“You’re worried though, aren’t you? Is it Dove? Meryld said that she was sent south to help Philip.”
He shook his head as his daughter recounted the gossip she’d heard in the kitchens. “Nothing is private in this place, is it? Yes, Dove has gone to Oxford.”
“Isn’t that very far away? I thought you said when Philip went that we might never see him again because he’d be so far away and gone for so long.”
“That’s right.”
Durilda left her dolls on the little beds she’d devised and went to sit on her father’s knee. “Why did she go there?”
“He’s in trouble, little one. We heard of it and told Dove so she could help. We couldn’t go to Lord Morgan and still protect ourselves, but we could tell Dove.”
“Did she tell Lord Morgan?”
That thought hadn’t occurred to him. Had the child waited long enough to inform the Earl of Wynnewood? He doubted it. The chances of being forbidden to go were too great, and Dove wanted to help her friend herself. Being so little—just a child really—would help when she arrived. Kidnappers wouldn’t expect a child to free the lad, and it might save Lord Morgan a very large sum of money.
“I doubt it.”
“What kind of trouble is it, Fæder?”
“Someone wants money from Lord Morgan, so they took Philip and are holding him. They’ll trade him for the money when Lord Morgan arrives—unless Dove arrives first.”
The little girl’s forehead furrowed as she stroked her father’s beard and thought. “Did you give her money for the men?”
“No, but we gave her money so she’d be able to buy food along the way.”
Those words contorted the child’s face in fear. “They’ll hurt her! They’ll scream, ‘Scynscaþa’ and try to kill her like Maulore did. She shouldn’t have gone!”
“She’ll be fine. She’ll have to buy food without asking, but she’ll be fine.”
“Buy without asking?”
Jakys nodded. “She’ll find the food she needs, take it when the owner isn’t looking, and leave pennies for payment. We gave her a large number of pennies to use for payment.”
“But isn’t that stealing?”
The little man shook his head, his beard tickling her face as he did. “No, it’s not stealing to pay for what you take. It’s probably wrong; I’m sure that minister in the village won’t approve, but it isn’t stealing. Coersion of some kind is a better word.”
“I suppose…”
Before Durilda could ask another question, footfalls, running swiftly, grew closer and shouts calling for him echoed through the tunnels and into the room. Jakys jumped from his seat, setting his daughter down clumsily. He hurried to the tapestry that closed off the room and peeked out.
“What is it?”
“A runner has more news from Oxford. Waleron is calling for you.”
“More news?” Jakys motioned for Durilda to grab her dolls. “Come.”
The three little people hurried from the little sitting room and to Waleron’s quarters. Merewyn caught Durilda’s hand and sent a warning look to Jakys before asking the child if she’d like to go get some of the fresh cakes the women were baking for the evening meal. Jakys nodded. “Go with her. I’ll be along shortly.”
The runner was panting hard in his chair. He took occasional sips of water and wine both, but tired from his run, he found it difficult to talk. At last, he found his voice. “They’ve moved him. Engelard sent runners immediately with this new map.” The young man dug in his pocket for the paper. “It is likely too late, but he insisted you know.”
“That is very good of him. We’ll send back gifts for all of you for your trouble,” Waleron promised.
Jakys sent a tortured look to his king, begging silently for the man to ask the unthinkable. Waleron demurred, shaking his head sadly, but Jakys persisted. “Waleron, your daughter! What they did for Reynilda!”
The runner glanced from man to man, curious about the nearly silent argument, taking place before him. “What is the problem?”
“Jakys…” Waleron warned, his eyes flashing.
“Waleron! They’re children! We have an obligation—”
“Enough!”
The king’s terrible tone would have quelled a less desperate man, but Jakys couldn’t stand the idea of a terrified Dove searching all of Oxford with no idea of how to find her friend. “Do you know what they’ll do to her if they expose her? Can you live with that knowledge? The child who saved Reynilda’s life? Can you not ask? Engelard can say no, and I will respect that, but please, Waleron. Ask for her sake.”
“What is it? What do you need?”
A brief nod was all the permission Jakys needed. “We’ll send back a message with one of our runners. You rest for a day or two. I must go find Owyne and tell him to get ready.”
“What message? What is going on?” The runner demanded information, but Jakys was already gone. Waleron, unhappy with the turn of events, sank back onto his throne-like chair. “He’s going to ask the brothers near Oxford to find Dove and tell her where Philip has been hidden.”
“This is bad?”
“If they see her, yes. She’s perfectly harmless—just a child—but she terrifies men and Mæte alike.”
“How can a child terrify anyone?”
Waleron studied his hands for a moment until he lifted his eyes and met the curious gaze of their visitor. “She has the appearance of a Scynscaþa.”
Letty’s heart leapt when a small, gray-hooded child crept into the village one afternoon. She’d been sent for meat from the butcher and had relished the job in anticipation of a good dinner, but nothing was as exciting as seeing Dove return. She hurried across the street to greet the girl, when a flock of children burst around a corner and began chasing the cloaked creature.
At first, Letty stepped back with a sigh, allowing the group of tormenting children to pass, but when several picked up stones and began throwing them in their chase toward the bridge, she grew angry. What a homecoming for Dove! It was terrible. Furious, she abandoned her quest for mutton and raced behind the group, shouting, no, demanding, that they stop.
At the smithy, Angus heard the familiar shriek of his sister and stepped out to see what was happening. He was confused at first as he saw Letty pick up a few stones and start hurling them with abandon. A grin split his face when he realized she was throwing them at the children who refused to stop at her command. He rushed out into the street, grabbing Dove and pulling her behind him. “Just stay there until I get them settled down,” he muttered under his breath.
The girl wriggled, but his grip was like the iron he forged— nearly immovable. Letty caught up to them, gasping for breath, and threw her arms around Dove. “I’m so glad you’re here! I was so worried.” Then, as if she hadn’t just shown absolute joy, she whirled, face furious, and began berating the children who all stood with stones in hand, stunned.
“How can you be so cruel? She’s just a girl who has risked so much for Lord Morgan and—others. You need to leave her alone. Go home and stop being so horrible!”
A smirk twisted the corners of Angus’ lips. Letty had been almost sedate of late, trying to put on airs of maturity, but in her defense of Dove she was magnificent. For the first time in many years, he was quite proud to have her as a sister.
“Aw, go on, Letty. Leave us alone. That thing had no business coming back. You’re just bewitched by her after spending so much time in that sorceress’ cottage.”
“Bertha is a midwife, not a sorceress. You’re crazy!”
“Is too,” a girl agreed. “My modor won’t have her near the house after spending so many years with the Ge-sceaft in her house! She’s sure it’ll bring demons into our home.”
“Broðor Clarke would be ashamed of you,” Letty screeched.
He’d planned to let her handle her own battles, but when a boy drew back and hurled a rock at his sister, Angus roared. He dropped Dove’s hand and pulled Letty against him, shelter
ing her from the impact. Once the rock struck his shoulder, Angus let his sister go and leapt for the boy.
“Timothy Cooper, don’t you ever try anything like that again.” He backhanded Timothy’s face.
The others backed away slowly, eager to watch the fight but not so eager to be caught in the backlash. As long as Timothy fought, Angus pounded him. At last, Hugo stepped out of the smithy to see what the ruckus was. At the sight of his assistant pummeling the cooper’s son, he took several long strides and jerked Angus off the other boy as if it required no effort at all.
“What’s this? What’s gotten into you, boy?”
“He threw a rock at my sister.”
Broðor Clarke arrived and stood behind the children, watching the altercation with interest. A couple of the children grinned up at him, expecting him to agree with Hugh and give Angus a dressing down for his misdeeds, but they found his eyes trained on the little cloaked child that stood behind Letty.
While Angus explained the situation, Broðor Clarke skirted the edge of the group and gripped the cloaked child’s shoulder. His face wrinkled in confusion and then he frowned. A collective gasp went up as the minister jerked the hood off the village pariah.
“Elmer Buck.” His tone implied he should have guessed.
“How’d you know it wasn’t Dove?”
“Aside from the fact that they caught you? When have they ever caught Dove?”
“Well…” the boy kicked a stone in the dirt. “All right, aside from that.”
“You’re too tall and you don’t have Dove’s grace. She’s grown, but not that much!” The minister turned to the group of incensed children. “You all go home. I’d better never hear,” the usually gentle man growled, his voice growing more stern and imposing with each word he spoke, “of this kind of cruelty again. Dove is gone. Instead of being concerned for her safety or her soul, you,” Broðor Clarke jabbed his finger into Elmer’s chest, “mock her and incite the others to do wrong, and you,” his hand swept the semi-circle of chagrined children, “torment an innocent girl.”
A few chuckles prompted the minister to roll his eyes. “Well, an idiot posing as an innocent girl anyway. Go home and stop this nonsense. I’m ashamed of all of you.”
Hugo pushed Angus back to the forge. Once Broðor Clarke turned to drag Elmer and Timothy home, the blacksmith stepped forward menacingly. “Do what the Broðor says, or you’ll wish you had. He might not tan your backsides but I will.”
The group dispersed, each child shuffling toward home, all anxious to avoid the dressing down they’d receive if their parents got wind of their scolding by the minister. Timothy and Elmer glanced at each other and then at Broðor Clarke. To their surprise, he was smiling—nearly grinning.
Chapter 24
Dove Sings
Jerome and Harold exchanged glances. They’d been riding at that slow, steady walk that was good for the horses but not for overtaking men who were many miles ahead of them. At last, Harold shook his head. “How attached are you to that mare?”
“I’m more attached to Lord Morgan. If he knew we had the chance to capture those men and didn’t to keep our horses…” Jerome let the rest of his thought drift into Harold’s mind, unspoken.
“We’ll alternate trotting and cantering to the next town or village and then switch horses. If we do that, we can overtake them before they reach Oxford.”
The younger man nodded. He was disappointed to lose his horse, but Jerome knew it was the best thing to do. Just as he urged his horse into a trot, a new idea occurred to him. “Perhaps we can pay someone in the town to keep them for us. It couldn’t hurt to try.”
Harold agreed. For the next couple of miles, the horses trotted before the men spurred them into a canter. Over several miles, they alternated a mile or two of trotting followed by a mile or two of cantering. As much as they both wanted to break out into a full gallop, the horses wouldn’t hold out if the distance between towns were much farther.
At last, evidence of a village appeared around a bend in the road. Jerome agreed to go find food while Harold made arrangements for care of the horses and hired new ones. The blacksmith insisted that a farmer on the outskirts of town was the best choice for the care of horses. “I wouldn’t trust Jacob with a dead rat,” he insisted. “That man, when sober, is the best horseman around, but he’s on a drunk right now.”
“I wouldn’t want to leave these horses in such dubious care,” Harold agreed. “We’re hoping to return for them in a week or two.”
“You with that group that rode through a few days back?”
Harold nodded. “You saw them?”
“Hard to miss a group of knights riding with someone obviously a lord or something.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Where’re you going?”
“Oxford.”
The blacksmith shook his head. “Heard a lot of stories about that place—students rioting and causing trouble. Did the king call for help?”
“Worse than that, I’m afraid. Lord Morgan’s protégé is being held for ransom. We’re on our way to redeem him—if we must.”
“Going to try to rescue him first?” The smithy grinned, one bad tooth showing at the side of his mouth.
“That was the idea. We won’t risk the boy, of course, but if we can prevent criminals from getting away with his crimes…” Harold thought for a moment and then added. “We could use some help, though— if you’re keen to make a little money.”
“Always happy to improve the coffers. What do you have in mind?”
“There’s a man riding behind us. Seems he was used by the kidnappers to deliver the ransom note to Lord Morgan. If you could find a way to detain him… get him talking… tell stories… anything. We’d be appreciative.” The knight passed several coins to the man. “If you learn anything that’d help us catch these men, we’d be happy to hear it when we return.”
“I’ll do it, and be glad to. Times are tough, but there’s no call for extorting money from honest folk.”
Although Harold nodded in agreement, he didn’t agree with the assessment. It’s easy to be smug when you have a skill that people always need. If you lost your hands, you might be singing a different tune. “I see Jerome has found us some food. It’s time to get back on the road. First farm on the left after the copse of hawthorn?”
“Yessir. That’s the one. Will’ll take good care of you.”
“Um, Harold?” Jerome stared pointedly at the horses they’d ridden from Wynnewood. “We can’t take those horses any farther.”
“I know. The smithy here suggested a farmer outside of the village.” He eyed the food in Jerome’s hands. “Did you find what we need?”
“The baker’s wife sold us some ham and cheese to go with our bread and I found apples and dried fruit.”
“Ale?”
The smithy pointed to the edge of the town. “The tavern’s there. Joseph makes the best ale there is.”
Despite the desire to spur their horses onward, Jerome and Harold allowed them to walk the short distance to the tavern and then the half-mile to the farm. There, the farmer agreed to take care of the horses for a reasonable price and the men were trotting back down the road within the hour. Their new horses weren’t quite as dashing as their battle horses, but they were fresh, smaller, and gave the men the speed they needed.
“He’s still sick,” David groused as he watched Philip stir restlessly in his sleep.
After the first night of good sleep, Philip had taken a sudden turn for the worse. Nearly delirious at times, the men took turns watching him while the others wandered through the town, listening, waiting. While Philip shivered and talked wildly of a ge-sceaft and scynscaþa, whoever was in charge would slice more onions to strap to his chest to stop the wracking coughs that seemed to grow worse, not better, with their ministrations.
David knew that Gipp was nearly ready to abandon the plan. Even if Lord Morgan did arrive, and it didn’t look like he would, the cha
nces of him paying a ransom for a young man who might not even live seemed unlikely. There had also been plenty of time for Lord Morgan to arrive, but there was no sign of him yet. That didn’t bode well for their scheme.
He glanced at the fitful boy shivering under the blankets near the fire. It wasn’t looking good at all. If it took too much longer, he’d run. It wasn’t worth risking his neck, even for the hundred pounds they’d each receive. That’d set him up for life—no living in fear of being an outlaw.
“If he doesn’t arrive by day after tomorrow,” the frustrated man muttered. “I’ll go work with the fishermen at Liverpool or something.”
A fresh bought of coughing shook Philip from his sleep. David shoved a flask of water into his hands. “Drink.”
After a few more choking gasps, struggling for air, Philip took a large swig. “Hungry,” he whimpered.
The strong brave young man was gone. At first, Philip hadn’t asked for anything, regardless of how much he may have wanted or needed it. His illness had reduced him to a pleading boy, begging for basic needs. David winced at how pathetic it sounded and then at the breakdown of such a healthy lad.
Gipp had brought home a chicken and had boiled it into a good rich broth. Too weak to feed himself, Philip lay miserably on his side, swallowing dutifully each sip of broth from the bowl David held for him. It felt hopeless. Stealing chickens to keep the boy in broth only to have him die seemed like an unnecessary risk, but without the broth, he’d die sooner.
A noise outside sent David to the door. He’d grown jittery with the delays and Philip’s illness, but he couldn’t help it. If they were caught, they’d be hanged. He’d been nervous from the start; so many things could go wrong. That promise of a hundred pounds had been too tempting to resist, but in retrospect, he regretted agreeing to the scheme.
The night was inky black. Without a moon to illuminate the churchyard across the way or even the church, it looked like a vast void. “James?”
At first, he saw nothing. It seemed as if the sounds had been a figment of his nervous imagination. However, just as he started to close the door once more, the noise came again. He shivered, a bead of sweat forming on his upper lip. It sounded eerie, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Nervous, he shut the door and latched it.
The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series Page 59
