Fire and Ice

by Christer, J. E.

  “Sir, it’s snowing now. Do you want beds making up for yourself and your wife? I can tell my wife to ready pallets for you. She’s a good cook too and will be topping up the broth later which will warm you both through,” he called over to de Gant.

  The cauldron hung from the beams, bubbling away over the central fire. The thought of hot food was enough to convince Sir Richard that they should stay for a while. If the snow was too bad for them to travel through then it would be too difficult for Ulfric and Thorvald. He knew they would be following them and had deliberately taken the most winding route to York just to confuse them. He nodded his consent to the innkeeper who called through to the kitchen for his wife to ready a pallet each for them. Palliases were placed on top of each pallet and de Gant picked Juliana up and placed her down on one tucking in her cloak around her before settling himself on the other. The flickering tallow candles provided a gloomy light and the smell of the boiling vegetables and meat drew de Gant into a dreamless sleep.

  Juliana dragged herself awake thanks to the persistent shaking she was receiving. She opened her eyes to see who was rudely interrupting her blissful slumber. A woman was leaning over her putting her fingers to her lips to warn her to be quiet. Fully awake now, Juliana sat up and looked around allowing her memory of the past days to fill her mind. The woman was wearing a woollen cloak with the hood pulled up keeping her face in shadow. She beckoned for Juliana to follow her to the far end of the room which was in darkness. Juliana could see that de Gant was sleeping heavily and quietly left her pallet to join the other woman.

  “My lady, Juliana, is it really you?” the woman whispered.

  Juliana was taken aback to hear her name spoken by this stranger.

  “Yes, I’m Juliana,” she whispered back, “who are you?”

  The woman pulled her hood down and Juliana’s face broke into a smile as she recognised Alice. “What are you doing here?” they both asked together as they embraced.

  “I’m married to the innkeeper here, my lady,” Alice said.

  “But I thought you were staying with my uncle in York.”

  “I did stay with him for a while but I lost the child I was carrying and once I was recovered I knew I couldn’t come back to Bertone so I had to make a living for myself. I cooked and served behind the bar of the Black Boar in York, which is where I met Sigurd, my husband. We moved to this place about six months ago.”

  “And are you happy, Alice?”

  “I’m very happy, thank you, my lady. But what I can’t understand is why you’re with that filthy Norman over there.”

  “It’s a long story, Alice, but things didn’t get any better when you left. When his sister turned up and I had to put up with her taking over the Hall and terrifying my mother to the point of losing her wits, I was pleased when Ulfric and Thorvald sent her to the nuns at Goxhill. De Gant doesn’t know that though, not yet, so don’t say anything.”

  “I won’t say a word, but that doesn’t explain why you are here with him, of all people.”

  “He took me by force from the banks of the Humber and we have been wandering all over this shire. Where are we Alice? Where do you think he’s taking me?”

  “We’re just outside York. I’ve no doubt he’s taking you there for some reason of his own.”

  “I haven’t been to York, for many years. I was but a child when my mother took me to see my uncle. Is it a good place?”

  “Your uncle lives in Coppergate, as you know, and he has a comfortable home, but there are parts of York where I would not go. You must be careful, my lady!”

  “Don’t worry, Alice. I’m sure Ulfric and Thorvald will be looking for me. It has been two months at least since we began our journey,” she hesitated and then confessed, “I’m carrying Ulfric’s child, Alice. Its three months since I last saw him and I’m afraid he won’t believe me and think that it’s de Gant’s child.”

  “He’ll know you would never willingly give yourself to de Gant, my lady. I know what it’s like be away from home with no hope. Please - let me help you. I’ll do anything that is in my power to help you to escape, if that’s what you wish.”

  “No, Alice. You’d better stay out of sight. If he sees you and recognises you, then who knows what he’ll do? Look – he’s stirring, I’d better go back to the pallet. Explain to your husband that he must serve us and not you.”

  “I will, my lady. He’s a good man and we’re very happy.”

  Juliana smiled her pleasure and carefully made her way back to the fire where she sat on the end of her pallet and stared into the flames. She looked across at de Gant who was sleeping peacefully again unaware that she now had an ally, one who would never let her down; one who would tell Ulfric, if she saw him, that she had been here and hopefully the news would spur him on. She would have been heart-warmed to know that they were only a day behind them.

  ***

  Ulfric and Thorvald had followed as Kyle led them from village to village hoping to catch up with de Gant and Juliana, and in each one the news was the same. Yes, people had seen two strangers, one of whom had a collar around her neck they were informed, which made Ulfric’s blood boil. Thorvald’s thirst for blood was even more drastic, he threatened to perform the ‘blood-eagle’ on the worthless Norman, which made Ulfric smile. On the surface Thorvald appeared to have adopted the English ways, but deep down his roots were firmly entrenched in the old, Norse customs of torture and execution. Ulfric remembered the sagas telling stories of the ‘blood-eagle’ being performed two hundred years earlier, when the Norsemen invaded the shores of England in their longboats. Anyone standing against them when they raided and pillaged the coastline were killed by being spread-eagled on the ground, and their bodies subjected to the horrific ordeal of having their heart and lungs revealed whilst still alive. He shook his head to clear away such deadly thoughts.

  Kyle lay in front of the fire, twitching his feet and whimpering as he chased imaginary things in his sleep.

  “It’s still snowing,” Ulfric said unnecessarily.

  “I know,” Thorvald muttered under his breath. They had been cooped up in the village inn for two days and his patience was wearing thin. He and Thorvald had been friends for virtually all their lives, but of late, Thorvald himself was used to some space between them.

  “I’ll buy another jug of ale each and you can insult me and tell sagas like we did in the old days. Then I’ll insult you back and we can sleep off the ale until tomorrow when hopefully it will have stopped snowing,” Ulfric smiled, knowing what was going through his friend’s mind. They both laughed and Ulfric raised his arm for the innkeeper to bring more ale.

  But it hadn’t stopped snowing the next day, nor the next. It was a full week before they could once again set out on the quest to find Juliana and dispose of de Gant in any way they saw fit. There would be no mercy from either of them, never mind that William had decreed there would be no fighting between his knights. This was different and Ulfric was determined to see his own justice done.

  Chapter 17

  Giselle slowly opened her eyes and shut them again quickly as the bright winter sun pierced her brain. She felt cold and didn’t recognise her surroundings. She made a mental note to tell the servants to bring her more furs but as her memory returned and she moved her head to survey her room, what she saw brought her no comfort. A faint movement caught her eye and she heard scurrying under her bed causing her to sit up and hug the coarse woollen blanket closer to her chest. She sat wide-eyed when she saw rats scurrying along the cold stone floor, hugging close to the wall line. A scream erupted from her throat and she stood on the hard wooden bench which had served as her bed. No one heard her screams, or if they did, she was ignored. Mice were also running around in the straw and rushes which partly covered the stone floor. Noting an earthenware jug on a battered table next to the bed she grabbed it and threw it as hard as she could at the offending vermin. It shattered easily spilling water on the floor and up the walls, but still they scam
pered in the darker corners.

  She screamed again and again and at last someone came to her. She ran to the woman and started shaking her.

  “Where am I?” she yelled, “I want to go home. Do you know who I am?”

  “My lady, calm yourself, of course we know who you are. Now please be quiet or I’ll have to quieten you myself.”

  Giselle was shocked at the expression on the woman’s face. She was dressed as a nun and her demeanour was threatening but Giselle, in her trauma, continued with her tirade.

  “I demand to see my brother, Sir Richard de Gant. I am living at Ulfric’s Hall in Bertone. Send word immediately, do you hear?”

  Her hysterics were ended by a sharp slap to her face. “You are here under instruction from my lord Ulfric, and Father Matthew has confirmed the matter, so I suggest you sit down and I will tell you what we intend to do with you.”

  Giselle’s mind could not take in what had just happened and she was stunned into silence, holding the side of her burning cheek.

  “That’s better. Now let me introduce myself, I am Sister Margaret and you are going to live with us here in Goxhill until my lord Ulfric sends for you. Is that clear?”

  “Wh...at? Why? I demand you send for my father, he is with the King’s court. He will come for me.”

  “You are in no position to demand anything. Now that you have finished sleeping you can follow me and I will take you to our Mother Superior and then show you your tasks for today. You will then join us for prayer. We meet for prayer every four hours which includes through the night, so I hope you are well rested.”

  “Oh, no, I’m not a nun. You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Sister Margaret concluded and grabbed Giselle by the arm and holding her firmly, dragged her to a small room similar to the one she had left but much cleaner. “Here, remove your clothes and put these on.” She pushed some coarse material into Giselle’s hands and stood back but Giselle made no move to comply.

  “I said, put these on. There is no display of finery in here. We live simply and your clothes are not suitable for the work we have for you.”

  “I’m not a servant. How dare you treat me this way?”

  “We are all servants of the Lord here. Now do as you’re told or there will be no food or water for you today.”

  Giselle’s stomach was grumbling already and slowly she began removing her outer clothes, leaving on a fine linen shift which had belonged to Hilde. She was about to put the dress over her head when Sister Margaret stopped her.

  “No, my lady! You will take off your undergarment too, as I’ve told you we have no need for finery. It will teach you to appreciate how privileged you have been since your birth.”

  Giselle was about to argue when Sister Margaret took a step closer with her hand raised as if to strike her again.

  “Alright, alright. I’ll remove the shift but I’ll remember this day when my father or brother come to claim me. You will regret having crossed me.”

  “We’ll see who regrets what,” was the only reply she received.

  Giselle took off the rest of her clothes and wriggled uncomfortably when she realised that the dress was in fact a habit like the nun’s wore, but a different colour. Theirs were black and hers was a dirty brown which felt as if it was infested with lice. She itched and scratched until her skin was red raw but no sympathy was forthcoming.

  “The Mother Superior would like to see you now,” Sister Margaret explained as she led Giselle along another corridor.

  “Good. I’ll give her a piece of my mind when I see her.”

  “I wouldn’t bother trying. She’s the one who gave me instructions on how to deal with you.”

  Sister Margaret paused before a heavy oak door and knocked three times before a muted “Enter” was heard. The heavy door yielded under pressure and Giselle was led, still scratching, into the room. An older woman with rosy cheeks and wearing the same sort of habit as Sister Margaret sat behind a weighty-looking table. She wore a large cross around her neck and keys hung from a chatelaine at her waist. Giselle was guided, none too gently to stand in front of the Mother Superior.

  “I’ve a complaint to make to you, Mother...” Giselle began importantly, and was taken off-guard as another slap was delivered to her cheek, this time from the Mother Superior who had risen sharply and leaned over the barrier between them.

  “You will speak when I tell you, and not before. Do we understand each other, my lady?”

  Giselle was rendered speechless once again by the swiftness of the delivered hand and held her smarting cheek, trying not to let the tears fall which had gathered in her eyes.

  “Do we understand each other?” The question came again.

  Giselle nodded dumbly losing the battle to stop the tears flowing, but croaked, “Why are you doing this to me, Mother? What have I done to provoke such treatment?”

  The Mother Superior walked around the desk and nodded to Sister Margaret to leave them. “Wait outside, please, Sister,” she added and the nun moved to obey.

  Feeling totally abandoned, Giselle watched as the other woman circled her and then heard her sigh heavily.

  “You ask what you have done? Let me explain to you why you are here and the reason for your supposed mistreatment. Sit down!” she commanded.

  Giselle moved to sit in front of the desk and the Mother Superior returned to her chair and observed the sniffling woman who had caused such havoc at the Hall at Bertone.

  “My lady Hilde has been a steadfast friend to this house of God since her marriage to the late lord. I understand from Father Matthew, Erik, whose family also benefit the people here, and the Norseman who brought you, that you have systematically destroyed the lady Hilde’s life. You have set out to demoralise her body and her mind since your arrival, and she is now teetering on the point of death. You have stolen from her and her daughter, and even caused physical harm to the lady Juliana by pushing her into the fire. Now you tell me if these are the acts of a sane person?”

  Giselle stared at the woman in front of her. “You don’t understand, Mother,” she said as if explaining something to a child, “I am a Norman and therefore I am superior to all of you here. You are a conquered people and yet you refuse to submit to your betters. That old woman, Hilde, who is so precious to you, is worthless to me. Why shouldn’t she share her garments with me? What use are such gowns to her now her husband is dead? And as for that fawning daughter of hers, what Ulfric sees in her I’ve no idea. She’s insipid and her former lover, Erik, makes cows eyes at her all the time. Wait till I tell Ulfric about that!”

  The Mother Superior gazed at Giselle whose colour had risen to match her spirit. “You are a foolish woman, my lady. I see now why they were so insistent that you stay with us here. Once you have learned gratitude and humility I will speak to Father Matthew, but until then you will stay here with us. You will have no visitors and will work alongside the sisters, in the kitchen, in the gardens, and you will join us in prayer every four hours. You will begin by cleaning your own room. I understand you don’t like vermin, so now’s your chance to get rid of them. After that you will go to the kitchen and help the sisters prepare the midday repast. If you disobey any of their orders then you’ll be returned to your room with no food. If you continue on the course you seem determined to follow, you will only be hurting yourself. Sister Margaret will show you where the brooms are kept and you can draw water from the well outside. But before I let you go, there is one thing that all sisters have to submit to when entering here.”

  Giselle watched in horror as a large pair of rusted shears were produced from under the apron of the Mother Superior.

  “No, Mother, not that! I beg you – don’t cut my hair off!”

  “It will be beneficial in the long run, now be still or I might cut you.”

  Giselle cried out against the blades and Sister Margaret had to come back into the room to help subdue her. Mother Superior hacked
off the long tresses and threw them on the floor. It was not done neatly and because of Giselle’s squirming and fighting there were bald patches interspersed with short tufts of hair when they had finished.

  “Put on this cap and you can go now,” the Mother Superior said handing her a grey, linen square of material and dismissed her into the care of Sister Margaret who was told to show Giselle how to fold the material into a cap.

  Giselle moved to the door in quiet acquiescence. She would clean her room, she thought defiantly, but they would have a long wait before she lowered herself to take part in domestic chores. Fortunately, there were no mirrors or bright surfaces where she could see herself but when she ran her fingers through her hair she could feel her scalp in too many places.

  Chapter 18

  “Do you know how much I hate you?” Juliana snarled between gritted teeth.

  “I don’t care how much you hate me, because you’ll soon be mine and I’ll be your lord and master and you will submit to me,” sneered de Gant.

  “You can do as you wish but I will not consent to be your wife under any circumstances.”

  “That won’t stop me,” he replied confidently.

  Juliana stamped her foot on the snowy ground and turned her back on the Norman. He jerked her head round with the lead attached to the collar causing her to grimace with pain. In temper she grabbed the lead and jerked it hard causing Sir Richard to slip on the ice underfoot and land at her feet. A smile crept onto her face and eventually she was holding her sides laughing but a sudden pain caused her to clutch at her stomach. Her face turned as white as the snowy landscape and she fainted away. When she recovered her wits, she found herself in the arms of her antagonist and incapable of escape.

  “Are you ill, Juliana? You’ve been sick and deathly pale since we began our journey.”