Emerald Knight

by Michelle M. Pillow

  France, March 1190

  The land grew stranger the farther south they rode until the hot landscapes became unfamiliar patterns of forest and field, countryside and sky. Wolfe didn’t pay heed as he walked over the encampment. Nearly seven long months had passed since he’d left Whetshire, though Wolfe wouldn’t be able to tell. He lost track of the time, only knowing that each day would bring him closer to the day he could hold Ginevra again.

  Striding past a tent, he nodded absently to his men. The men laughed. Their attention was not on their leader but on the buxom wench who danced in the twilighted evening. Wolfe had become a stoic figure around the campsites. His eyes stayed fixed onward. His attention drawn to crude maps left him by the king. Work became his passion until even his loyalist and oldest men didn’t recognize the man he had become.

  “Lord Wolfram!” one of his knights shouted to gain his attention.

  Wolfe turned. Scowling slightly, he looked at the man, “Yea, Burk?”

  “The knights from Whetshire and Southaven arrive. Baron Southaven is now in your tent.” Burk motioned his head as Wolfe strode past him.

  The news of the arriving armies spread throughout the camp like fire to tinder. The men teemed in excitement, knowing that battle was sure to come soon. Already reports of King Richard’s advancements made it back to them. And all were ready to bloody their swords with the fluids of the godless heathens.

  “Robert,” Wolfe called as he entered his tent. A smile came unbidden to his face as he found his friend pouring over the maps on his table. Reaching out his hand, he clasped it tightly in Robert’s. “How are you? It’s good to see you. How fare the men?”

  “I am well,” Robert answered in enthusiasm. Tired lines edged his face, but seeing Wolfe lightened his heart. “The men are tired. We lost a few to skirmishes along the way--naught of import, mostly thieves and raiders. All have been dealt with.”

  Wolfe nodded in approval. “We shall give them some days of rest before journeying on. I’ll send a dispatch tonight to inform the king of your progress.”

  “Very good,” Robert stated, satisfied.

  “Now, tell me,” Wolfe asserted. “What news from home? Have you heard aught from Whetshire?”

  Robert saw instantly that Wolfe meant Ginevra, not Whetshire. His friend’s eyes hungrily sought any detail from him. Robert smiled sadly, choking on the guilt he still carried.

  “Helena has written some, but with the rate we travel, it’s hard for the messenger to keep up.” Robert leaned over to grab his satchel off the dirt floor. “I do have something for you--a missive from my sister. She gave it to me the day I left. She has not written me since, but Helena has sent messages that she is well. Helena is staying with her at Whetshire. The two have become good friends.”

  Wolfe’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Then much has happened since we left.”

  Robert chuckled as he dug through his pack. “Gin was a bit angry at you for leaving her without speaking to her first. But I think that so much time has passed she is surely over it by now. You know how women can be.”

  Even though much time had gone by, each man remembered his last days at home as if it had been yesterday. Wolfe swallowed over the lump in his throat. “I imagine she was. She had every right to be. I’ve regretted not waking her since that very dawn I rode out. It’s too late to change now. I would’ve sent word to her, but I have been unable to spare any of the men for such purposes.”

  In truth, he didn’t know what he would write her. He’d tried to write on endless evenings only to throw the parchment in the fire. At night, when all the men found comfort in the arms of women, he would lay alone thinking of Ginevra, haunted by the memory of her.

  Finally, finding the missive, Robert dropped the satchel and handed the parchment over to Wolfe. Wolfe took the missive. The sheepskin parchment looked wrinkled and well worn from travel. His hand shook slightly as he turned his back to Robert. Breaking the seal, he tentatively pealed the folds back.

  Wolfe,

  Forget what I said. I drank too much and my mind was not my own. Thank you for the gift, Gin

  Gently, Wolfe folded up the paper. He thrust it into the belt of his undertunic before turning to Robert. He forced a smile. Robert was not fooled.

  “All is well?” Robert asked politely.

  “Yea, fine,” Wolfe stated before turning to the maps. Pointing at the first one, he nodded for Robert to join him. “I have been studying these maps quite thoroughly and I have them almost memorized. But, unfortunately, I have already found that they are not completely accurate. River bends are not exactly where they are drawn to be.”

  “Fine, fine,” Robert said. “First though, can we have us a drink? I think I swallowed half the earth on the journey here.”

  Wolfe chuckled halfheartedly. “Yea, this can wait. Let us go welcome the men proper, with a celebration. It might be awhile before we can feast again so near to our homeland.”

  Whetshire, May 1190

  Ginevra stared at the blank parchment, thinking of what to write. Wolfe’s leaving seemed so long ago that it was hard for her put down what she needed to say. Even though the bitterness faded, the pain left behind was worse. Picking the missive Wolfe sent her, she realized that it was at least a month old. The man who delivered it was much worn from the hard ride it took to reach her.

  She reread the missive for at least the eleventh time.

  Gin,

  Robert and William have arrived and are well. On the morrow we leave to join the fighting. The men’s spirits are high and all hope that this will be a quick campaign. We are all longing for a hot bath and the coolness of English weather. The barbarous land we have encountered is hotter than could have been imagined with sands that flow over the land like shortened grass. It’s my hope this finds all in good health, Wolfe.

  Looking down at her parchment, she dipped her quill in ink. She stretched her arms over her head and yawned. Biting her lip, she couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt by his impersonal letter. Scrolling quickly, she dipped the tip of the quill several times before she was finished. Then, drying the ink with sand, she dusted the grains from the paper.

  “Gin,” Helena’s voice called pleasantly. “Are you finished? The messenger needs to start back afore the night falls and he requires our letters if he’s to deliver them.”

  “Yea,” Ginevra turned just in time to see Helena’s comely face poke around the corner from her dressing chamber. She quickly folded the parchment and dripped wax over the seam.

  “You did write him of it, did you not?” Helena asked with a hesitant frown. Her mellow red hair, reminiscent of Lady Isabella’s before she died, was pulled to the nape of her neck in a simple plait. As Ginevra stood, Helena gave a meaningful glance at her sister-by-marriage’s protruding belly. Her wide brown eyes shone with concern when she didn’t receive a ready answer. Ginevra mostly refused to speak of Wolfe, but when she did the pain was thick in her voice.

  “Yea, Helena, of course I told him of the baby. He is the father.” Ginevra smiled but didn’t look up as she dipped the family seal on the cooling wax.

  “Oh, good, I didn’t mention it to Robert. If he received his missive first that wouldn’t be right.” Helena sighed in obvious relief. “I thought you might still have the silly idea that he didn’t deserve to know of it. Although I don’t blame you for your animosity toward him, I’m glad you came around.”

  “Well, round I am,” Ginevra sighed before giggling. She gave her round stomach a loving pat. The child kicked her hand in response.

  “You’re beautiful,” Helena giggled. “Besides, it won’t be too much longer.”

  “Like his father, this child just keeps me waiting. For this babe is over late,” Ginevra scrunched up her face, but her expression still shone with love for her babe.

  “The midwife did say it would be soon,” Helena offered. “And father has sent for the physician tending your mother in Southaven. I think he is growing anxious. Have you notic
ed he has not left since before you felt him kick?”

  “Uh, my mother has a physician? There is naught wrong with my mother. She will outlive us all.” Ginevra shook her head. She yawned suddenly feeling very tired. Wincing, she tried to massage the baby’s foot out of her ribs.

  “It’s true,” Helena giggled. She took the missive from Ginevra’s outstretched hand before laying a finger lightly on the pregnant belly. She giggled when the babe awarded her affection with a hard kick. “He is a strong one, is he not?”

  “Still think it’s a boy?” Ginevra asked.

  “Yea, there are too many signs.” Helena nodded in confidence. “Besides, like you said, he’s already too much like his father.”

  “I will be glad when this is over,” Ginevra sighed, pressing her fingers into her temple. She waddled to her bed to lie down.

  “Oh,” Helena giggled as she reached the door. “I almost forgot. Edmund is back with us. He said Britheue booted him out again for being simple-minded.”

  “Again?” Ginevra laughed. “All right, tell him to report to the guardhouse.”

  “I already have seen to it. He mans the wall even now.” Helena opened the door. “Truthfully, I think Britheue sent him to watch over you as your babe nears. It was the first thing he inquired about.”

  “I think he misses us. For who else would fuss over such a burly man?” Ginevra mumbled into her pillow. She absently massaged her stomach, wearily rolling her neck. “He is our protector.”

  Helena giggled. She turned to step out of the chamber. When she glanced back around, Ginevra was asleep.

  June 1190

  “Ahhh! Wolfe!”

  “Hold on, Gin,” Helena patted the woman’s hair back in panic. A tearful frown lined her face as she tried to coo softly into Ginevra’s ear. Helena had heard Ginevra’s terrified screams when she came to check on her. Instantly, she dispatched a maid to fetch the midwife. That had been hours ago.

  Helena pushed her rolled sleeves back up her arms as she dipped a cloth in cool water. Sponging off Ginevra’s forehead, she looked to the midwife. She noted the old woman’s pained expression, as she glanced back. The woman’s hands were covered with blood as she drew them to her apron. Instantly, Helena went to her.

  “The babe is too large. It waited too long to be born. We must help it out,” the midwife stated. “M’lady is too small, ’er body is not allowin’ it to come.”

  Helena nodded in grim understanding. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

  Their low whispers were lost to the pain-ridden woman on the bed. Ginevra felt as if her body was being ripped apart by wild animals. Her only comfort was the hard press of her wedding ring clasped in her fist. She had taken the band off when her fingers swelled to match her stomach.

  Ginevra’s glazed eyes rolled back in her head as another spasm crossed her midsection. The white fur of her coverlet was stained red with the flow of her blood. The sticky wetness pressed to her legs and stuck her gown to her body.

  Again Ginevra screamed, loud enough to echo down to the main hall where the earl sat waiting in terror. The earl flinched at the sound, his gut wrenching as he thought of his wife.

  “M’lady,” the midwife whispered fervently to Helena. “It’s most likely that either she or the babe won’t make it. We might be called upon to make a decision which. I need your resolve ready to do what must be done.”

  “But, I can’t--” Helena began, horrified.

  “You must,” the midwife interrupted with a hiss. When the pregnant woman screamed again, the midwife hurried to her side.

  Helena followed. Her brown eyes rounded as she studied Ginevra’s pale face, already so drained of blood. Seeing the midwife through the corner of her eye, Helena turned solemnly to her. Slowly, she nodded her head.

  The midwife accepted the noblewoman’s agreement grimly. Sternly, she ordered, “Now be ready!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Crusades, Palestinian Shore, June 1191 A.D.

  Wolfe stumbled through the field of slain bodies. Breathing deeply, he sighed with relief that the battle was finally over. His sword arm felt weakened by the grueling toil of his work. King Philip and King Richard’s army fought endlessly for over a fortnight, pushing slowly inland from the coast at the cost of much life.

  A full turn of seasons passed, as the armies journeyed through the foreign land. First they traveled by sea, swaying incessantly as they searched for stony shores. Winter they spent in Sicily, awaiting better weather. Then, they successfully conquered Cyprus and much of Palestine as they neared closer to the main force of the heathen leader, Saladin. But, the closer they got, the harder it was to continue. Saladin’s army was an admirable opposition.

  Finding his horse, Wolfe swung defiantly onto Desert’s back. Kicking the destrier in the side, he motioned for his men to follow him. Soon, they were riding away from the carnage to their camp. With relief, he saw the face of his brother amongst those dismantling the tents in preparation to move forward. Jerusalem was close and hopefully so was the end of their war. Saladin was already making known his intentions to negotiate a truce.

  “Robert?” Wolfe inquired of William as he threw his brother Desert’s reins. “Has he reported back yet?”

  “Nay,” William frowned. “I have dispatched men to take an accounting of the slain. I ordered that they inform me at once if Robert is amongst them.”

  Wolfe nodded in approval of William’s actions. Stretching his neck, his eyes strained to keep open. It had been days since he slept a full night. Not that his tired body bothered to keep track. Sternly, he asserted to William, “Good. I’ll be in my tent. Report as soon as they are returned. And wake me this time!”

  William waved over his head in acknowledgement as he shot orders to some of the knights. Wolfe yawned, barely seeing the motion before turning around. He strode to his tent, one of the last standing in the field. Lifting the flap, he threw it over the top to let the outside light within.

  A feminine gasp sounded from inside. Wolfe scowled in annoyance, before him stood a gloriously naked woman. Turning his dark eyes to his cot, he placed his hands on his hips. Her young, dark skin pulled tightly over her frame. Her dark almond shaped eyes swept demurely under her long lashes. And when she walked forward for his inspection, her hips swayed with tantalizing meaning.

  Eyeing the dark beauty, he inquired sharply, “What are you doing in here?”

  “I’ve come to be with you, m’lord.” Her words were slow and faulty, but held unmistakable meaning. Smiling, she lightly ran her fingers over her stomach. “For one gold piece.”

  For a brief moment, Wolfe considered it. The woman glided forward, pressing herself instantly against his chest. Her lips puckered in invitation. Automatically, Wolfe’s fingers rose to graze against her chin. His bloodstained hands contrasted their gore against her softer beauty. Taking a deepened breath, his eyes closed. In that instant, he saw a flash of green.

  “Emeralds,” he said absently.

  The woman in his arms sighed in heavy excitement. “Yea, emeralds will do.” Wolfe let go of her. He didn’t want her. His body screamed for a woman, but not for her. He wanted Ginevra. Menacingly, he ordered, “Begone!”

  The woman grabbed her peasant gown from the floor and slid it over her body in confusion. Then, deciding the man must like other men to warm his bed, she left.

  Wolfe ignored her dismay. He waited silently until she was out of his tent. Part of him wanted to call her back. But he deprived his loins the small pleasure the woman would bring. He had learned from his days at tournament that no other but his wife would do. The fulfillment he would find in the arms of others would only increase his lonely aching.

  Going to the pile of maps, Wolfe frowned. Atop the stack was a folded parchment. Its edges were blurred with dried water stains and the seal was worn into an unrecognizable dot. But he didn’t need the marking to tell him it was from Ginevra. He noticed well the fine scroll of his name.

  Breaking the
seal, he eyes eagerly devoured every ink-blotted word.

  Wolfe,

  It’s glad I am to hear that William and Robert are well and with you. It’s my hope you will all stay together and protect each other as you journey forward across the ocean. I realize that it might be many months afore you receive this and now, as you read, the land you have encountered must appear so strange. You must bring me a packet of earth so I can see it for myself. All is well at Whetshire. Naught has changed in the months since your leaving. We are all in good health. Be careful, Wolfe. Come home. Gin

  Wolfe took a deep breath. His heart lurched in his chest as he thought of home. For days he had seen nothing but the flowing rivers of blood, rivers that were drowning his soul with their butchery until he no longer knew why they were really there. They told themselves they fought for the will of God, but surely God didn’t want so many slain in his name. However doubtful, he pushed himself forward. And however grim his task might become, Wolfe knew he would do his duty.

  Reaching into his satchel with hands still covered in blood, Wolfe pulled out a piece of clean parchment. It would most likely be his last chance to write for a long time. The encampment would be leaving for battle soon, a battle bigger than the ones they had yet faced.

  The Saracen forces, led by Saladin, were holding firm against their progression. But, as Wolfe wrote, he didn’t think of it. His mind traveled gladly to another place. A place not so far away in actual time but a life span if measured by all he had seen and done.

  Leaning over, he grabbed a handful of sandy earth. Dropping it on the page, he shook it off and quickly folded the paper. If he was lucky the messenger would be leaving for home again soon and he wouldn’t miss him. Wolfe clutched the parchment as he strode from his tent. Then, kneeling by a fire, he melted a bit of wax and sealed the missive shut. Pressing his ring into the seal as he walked, he didn’t wait to see if it dried.