The Circle Of A Promise

by Helen A Rosburg

  “There! There he goes! Dinner!”

  The young, well-armed nobleman pulled up with a heavy hand on his stallion’s reins, certain the prey had escaped.

  His companion did not give up so easily. The wiry figure astride the smaller horse, unencumbered by sword or chain mail, sprang lightly to his feet upon his saddle. He nocked an arrow to his bow. A mere second later, the doomed hare leapt into the air and found an arrow through its heart; was dead before it fell back to earth.

  “My lord.” The small man, face as gray and pointed as a fox, removed his plumed hat and bowed deeply, still standing on his saddle. “Your dinner is practically served.” Replacing his hat, the archer executed a neat somersault, landed on the ground, and dashed into the forest to retrieve his prize.

  The more muscular, mail-clad rider shook his head and chuckled. Life was never dull in Jack’s company, he mused. Nor were the two of them ever in any danger of starving. Although it irked him, he had to admit, that his small companion was a better provider of game than he.

  Still, being bested in something was better than going hungry-and hungry was just what he would be if it were not for Jack. The young knight sighed. He himself could hack away all day with his sword, but he was not likely to serve up any supper with it A bow was better for that, and Jack was a better shot.

  Besides, his sword arm ached. Unconsciously, he clasped his left hand to his right upper arm and massaged. The skirmish on the border had been brief, but furious and bloody. He and his fellows had beaten back the Scottish raiders and sent them fleeing into the hills, minus a half-dozen of their stoutest fighters. It was doubtful they would return any time soon, but he had left his comrades to make sure of it. Stephen smiled inwardly.

  Thomas and Walter had not needed to be asked twice to run down the remainder of the Scottish raiders. Thomas, young and ever eager, had been at the forefront of his knights. Walter, older, but not one whit slower, had been right on Thomas’s heels. The balance of Stephen’s knights followed those two with the kind of gusto peculiar to those who have not yet come to terms with the idea of their own mortality. Stephen rubbed his aching sword arm one more time.

  He wished he could have gone with them. Or, at least, had them with him now. But he’d had to send them after the rebels. The Scots had not only butchered cattle but two entire families, raping the women first. Stephen would allow no threat against his people to exist. Especially now, with pressing business elsewhere and his thoughts in such a turmoil.

  He must have groaned aloud, for Jack was at his side in an instant.

  “Are ye all right, m’lord?”

  “Of course I am,” he replied brusquely, and straightened his shoulders. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  The small man shrugged elaborately, a smile ghosting at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, I don’t know. Too much on yer mind, mebbe. Havin` to leave yer knights behind an‘ all,”t’finish yer business while you go a-courtin`.“

  The knight’s dark and menacing scowl prevented Jack from saying more, but it did not prevent the man’s smile from blossoming full grown. When the archer saw his lord bridle angrily, he raised the dead hare as if in self defense. “Your dinner, sir. Compliments of your most humble and devoted servant.”

  Stephen merely grunted by way of reply. His irritation with the other subsided quickly. It was difficult to stay angry with Jack as the man was, indeed, a most loyal and devoted servant.

  His thoughts drifted back to the day they had met. Barely fifteen, Stephen had nonetheless been lord of the manor, and had been since his father’s death. The older knights, like Walter, had helped guide and teach him, and the younger men, his boon companions, Thomas, chief among them, were among his best and bravest men-at-arms. He’d been content But Alfred, his most senior knight, had insisted it was time Stephen take a squire as befitted his position.

  Word spread, and the northern nobles applied for their sons. Though Stephen was young, he’d been well respected. He had set himself diligently to the task and legacy his father had left him, and had become known for his courage, honesty, and fairness. Many youths had been presented for his consideration.

  Stephen, however, had been unable to choose, as politics seemed more important than other qualifications- and politics had never been a bit to his liking.

  “How do you expect me to make a decision?” he had complained to Alfred as they sat in the high hall one sunny spring afternoon. “Every time I pick out a likely lad, you have some reason why another would be better.”

  “I merely point out the political ramifications,” the old knight had replied evenly.

  “Well, instead of `pointing out,” why don’t you just go ahead and pick for me?“

  The day had been bright, and it beckoned with far more allure than the duty set before him, so without further ado Stephen had announced his intention to go hawking and had ridden out into the countryside with the closest of his companions. Just beyond a copse of slender yew trees, they’d flushed a brace of pheasants that took to wing in a flash of autumn color.

  Before Stephen could loose his bird, however, the first pheasant fluttered back to earth, an arrow through its neck. An instant later, the second bird followed.

  Swords were drawn from scabbards as Stephen’s men prepared to defend him from the small man who appeared, like magic, astride a thin, brown gelding. A ridiculous plume of feathers bloomed from his wide-brimmed hat and, as they watched, jaws agape, he jumped to his feet in his saddle, removed the hat, and bowed low.

  “My lord,” the man said to Stephen, “If it was pheasant y’wanted for yer dinner. dinner is served.”

  Stephen had been too taken aback for a moment to speak. Not only had the little man crept up on them all unawares, he had dazzled them with the swiftest and most accurate display of bowmanship anyone had ever before demonstrated.

  Stephen reluctantly smiled at the memory of that first meeting, recalling how his knights had wanted to hang Jack as a poacher. But Stephen had been amused, and impressed, enough to hear the man out.

  “If it’s a squire ye’re needin`,” Jack had said, “y’need look no further. Not only kin I provide yer dinner, I kin cook it fair as any, I vow. Mebbe better. What squire’ll serve you as chef as well as simple lance bearer and armor polisher? I kin do the boy’s job ye be lookin‘ for, an` a man’s job beside. Should strength of sword fail’t’protect yer back, me arrows fly fleet, as ye’ve seen.”

  There had been no denying it. Additionally, it had solved Stephen’s political problems by avoiding politics entirely. There had been only one question that needed asking and answering.

  “Tell me something, Jack,” Stephen had said. “Why? Why would a man of your obvious talents want to be both squire and steward? Squire, I understand, but.”

  Stephen had hesitated, seeing the suddenly somber expression on the small man’s hollow features.

  “Well, ye might ask,” Jack replied slowly. “An` I’ll tell ye, for you’re not just plainly of noble birth, but of noble and kindly mind, as well. Ye’ll understand when I tell ye I had a son once. He wanted nothing more, ever, than t’be a squire. He attained his goal an‘ he come home once’t`tell me all the fine and brave things he done, an’ be doin`.” Jack had sighed deeply and continued, voice quavering.

  “I was too busy drinkin` an‘ showin` off about me boy, the squire. I paid him no real mind. Not like a father should. He left. An’ I never saw him again.” Jack paused to clear his throat He had looked Stephen straight in the eye.

  “I know how’t`do the squirin‘. I need to do the servin`. As I shoulda served me boy. I’ll look after ye in every way, an’ none better.”

  Over Alfred’s protests, Stephen had taken Jack on and had never regretted his decision. Well, almost never.

  His thoughts having returned to the present, Stephen eyed the rabbit held before him. “My thanks,” he murmured grudgingly.

  “Oh, you’re most welcome, noble lord,” Jack replied. “Shall I prepare the feast? Ther
e’s a clearing not far off the road where we might comfortably spend the night.”

  Stephen turned his dark gaze down the rutted track, as if he might see an answer in the distance. He ran a hand through his thick, shoulder-length hair. It was not far to his destination, only a few more miles. But truth be told, he was more than a bit nervous about reaching it.

  “Perhaps it would be better to spend the night here,” he answered, climbing from his horse. “Get a fresh start in the morning. Better than to arrive a little late tonight and disturb everyone. Under the circumstances, I’d rather my reception be a pleasant one.”

  “Oh, yes. Far better to ensure our welcome is a happy one,” Jack echoed. “Under the circumstances.”

  Stephen gave his man a hard look before he led his stallion off the road into the wood. He trod noisily through the sodden leaves and undergrowth for a minute, then stopped to look back over his shoulder. “Mind yourself, Jack. This is serious business and I’ll have none of your cheek.”

  The other man pulled a long face but wisely held his tongue. Then dutifully he followed his master into the small clearing. The situation was hard on his lord, no doubt about it. It would be hard on any man, and Jack was glad Stephen had decided to stop for the night. A bit of roasted rabbit, a good night’s sleep, and he’d be ready to face whatever fate had in store. Tall one, short one, buck-toothed or gap-toothed, a brunette with a trace of a mustache, perhaps.

  Jack giggled to himself. Or a fat one. Oh, Lord. .Jack rolled his eyes heavenward.

  Though, please, not one with a mustache.

  “What’s so funny?” Stephen inquired irritably.

  “Oh, nothing,” Jack replied. “I hope.” Then he suddenly burst into peals of laughter.

  Ignoring his servant, Stephen continued on into the woods. He had the uncomfortable feeling he knew exactly what Jack was laughing about For the hundredth time that night, Mara rolled over and curled into a new position. The movement dislodged one of her fur coverlets, and it slithered silently to the floor. She reached down to retrieve it, changed her mind, slipped from beneath the remaining furs, and crossed to the window. Trey padded at her heels.

  The moon had begun its descent Had her life, as well, begun a downward motion? Would she be doomed henceforth to while away her days in the women’s bower, embroidering cloth, planning meals, awaiting her lord’s pleasure?

  And what of the man himself? Mara turned from the window, arms hugged to her breast Her father had said he was comely, not unpleasant to look upon. But her father, she feared, would say anything at this point What did “not unpleasant to look upon” really mean? Not too fat? Not too short or too thin? What did this husband-to-be, this jailer, really look like? And where was he now, how close, how soon to arrive with the shackles of matrimony?

  There were no answers. There were only the precious hours of liberty still left to her.

  Mara paced from her bed to the window. The dawn was not far, nor the events it would bring. Her stomach spasmed, and her fingers curled into the palms of her hands. Her heart raced.

  She shouldn’t do it, she knew. The sun, and its exposure, was too near. She might get caught this time and tempt her father’s legendary temper.

  Yet something deep within her would not be still. It was more than simple restlessness, more than an urge to run and revel in the final hours of her freedom. It was a feeling almost of being summoned, and being unable to resist the call-a call so elemental it tugged at her very soul. Mara surrendered.

  It took only moments to pull a woolen tunic over the linen chemise she wore. She picked up her boots and walked barefoot to the chest at the foot of her bed. Rummaging through its contents, the balance of her wardrobe and a few personal possessions, she extracted a large, iron key. Clutching it tightly, she tiptoed out her door.

  Her parents’ massive bed was limned by the predawn light. So closely entwined did they sleep, it was hard to tell one body from the other. How lucky they were in their love. How precious it was. How rare. Mara hurried on noiselessly, trying to swallow back the uncomfortable lump in her throat.

  The great hall was the most difficult obstacle. Servants and retainers alike, knights with no families of their own, littered the floor and snored beneath rough wool blankets. Mara paused to pull on her boots and make sure all slept soundly. Trey trotted ahead, making a brief stop to sniff at Douglas, her father’s old friend. The knight snorted and swiped at his cheek where the hound had laid its cold, wet nose.

  “Trey!” Mara hissed, and patted her thigh. The dog obediently returned to her side, and they continued together across the hall.

  Like most English structures of its time, the keep was built over a large storage area. Mara tripped down the steps into the night, key ready, and inserted it in the door to the undercroft. When both she and her hound had slipped inside, Mara closed the door and plunged them both into herb-fragrant darkness.

  A secret door was cleverly concealed in the stone here, further hidden behind a large pile of market baskets. The hidden passageway beyond had been built long ago by the cautious and far-seeing Ranulf, and was forgotten by all but father and daughter. Mara squeezed behind the precariously stacked vessels and touched the wall where it was subtly indented. The stone portal opened.

  Once again, Mara and Trey stepped into darkness. This time, it was total.

  Often were the occasions, however, she had needed to slip past gate and guards unnoticed, and the way was familiar. Mara did not make a single misstep as she trotted along. When she emerged at last from the seemingly endless tunnel, behind a seemingly careless scattering of boulders, she was far beyond the castle walls, with its surrounding village, and was deep within the forest.

  Aided by the imminent light of the sun, she jogged through the trees. It did not take long to reach her destination: the grassy bank of the small, woodland lake, far to the south of the Ullsmere.

  Trey panted at her side. Paying no heed to the chill air, Mara removed her boots, drew her tunic and chemise over her head, then stood at last clothed only in the raiment God had given her. Before her mind had lime to dwell on how achingly cold the water would be, she took a deep breath and dove cleanly into its dark and icy depths.

  Stephen tossed and turned on the hard ground, his mind whirling in a hundred different directions. What, after all, had he gotten himself into? He had been quite happy as a bachelor. He had always had as many women as he wanted, and was just as happy to send them on their way when he was done with them.

  Perhaps it was the way he had been raised, without a woman’s tender ministrations. His mother had died birthing him and his father, already gray-haired when he had taken his young wife, had not lived past Stephen’s eighth year. The boy had been left virtually alone with his father’s aging retainers and their own sons. Those men were now his score of knights, all good and trusted friends, the men he had known since boyhood, and were left behind to protect his lands and his people. The masculine life was the only life he had ever known, ever wanted. So what was he doing now adding a female to the mix?

  What I am doing, Stephen reminded himself sternly, I am doing for very sound practical and political reasons. He was no longer the boy who had puzzled over the correct choice of a squire. He was a man who had a duty both to himself and to the realm. Furthermore, alliances such as this were commonplace-to protect borders, increase lands, sway the outcome of inevitable disputes. This particular alliance would certainly aid and benefit all involved. He’d had no choice, really. Yet, at the moment, he found it difficult to dwell on the beneficial aspects of the impending union.

  Despairing at last of sleep, Stephen rolled from his blanket and wakened his servant.

  Jack groaned and curled into a tighter ball. Stephen nudged him with the toe of his boot. One of the man’s green eyes opened and focused.

  “Anxious to be off then, are we?”

  “It’s too early for your particular brand of humor,” Stephen answered. “Get up and let’s get moving.”
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  They were packed and on the road by first light, and they set out at a brisk trot.

  The day warmed steadily, and by the time the sun had crested the distant hills, Stephen’s horse was lathered and the linens beneath his mail shirt were damp with sweat.

  The shade of the woodland that bordered the road was irresistible. Stephen turned his horse off the dry, dusty track. He was rewarded immediately with a drop in temperature. And something else-not too far away, through the trees, the glint of sunlight on water.

  Stephen licked his dry lips and tried to reach beneath his collar for a good scratch. His stallion snorted and tossed his head.

  “The horses could do with a drink,” he said, half to himself. “It wouldn’t hurt to lose some of this road dust either.” Stephen turned to his servant. “What about you?”

  “ `Tain’t I who needs to be smellin‘ sweet as roses.”

  Stephen ignored him and guided his horse into the wood. When at last a small, secluded lake came into sight, he dismounted and handed the reins to his companion.

  “The things we do for love.” Jack sighed.

  “Roast in hell,” Stephen replied levelly. “If they can stand the smell of you down there.” He really shouldn’t take the time to indulge in a bath. He needed to be on his way, to do what needed to be done and return as quickly as possible to the men and lands he had left behind. Life had to go on, despite the unpleasant turns it occasionally took.

  Yet it was more than simple procrastination that drew Stephen from his appointed path. He felt an inexplicable urge, almost as if some unseen hand tugged at him, pulled him down to the water’s edge.

  His mail shirt was heavy and difficult to remove, but under Jack’s disgusted and disapproving gaze, Stephen laboriously pulled the thigh-length, steel-linked tunic over his head. Underlinens, breeches, and boots followed.

  His smooth, broad chest glistening with sweat, Stephen looked longingly at the water. Careless of his nakedness, he strode quickly toward the inviting depths.