by Hilary Green
'Sit. Eat.'
Ranulph remembered something. 'Lorenzo was knocked unconscious, but he got back to camp. They think Vincente was captured.'
Alessandro spoke with his mouth full. 'He will be ransomed. I'll see to that. But he won't be around to act as my shield man tomorrow.'
'Tomorrow! You cannot mean to fight again tomorrow.'
'I must. I can ride a horse and my arm is better. What would my people think if I abandoned the battle for a wound as slight as this?'
'But the surgeon said rest was crucial.'
'They always say that! I can rest after we have driven these Normans back to Apulia.'
Ranulph shook his head. Here was a new dilemma. He had sworn to return to Leofric the next day, but now the count was without anyone to ride at his side.
Alessandro drained his cup again. 'Get me a refill, will you?'
Ranulph took the cup to the table. He could already feel the effects of the wine and he had drunk his second cup watered. Alessandro was drinking it neat and he was concerned that it was not good for him in his exhausted state. He considered watering it anyway, but the habit of obedience was too deeply ingrained. He filled it and gave it to the count, who drained it with a couple of gulps.
'Sit! Sit!'
Ranulph sat again and Alessandro leaned towards him. 'A day such as this makes you realise how sweet life is, and how fleeting. Who knows what may happen tomorrow?'
Ranulph considered. For much of his life he had been concerned with surviving from day to day, but the last months had given him a taste of a different existence. He nodded. 'It's true.'
Alessandro reached out and laid a hand round the back of his neck. 'Is it not then prudent for us to squeeze every last drop of honey from the comb, while we still can?'
There was something in his eyes that made Ranulph uneasy, but he had grown used to Alessandro's occasional caresses. 'Perhaps you are right.'
The count's hand slid to his shoulder, drawing him closer. Then his lips were on Ranulph's, warm and slightly moist with wine. For a moment Ranulph did not resist. He had come to love Alessandro and the sensation was not unpleasant. Then he felt the count's hand on his leg and understood what must be the inevitable conclusion of such an embrace. He dragged himself back with a gasp.
'I cannot! Please. I cannot do this!'
Alessandro smiled and reached out to him again. 'Come. There is nothing to fear. There is no sin in this. Are we not bidden to love one another?'
'But not like this! Forgive me. I cannot do it.'
Ranulph pulled away and got to his feet. His breath was coming fast and his whole body was shaking.
Alessandro started to rise in his turn and then sank back with a sharp intake of breath as his wounded leg took the strain. 'Come back here. I swear I will do nothing to distress you. Please, come closer.'
Hesitantly Ranulph approached the bed, but he remained standing. Alessandro reached out and took his hand.
'Think what I can offer you. Remember the last few months. You were happy with me, were you not? It could be like that again.'
Ranulph shook his head. He knew it could never be the same. The excuse was ready to hand.
'I have to return to my countrymen. I am oath sworn to that.'
'For now, perhaps. But after this battle is over, you will be free of your oath. I will give you a permanent place in my household – a place of honour. You will have everything you could wish for, - books, the joy of learning, the opportunity to practice your fighting skills, my best horses to ride, good company - and my love. Is that not something to look forward to?'
Ranulph swallowed. Part of him longed to accept. The prospect echoed some deep longing, a need he had suppressed for most of his life. But the price was one he could not pay.
'There is nothing in the world that would make me happier, but …'
Alessandro's grip on his hand tightened. 'Then come to me, and make us both happy.'
He snatched his hand away. 'No! Not that!'
'Don't you understand? I fell in love with you the moment I saw you standing in that forest glad with the body of one of my deer at your feet. Why else do you think I took you into my household, made a friend of you, instead of having you hanged for poaching? You must have known! I have waited all these months for some sign that you were ready, but I can wait no longer.'
Ranulph felt his throat tighten with the effort to suppress a sob. 'I didn't know. If I had realised … I would do anything for you, but do not ask for what I cannot give.'
Alessandro's expression changed. 'Is this your thanks for all I have done for you? Have we not been good together? Have you not gained much in these last months?'
'I know it, and I am grateful. Believe me.'
'Then show your gratitude. All I ask is a little gentleness.'
'But not like that. I love and honour you. But I cannot do what you ask.'
Alessandro turned his head away. 'Go, then, ingrate. Go back to your barbarian friends. I require your service no longer.'
Ranulph stood gazing at him for a moment, tears flooding his cheeks. Then he turned away, snatched up his hauberk and his sword, and ran for the horse lines. Minutes later he was riding hell for leather in search of Leofric's camp.
15.
Ranulph did not expect a rapturous welcome from his old companions, but even so he was shaken by the outright hostility in their faces when he slid off Silver's back. They were sitting around the camp fire with the remains of their evening meal strewn around them and as he stepped into the circle of firelight Leofric rose to his feet.
'Well, well! Look who's come to visit! Don't tell me you've fallen out with your grand friends.'
The sarcasm in his voice came close to reducing Ranulph to the tears that were already choking him.
'I always said I would come back as soon as the fighting started,' he said.
'Oh aye?' Leofric's tone was bitter. 'In case you haven't noticed some of us have already fought - and we've got the wounds to prove it.'
He gestured round the group and Ranulph saw that many of them had bloody bandages on arms or legs. Everwon had a fresh scar across his right cheek and Leofric's left eye was swollen and blackened. They were the sort of wounds to be expected after a battle as closely fought as that day's but Ranulph was uncomfortably aware that, apart from a few bruises, he had nothing to show that he had taken any part in it.
'I fought too, today. We were the ones who intercepted the Norman's cavalry. If it hadn't been for us they would have sliced right through your ranks and come at you from the rear.'
Leofric shrugged indifferently. 'So you say. I haven't seen any evidence of it.'
Ranulph looked round the men squatting around the fire, in search of a friendly face.
'Where's Hildred? And Rosa?'
Leofric gave a bark of ironic laughter. 'Oh, that's it, is it? Got tired of having your arse fucked by your fancy friend and come looking for a bit of the other with your whore!'
'No! It's not ... He didn't...' Ranulph choked on the words. He swallowed and took a breath. 'Where are they?'
'Tell him, Everwon.' Leofric turned away from the fire. 'I can't bear the sight of him any longer.'
Ranulph turned his gaze to the older man, who stared back at him without expression. 'Gone, both of them. If you want them you'll have to look in the Guiscard's camp.'
'What do you mean?' Ranulph asked. He felt as if he was in the middle of another fight and being battered from all sides.
'You say you dealt with the Norman cavalry. Not all of them you didn't. Just as the horns sounded the disengage a few of them took the chance to slip through our lines and grab a bit of plunder. We got back here just in time to see one of them riding away with your Rosa thrown across his saddle.'
'God's blood! The bastard! What did you do?'
'Do? What could we do? He had a head start and before we could have mounted up he would have been back in his own lines. We'd have been cut to pieces. But Hildred went after her
. We yelled at him not to be a bloody fool, but he wouldn't listen.'
'So what happened to him?' Ranulph's blood had turned to ice in his veins.
Everwon shrugged. 'Only God knows. Last thing we saw he was riding hell for leather towards the enemy lines. He'll be dead by now.'
'No!'The word broke from Ranulph's throat. He stopped and tried to calm himself. 'He may have been taken prisoner....' He knew it was a forlorn hope.
'Not him,' Everwon said. 'There's no ransom to be gained from the likes of us. They'll have slit his throat, like as not.'
Ranulph's legs buckled under him and he sank to the ground. 'But we can't just abandon him, and Rosa. What can we do?'
Leofric swung round. 'We? There's no 'we' in this. Rosa was your woman, and you chose to leave her for your fancy friend. Why should we care if she's being swived by a Norman? You asked Hildred to take care of her and the fool has thrown his own life away trying to do it. If there's anything to be done for either of them, it's down to you.'
Ranulph looked at the faces in the firelight and knew that Leofric had spoken the truth. By abandoning them to fight with Alessandro he had forfeited any loyalty they had felt to him. If anything was to be done he would have to do it alone.
He forced himself to think. 'You said something about looking in the Guiscard's tents. Why there, rather than anywhere else in the Norman camp?'
There were shrugs round the campfire, then someone said, 'The man who took her wore the Guiscard's colours. That's all we know.'
Ranulph drew his knees up to his chest and clasped his arms round them. 'Very well. As you say, the rest is up to me. But I shall have to wait until it's full dark.'
'You can't mean to go looking for them!' Everwon exclaimed. 'You'll be writing your own death sentence.'
'Maybe,' Ranulph said. At that moment he felt that whether he lived or died was a matter of complete indifference to him.
'Let him go!' Leofric spoke sharply. 'He was fool enough to leave her. If he's fool enough to go after her now it's no concern of ours.'
The sun had set but Ranulph reckoned there was still an hour to go before it would be dark enough for what he had in mind. Not that he had anything that could be properly described as a plan, just a vague idea of infiltrating the Norman camp and hoping to pick up some clue as to the whereabouts of Rosa, and possibly Hildred. He was sitting on the fringes of the firelight and the men round the fire turned their backs on him and ignored his presence. No one offered him a share of what remained of the meal but, to his surprise, the one man to show any compassion was the old cook, who, without speaking, thrust a mug of beer into his hands. He was aching in every limb from the fighting earlier and he felt his muscles stiffening in the evening chill, but his pride would not let him ask to be allowed to share the warmth of the fire. He could only sit, turning over in his mind one desperate scheme after another, and wait for dark. He knew that there was very little chance of finding either Rosa or Hildred and that it was unlikely that he would survive the attempt, but he knew, too, that something within him - conscience, pride, honour? -would not let him give up.
At last darkness enveloped the camp and his former comrades rolled themselves in their blankets and settled down to sleep. No one looked up when he got stiffly to his feet and walked to where Silver was tethered. There was one thing to be thankful for. In his hurry to escape from Alessandro, he had instinctively grabbed his hauberk and sword from the floor where he had dropped them and, knowing that he would never return, he had had the sense to pick up the bag which held all his personal possessions from the tent he shared with the Count's squires. Now he struggled into the hauberk, the iron rings cold and unyielding in his grasp, belted on his sword and mounted. No one wished him Godspeed as he rode away.
He did not head directly towards the Norman lines, knowing that that would be to invite a challenge from the sentries posted at intervals along their own front. Instead he made his way along the rear of the encampment until he came to the point where tents ended and only a few hangers-on lay on the ground round their camp fires. Then he turned Silver's head towards the enemy position. He was aiming for the little valley where he had fought the Norman cavalry a few hours earlier. He had a good memory for the topography of the area, having spent a long time studying it while they waited for the order to charge, and he found the place without difficulty. He knew that the little stream which had carved out the valley must have its source somewhere near the top of the rising ground where the Normans had made their camp, so when he reached it he turned his horse's head to follow it. There was a path of sorts alongside the stream, worn perhaps by animals coming down to drink, and for some distance Silver was able to pick her way along it by the faint light of a moon in its last quarter. Towards the head of the valley the path disappeared and the ground rose too steeply for her to negotiate, so Ranulph dismounted and tied the reins to an overhanging branch. He patted her neck and murmured 'Wait for me, old girl. I'll be back soon.' Then it struck him that in all likelihood he would not be coming back and it might be a very long time before anyone discovered the mare and set her free. So he untied her and knotted the reins on her neck. 'Wait a while, girl. I might be back by sunrise.' He did not expect the horse to understand, but he found some comfort in the words.
He worked his way up to where the stream rose in a clear spring which trickled into a small pool. The sound reminded him that he was very thirsty so he knelt and scooped water in his cupped hands and drank. Then he scrambled the last few yards to the head of the valley and looked around him. He had guessed correctly. He was standing on the ridge along which the Normans had set up their camp, but some way to the west of the last tents. Cautiously he moved nearer, stopping every few yards to search in the faint moonlight for a shadow that might be a sentry and strain his ears for sounds of movement. When he was near enough to smell the smoke from their camp fires and see the occasional shadowy figure moving in their light, Ranulph dropped to his knees and studied the outlines of the tents. It was not hard to identify the Guiscard's. Pitched in the centre of the line, it was considerably larger than any others and in front of it he could just make out the shape of a lance planted in the ground with a pennant, presumably the Guiscard's, stirring in the light breeze. Pitched close by there were several other tents, also rather larger than the average, which he guessed must belong to the Norman leader's household knights. If Everwon was right about the identity of the man who had abducted Rosa, the chances were that she was in one of them. But which one?
Keeping low, so as not to present a silhouette against the starlit sky, he worked his way towards the rear of the camp. Here there was a scattering of smaller tents, interspersed with the wagons of the blacksmiths and armourers and all the other craftsmen who necessarily followed any army. He stumbled over a prone body and was cursed in coarse Norman French and automatically answered in the same language. It occurred to him then that, speaking the same tongue, there was no reason in the darkness for anyone to suspect that he was not one of their own army. He would be a great deal less conspicuous if he behaved normally than if he skulked around trying to hide. He straightened up and began to pick his way through the debris and the sleeping figures. Once a drowsy voice demanded to know where he thought he was going and he replied 'A man can go for a piss without your permission, can't he? Mind your own bloody business!'
At length he came to the circle of tents surrounding the one flying the Guiscard's pennant. Rosa might be in one of them, but how could he find out which one? He considered blundering boldly into one after another on the pretext that he was looking for some imaginary knight or squire, but he reckoned that he would not get away with that for long and unless he struck lucky quickly his search would come to a rapid conclusion. Then, as he stood racking his brains for a better plan fate, or his guardian angel - if he had one, which he doubted - came to his aid. From a tent close by came a woman's scream, quickly and violently suppressed, but enough for him to recognise. Rosa was in there, and she
was being attacked.
Ranulph drew his sword and a few paces took him to the entrance to the tent. He threw back the flap that covered it and stepped inside. A small oil lamp gave a dim light but to his dark adapted eyes it was sufficient. To one side of the tent there was a heap of animal skins which functioned as a bed and on it was the prone body of a woman and hunched over her a man, naked except for his braies which were round his knees, his white buttocks gleaming in the faint light. His intention was plain but Rosa was not giving in easily. One of the man's hands was clamped over her mouth and the other held both her wrists above her head but she was still writhing and struggling under him. Ranulph crossed the tent in a couple of strides and raised his sword for a blow that would have severed the man's head from his body, but at the last instant some instinct must have warned him of his danger. He rolled to one side, releasing Rosa, and sprang to his feet. Instantly, Ranulph's sword point was at his throat.
'Cry out, and it will be the last sound you make!
'Ranulph! Is it really you? You came for me!' Rosa's voice was hoarse from her struggles but the joy and relief in it was unmistakeable.
Ranulph found himself in difficulties. The logical thing to do was to slit the Norman's throat and silence him for good; but as he stood there with his braies round his knees and his cock rapidly deflating he presented an object of ridicule rather than danger. Ranulph recognised that he did not have it in him to kill a defenceless man in cold blood.
Rosa moved towards him and he said sharply, 'Keep back. Don't get between us.' The girl stood still and he went on. 'Have you seen Hildred?'
'Here!' croaked a voice from the shadows on the far side of the tent. 'He's got me tied hand and foot.'
'He's wounded,' Rosa said. 'His leg ...'
'Can you walk?' Ranulph asked, without taking his eyes off the Norman.
'I'll manage, somehow.'
'Rosa, take the dagger from my belt and cut him free.'
