Fire and Ice

by Christer, J. E.

  Juliana was surprised by his concern and knew she would have to tell him about her pregnancy. Her stomach had begun to swell and her waist had thickened over the months they had been travelling but she had hidden herself in her cloak hoping he would not notice.

  Taking a deep breath and struggling away from him she looked him in the eyes, “I’m with child, Sir Richard.”

  “No! How can you be? I haven’t touched you in all this time.”

  “The child is Ulfric’s, not yours, imbecile!”

  Her words sank into his befuddled brain and he turned on her angrily, pushing her away as he spoke, “I wanted you to be my wife. I would have given everything to you; all my land in Normandy would have been yours, I would have shared my wealth with you but you have deceived me!” He rose to his feet and jerked her off the ground with a cruel yank of the leather collar. He strode away from her muttering to himself and she thought he had at last lost his mind entirely. He stopped in his tracks and returned to her side, thrusting her to the ground once more. A hefty kick was delivered to her back and she held her arms in front of her to protect her baby, assuming a foetal position as she did so. He cursed her existence and punched her arm, kicking her again when she least expected it. His attack went on for what seemed like hours, but was in fact only five very painful minutes. His last kick was to her head which brought her oblivion from the pain at last.

  The weak afternoon sunshine was low in the sky when consciousness returned. Juliana felt a sharp pain in her right arm and shoulder and she moaned as she rolled onto her back, wondering where she was. As she lay there she noticed a red stain in the snow where her head had rested and gingerly felt with her fingers to find the offending wound. She sat up slowly, nearly passing out from the pain jagging at her limbs. Gathering her wits from the far-flung reaches of the universe where they had lingered for some time, she could not understand what she was doing out in the freezing cold with a head wound and bruises which had revealed themselves on her limbs when examined. In fact, she could remember nothing at all – not even her own name.

  One thing she did know was that she ought to find some shelter or she would freeze if she had to spend a night outside. Getting to her feet, Juliana limped along an icy path which eventually led her to the city gates of York. What am I doing here? she thought to herself and wished she could remember. Trying to concentrate on her memory she wandered into the city oblivious of her surroundings but following any lane she could find. A blinding headache caused her to stumble and almost fall before she caught herself on a stone pillar on the corner of a crossroads. Ketmongergate, the sign beckoned her but the strong smell of fish made her want to heave the meagre contents of her stomach back up. Another lane led her to Swinegate, where she was almost overcome by the stench of pigs. Reeling from one place to another she eventually found Haymongergate where barns full of hay welcomed her tired body and where she eventually collapsed onto a pile of sweet smelling hay where sleep welcomed her into its healing arms.

  She was roughly awoken by a strong pair of arms pushing her backwards and forwards. The owner of the arms was a young man who looked down on her curiously.

  “What d’yer think yer doin’ ‘ere then? ‘Ave you no ‘ome to go to?”

  Juliana raised her head and swung her feet to the floor, trying to get to grips with the unfamiliar accent. “I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep. Where am I?”

  “Th’as in York and sleepin’ on our straw, that’s where,” he smiled in a friendly manner. “What’s yer name?”

  “Er... sorry – er...” Juliana shook her head to dispel the clouds of cobwebs which seemed to have taken the place of her brain.

  “Don’t thee ‘ave no name?”

  Juliana burst into tears and covered her face with her hands. “’Ere don’t tek on so. Come wi’ me and me ma will sort thee out,” the young man said.

  She allowed herself to be led to a hut where a welcoming fire was lit. A small, round-hipped woman came bustling up to them and without saying a word she took Juliana’s arm and helped her to a seat by the fire.

  “She dun’t know ‘er own name, ma, but she looks right poorly to me. Found ‘er in barn.”

  The first thing the woman did was to remove the leather collar and lead. She leaned over Juliana and examined the bruises and wounds which were visible, especially her head wound. She patted her on the shoulder causing Juliana to flinch. “Y’erv took a right old pastin’ from somebody, that’s fer sure.”

  “I’m sorry - I can’t remember anything,” Juliana said through her sniffles. By the light of the fire she saw the woman had twinkling blue eyes and ruddy cheeks. Her smile touched her lips and lingered in her eyes as she tried to make Juliana feel at home.

  “Well, I’m just ‘Ma’ to everybody ‘ere so you can call me that,” the woman said kindly, as she thrust the poker into the fire. She went over to a small table and poured some ale into an earthenware beaker before taking the hot poker and pushing it into the ale. She handed it to Juliana who sipped the liquid, feeling it slide down and warm her insides.

  “Thank you, Ma,” she said gratefully.

  “Let’s be ‘avin’ that cloak off yer and we’ll see to yer bruises.” She looked over at her son, nodding to him that he should leave, which he did reluctantly, closing the door behind him.

  The fire warmed the room enough for Juliana to remove the cloak she had worn constantly during the months of her enforced journey. Her gown was torn and splashed with mud and her boots had holes in them. She still had the small knife and girdle around her waist which Ma admired. “I wish I knew where it came from, but I can’t even remember going to sleep in your barn.”

  “I’m not surprised wi’ the beatin’ yerv ‘ad. I’m surprised yer can stand up. Can yer remember when babby’s due?”

  Juliana gasped when she looked down and saw her swollen stomach. “I’d forgotten about that too, Ma. I feel so helpless...” Juliana dissolved into tears of frustration and anger. Ma let her cry while she went to prepare some ointment for the bruises and boiled some hot water to wash the head wound. When she returned to the fireside, Juliana had recovered herself enough to allow the woman to minister to her. When she removed her gown the full extent of her injuries became clear. Her right side and back were covered with black bruises and her arms were displaying the colours of the rainbow.

  “Whoever did this must be a mad man,” Ma said with barely concealed anger. “’itting a pregnant woman like this; ‘ee deserves to be ‘ung.”

  Juliana managed a weak smile, “I agree, Ma, but I’ve no idea who he is or was.”

  “Well mebbe you should stay ‘ere with me and Tom. My ‘usband was killed in uprisings last year so another pair of ‘ands will be welcome.”

  Juliana smiled broadly, “I can’t thank you enough, Ma. I’ll work hard for you, I promise.”

  “Aye, I know yer will. But first you’ll get some food in yer belly to feed you up and that little ‘un yer carrying.”

  “Yes, I suppose it’s not the baby’s fault, is it?”

  “No, babbies are innocent when they come into this world, but they don’t stay that way, unfortunately!”

  They sat in compatible silence while Juliana finished her hot drink and Tom returned, knocking first before entering at his mother’s call.

  “’Ow’s things then? Are yer feelin’ better?” he looked towards Juliana for an answer.

  “I’m a lot better, thank you,” she answered shyly when she noticed he was gazing with interest at her face and hair.

  “Yer’ve got ‘air like me father,” he said shortly and then continued quietly as if wanting to purge his memory. “Normans came to our village and killed everyone, including me sister. They raped her first, three of ‘em took turns; then they killed her. Ma and me was watching from barn but me father tried to save ‘er. That’s when they killed ‘im. They set fire to the village and the fields ‘afore they went and left us wi’ nowt. Ma managed to save some straw and a wagon so we cam
e ‘ere. All animals was killed so we would ‘ave starved except for some kind folk who said this ‘ouse was left empty when two brothers died. We’ve been ‘ere ever since.”

  Juliana looked at Ma and saw the horror of the memories reflected in her eyes and reached out to comfort her by taking her hand. Ma squeezed Juliana’s hand in return but she covered her face with her hessian apron and wept.

  ***

  Kyle had been following Juliana’s scent along the highways and byways, always running ahead of the men, but suddenly he stopped and sniffed the snow. He began to dig frantically until Ulfric shouted to him to stop, and then he sat howling until they caught up with him. Fresh snow had hidden the pool of blood from Juliana’s head wound but Kyle had searched it out and now was ready to follow the scent for the rest of the way. Thorvald and Ulfric looked down at the blood stain and their own blood ran cold in their veins.

  “I wonder if it belongs to Juliana?” Thorvald said.

  “It must do or the dog wouldn’t be making such a fuss.”

  “It could be de Gant’s? Maybe she’s escaped from him but had to fight him first.”

  “No. I know its Juliana’s. I don’t think Kyle would have bothered with anyone else’s scent.”

  Ulfric noticed the edges of the track leading away. “Let’s hope she took this track and Kyle will find her soon. We’re nearly in York I think, so hopefully she’ll be with her uncle. We’ll check there first before we do anything else.”

  Kyle was pleased to be allowed to follow his nose again and ran ahead in search of his mistress. He had grown into a large, strong dog and had proved invaluable to Ulfric and Thorvald over the last few months. They hadn’t expected it to take so long in finding Juliana, but de Gant had been as sly as usual, leading them on a long and freezing cold journey.

  In a few hours they were approaching Coppergate but Kyle was straining at the leash which had been put around his neck to stop him from running all over the city. The stout oak door opened just as they were about to knock and once they had explained who they were, the servants invited them in and took them through to a partitioned room where Juliana’s uncle, Ragn, was sitting. He was a big man and almost dwarfed the chair he reclined in.

  The servants brought wine, ale and food for the travellers once Ragn was satisfied that Ulfric and Thorvald were looking for Juliana. They explained about his sister, Hilde, and Ragn drew himself up to his full height of well over six feet and bellowed his anger at these Norman invaders. Ulfric thought he was going to have a seizure, such was his anger, and tried to calm him down. It turned out that Juliana had not visited him, nor was she hiding anywhere that he knew of. Ragn was ready to send people out looking for her there and then but Thorvald explained that first thing in the morning would be soon enough as they were very unlikely to find anyone in the dark. Gradually, Ragn calmed down and became the genial host he was known to be, offering shelter to his visitors and vowing he would join forces with them to find his niece. Kyle slept by the fire after enjoying a hearty supper.

  Chapter 19

  Sir Richard de Gant stared blankly into his empty cup which had once held a frothing amount of ale. His thoughts were lost in his imaginary world of wedded bliss with Juliana. His fantasies were interrupted by a picture of him beating her and his body recoiled sharply at the unwanted memory. He must have been out of his mind to hurt her like that, and to leave her helpless body lying in the snow was unforgiveable. His father had always chided him for his impatience and lack of control. He called to the serving girl to pour more ale and then went back to his ponderings. Juliana was probably dead by now he thought, and was torn between heartfelt sorrow for a love lost and his cowardly fear of Ulfric finding out. As for that heathen who followed him around like a pet dog, who knew what he would do if they found him. Thinking of the pet dog reminded him of Kyle and he considered whether the tide had risen far enough to drown him or if he had been rescued.

  Suddenly, he drank his ale in one gulp and got unsteadily to his feet. If Kyle had indeed escaped and they were using him to find his mistress, then his days were numbered. He needed to get away, return to France or rejoin William’s troops who were even now fighting further north. Throwing coins to pay for his ale in front of the landlord who had been keeping a wary eye on him, he turned on his heels and left the inn.

  He stumbled out into the spring sunshine squinting at the unaccustomed sun and bumping into three men who were about to enter the inn. He tried to muscle his way through them until one of them grabbed his arm.

  “Hold on there, who do you think you are?” It was Ragn.

  De Gant looked up straight into the faces of Ulfric and Thorvald. His blood froze in his veins. He shook his arm free from Ragn’s grasp but knew he was cornered.

  “Well, well – Sir Richard de Gant!” Ulfric despised the name on his tongue. “What a surprise seeing you here. You know Sir Richard, don’t you, Thorvald?” He made a mockery of bowing to de Gant. “Let me introduce you to our friend here,” he pointed to Ragn. “This is Juliana’s uncle and he’s been very keen to meet you.”

  Sarcasm dripped off Ulfric’s tongue while de Gant wished the ground would open up and swallow him. “So this is the brave knight who preys on defenceless women?” roared Ragn. He grabbed de Gant again, this time by the throat and squeezed, careful to give pain and fear but not to kill him.

  Ragn was a large man standing head and shoulders above de Gant who seemed to have shrivelled since the other men had last seen him. Ulfric saw that de Gant was dangling from Ragn’s grip, and his eyes were beginning to pop so knew he would have to rescue him before long, but enjoyed seeing his extreme discomfort.

  Ragn dropped his prey at that moment and de Gant was left gasping for breath coughing and holding his throat. Kyle had been sitting watching the proceedings but now bared his teeth, ready to attack, just waiting for the command.

  Ulfric sat on his haunches to soothe the dog. “I think we’d better take you along with us and you can tell us where Juliana is. The dog is waiting to taste your flesh, de Gant, so you’d better make sure you leave nothing out.”

  Ragn withdrew his axe from a strap across his back and rested it on de Gant’s shoulders. The edge had been sharpened that morning and the blade was tantalisingly close to the Norman’s neck. They walked back to Coppergate with de Gant trying not to move too quickly or the blade would surely sever an artery. Once back in his home Ragn ordered food and drink for all but de Gant, who was left in a corner with Kyle keeping guard. The Norman could almost feel those teeth tearing the flesh from his bones and kept as still as possible. The smell of food made his stomach rumble but his hunger was to go unsatisfied for the foreseeable future. Kyle received rib bones with meat still clinging to them which he devoured in front of de Gant.

  Once the men had eaten they returned to their hungry prisoner and demanded answers.

  “We became separated...” de Gant began his explanation.

  “Don’t lie to me!” roared Ulfric, his temper threatening to boil over. “The dog found the bloodstains in the snow so we know Juliana is injured. WHERE IS SHE?”

  De Gant moved back against the corner of the wall trying to roll himself into a tight ball in case the men attacked him. “I tell you – I don’t know where she is,” he insisted.

  “We don’t believe you!” Thorvald joined in and made a great show of removing his knife from its sheath.

  “Alright, alright, I’ll tell you.”

  De Gant began with his story about his attack on Juliana and by the time he’d finished the men knew he was telling the truth. Ulfric was shocked to the core to find out about the baby and would have rung de Gant’s neck there and then if Ragn hadn’t claimed the right to kill the man himself. De Gant shivered in his corner.

  ***

  As her brother feared for his life in York, Giselle de Gant was slowly coming to terms with her life in the Goxhill convent. All her ranting and raving had made no impression on the nuns because as soon as she start
ed her abuse and complaints she was escorted back to her cell and locked in. After a few weeks she realised that the only person she was hurting was herself. Gradually, she tried to fit in with the nuns’ wishes and although she hated the menial work, it was better than sitting alone day after day with nothing but bread and water for sustenance. Father Matthew was the only visitor she was allowed who conducted communion with her and preached the word of God to her alone. One day she was surprised to be invited to communion with the nuns and although suspicious, she made an effort to be agreeable, although her motives were selfish.

  “Welcome, my dear,” said the Mother Superior. “We are so glad you decided to join us. Father Matthew has brought a young man with him who is to take Holy Orders in a few months’ time.” She led Giselle forward and introduced her to a tall, young man who went by the name of Luke, soon to be Father Francis. His habit declared him to be a monk from the monastery in Barrow, a few miles down the road, but presently she could not see his features due to his hood shadowing his face.

  “Good morning, Father,” Giselle gave her best curtsey and bowed her head in humility.

  “I understand you are visiting here for a while, my lady. I hope you are well rested after your er... troubles,” he said, his rich deep voice sounding unfamiliar in this female sanctuary.

  Giselle almost snapped that she was not visiting but trapped there, but she managed to curb her tongue until she could get the measure of the man. A bell sounded and they moved into the chapel where Father Matthew entered into the traditional communion service, offering each nun a wafer to symbolise the body of Christ. Giselle was careful to keep her eyes down as she accepted the dry offering which almost choked her until Luke came along with the wine which eased the wafer down her throat.

  “It looks like the blood of Christ has saved you twice, my lady,” Luke whispered in her ear when she had recovered her breath.