bit down on the leather sheath of his scramaseax.