Medieval Wolfe Boxed Set: A De Wolfe Connected World Collection of Victorian and Medieval Tales

by Alexa Aston

“Naught to say? Well and good. So then, Elrik and Betek of Breda, what shall we do with you?”

  Elrik tensed. Betek’s fists clenched. Showdown, with nigh hopeless odds.

  Dugald would seek to take Yrsa while the hope of gold fired the greed of the rest. He had naught but his knife to hand and they had disarmed Betek, unless they failed to find the thin blade he kept in a hidden sheath in his boot. The next few moments would determine much. If they died, Yrsa would face misery. His heart raged for her sake.

  He risked a glance at her. She peered up at the Scots, looking as fearless and untroubled as when first he came upon her. He remembered her certainty they would have a lifetime together and some of his alarm dissipated.

  He had, after all, decided to believe her. “I say again, Dugald, neither our purpose nor our presence offers threat to the folk of this land, and we have naught worth dying for. Let us go.”

  Whatever Dugald’s decision, he had no chance to enact it. One of his men grunted and tumbled to the ground, an arrow protruding from his back. Another fell. From below the brink of the summit to the north, where the sharp drop of the land hid their movements charged a troop of Norman soldiers led by two knights. Their number exceeded that of the Scots. Within moments, battle raged outside the hollow.

  Elrik dove for his sword and then pushed Yrsa to the floor of the hollow. “Stay put.”

  Betek pulled his boot knife and made to climb out and join the fray.

  He caught his arm. “Nay, my friend! ’Tis not our fight.”

  Why he was so certain of that, he could not say.

  “The Scots would have killed us without chance to defend ourselves.”

  “We do not know that for certain. We should let the battle be decided between them.”

  “Very well.” From his tone Betek did not approve, but accepted the decision. “I stand ready to give account, regardless.”

  “Agreed.”

  They stood back-to-back and waited for the outcome.

  Like most skirmishes of its kind, the fight raged fierce but relatively short. The Normans claimed victory. Four of the Scots survived, including Dugald. The Normans disarmed and trussed them.

  The taller of the young Norman knights faced Elrik, assessing them. “You are Brabánter mercenaries.”

  Elrik gave a half nod, but relaxed not his vigilance. Brabáncons and Normans were supposed to be allies, but in this remote part of the land such ties had little meaning.

  “I am Sir William.” The knight gestured to the other who gave orders to the rest of the men. “That is Sir Hersin. He commands the mounted unit that accompanies me. We are among those that patrol the border with Scotland since the invasion last year.”

  “I am Elrik of Breda. With me are Betek of Breda and Yrsa of Ottham.”

  Sir William stood silent while Sir Hersin ordered his men to tend to the wounded and drag the dead Scots beyond the ridge of rock to bury them.

  “They buried not our dead, sir,” one of the soldiers said.

  “They are barbarians, Dreu. We are not. Do we become like them because we are angry?”

  The soldier gave a nod and turned to see the order obeyed.

  Sir William speared Elrik’s gaze. “Will you give your word of honor you will offer no hostility to us?”

  “Aye, if you offer the same.”

  “I do, and to your woman,” William said, gesturing to Yrsa as she stood. “As will Sir Hersin.” He relaxed. “’Tis growing late. Have you objection to us sharing your camp?”

  Most men would not ask, would simply take over. Elrik approved the courtesy. “None. Betek?”

  “They may stay.”

  “We have fresh meat and provisions if you wish to eat with us.”

  “We will. The Scots interrupted our plans to hunt.”

  William bent to wipe gore from his sword in the grass, then sheathed the weapon. “We have enough for all.”

  Elrik gestured to the bound Scots. “What will you do with them?”

  William clambered into the hollow. “They are the remnants of a group that attacked a number of villages across the northern border last month. My unit and one other were sent from Duresme Castle to hunt them down and bring them back for judgment. They tried to escape north, but we cut them off and they fled west over the mountains.

  “My captain, Sir Estienne de Wolfe, to whom I am First, ordered me to return to Duresme to report, but he continued on, hoping to catch them before they crossed the western border. Sir Blaise Bohun, in command of the castle since the death of Bishop Walcher two months past, directed that Sir Hersin and his men accompany me to my unit. We have orders from King William to follow the Scots even into Cumbra-land. He wants them apprehended or destroyed—all of them. After seeing what they did to my companions, my preference is the latter.”

  He sighed as he got comfortable next to the fire. Betek sat beside him.

  Elrik remained on his feet, watching the activity of the men of the patrol as they hauled away bodies. Now he understood why ’twas right he and Betek not interfere with the battle between the two groups. For the Normans, the fight provided vengeance for their butchered comrades and restored their tattered honor.

  Yrsa handed him two full ale-skins. “Mayhap,” she said beneath her breath, “this will help ease tensions.”

  He grinned. Excellent timing. He sat with her at his side and handed one of the skins to Sir William.

  “My thanks,” William said. “We found the remains of my unit yesterday. It appears the Scots doubled back and ambushed them, killing all except mayhap the captain. I could not find his body. ’Tis my hope he still lives.” His tone hardened. “The Scots will tell me what they did with him or they will not live to reach Duresme for trial.”

  Elrik passed the skin to Betek, who took a single, long draught before handing it back. “We also saw the bodies,” he said, “but further on, we came across a bloody surcoat of a knight of your kindred. ’Twas our thought one of the Normans, though wounded, survived.”

  “We also saw the surcoat and it offers hope to me,” Sir William said. “Sir Estienne is more than my captain. He is a good friend. We fostered together and have served together since receiving our spurs. He is one of the finest warriors and most honorable men I know.”

  Elrik raised his ale skin. “Then let us hope we find him soon, alive and hale.”

  Chapter Six

  “The darkness. Help me!” Gasping, Yrsa struggled to escape the cloying blackness of her dream.

  “Yrsa. Sweet one, wake up.”

  Her mind latched onto the familiar voice. She opened her eyes to find Elrik’s face, a safe haven despite his wrinkled brow, so close their noses almost touched.

  “Elrik?”

  The arms around her eased their hold. “Aye.” He cocked his head. With the movement, the tips of their noses did brush. He nuzzled her. “I take it you dreamed?”

  She nodded, still panting, but glad to be back in the waking world and more grateful still for the comforting reality of his arms. Encompassing and endless, the darkness in the dream had overwhelmed. Never had she endured the like. Did she not know better, she might believe the darkness an omen of impending death, hers and his.

  Heart pounding, she clutched Elrik’s strong, solid shoulders as surely as she clung to the earlier dream in which they lived a lifetime together. But which vision was real? The two could not coexist.

  “It did not seem a good dream,” he said, leaning away. With the movement, a lock of golden hair dropped over his forehead. It gave him a relaxed, tousled look she liked very much.

  “Not all of it.” She would not mention the black ending. Not yet. “I know where to find Sir William’s friend.”

  He went still and then steadied her as she sat up. “’Twas a seeing dream then.”

  “Aye.” She looked around. A chill mist blanketed the world. The others, some of them naught more than indistinct shadows moving in the fog, appeared ready to move on.

  Beyond Elrik’s shoulder,
Sir William stood on the rim of the hollow. The knight’s gaze bored into hers, but his expression showed no indication of what he thought of her declaration. With the courtesy innate to him, he waited.

  Elrik helped her stand. “Go. Seek your privacy. I will finish the packing.” He grinned. “We left a bowl of boiled oats by the fire for you. Not much taste, but ’twill warm your insides.”

  “I am sorry to wake so late.”

  “’Tis no fault of yours. I could have awakened you at any time. I chose to let you sleep.”

  She nodded and then glanced at the patient knight. “Sir William?”

  At her invitation, he dropped into the hollow. His eyes held a hint of suspicion.

  “If you are willing, I will lead you to your friend.”

  His eyes narrowed. “How have you obtained this knowledge? We interrogated the Scots until late in the night, but all we learned is they doubled back this second time because from a high summit they saw you from afar, coming along their back trail. They decided to intercept you, though they swore ’twas not their intent to kill, only persuade you to change your course.” His lips tightened. “I believed them not.”

  She knew of the nocturnal efforts to gain information. The Normans had moved their captives away from the camp, but the low, angry voices, muffled thuds of flesh against flesh and accompanying groans carried across the open moor. The sounds followed her into sleep.

  “How I know matters not. He is close.”

  His glare fierce, Sir William stiffened. Frustration layered his tone. “I heard mention of a dream, but I have not time to play games, woman. Speak plainly.”

  Elrik loomed closer to her, his stance protective as he faced the knight. “Does she say ’tis so, then listen. If you wish to find your friend, you will heed her words.”

  His tone suggested the wisdom of compliance.

  She laid a hand on his arm and felt the muscles respond to her touch, though he took not his gaze from the knight. That he believed her deepened her respect for him. That he championed her won her heart. In her life, only módir and Old Truda supported her. Warmth flooded her, quenching the foreboding that chilled her since she woke.

  The edge to Sir William’s tone eased. “What direction?”

  She climbed partway up the side of the hollow and pointed toward the northwest. The rising sun was beginning to burn off the heavy mist. “That way. You will find him with two others. They guard him. They shelter in a bothy on the side of a hill. As I said, ’tis not far.”

  “Since that is the direction from which we think the Scots came,” Sir William said, “I will follow your lead. If you are wrong—”

  “If she is wrong,” Elrik interrupted, gripping the pommel of his sword, “I will take responsibility.”

  “As will I.” Betek came to stand on her other side. “We have good reason to put faith in this woman’s knowledge.”

  Yrsa blinked at him, startled by his support. Since when had Betek decided to believe in her dreams?

  Something, a flash of humor mayhap, moved through Sir William’s eyes. “I am outnumbered. Will you ride with us then?”

  Elrik’s hand moved from his sword. “We will.” He followed her out of the hollow. “I will escort you to see to your needs.”

  To Betek he said, “Is all packed?”

  “All but the meal for Yrsa to break her fast.”

  “She will eat as we ride. We will be ready, Sir William, to move out as soon as we return.”

  The mist had dispersed and the sun journeyed but a little way into the sky when Yrsa, riding with Elrik behind Sir William and Sir Hersin, said, “Elrik, we are close. The bothy lies ahead, beyond this ridge.”

  Sir Hersin raised a hand to halt the column. They stopped below the crown of a long, gently sloping plateau that abruptly plunged to where a stream, visible as it curved away in the distance but obscured from their view directly below, tumbled along its base.

  Turning to Sir William, he said, “You wish to reconnoiter with me?”

  “I will.”

  “As will I.” Betek grinned at the instant frowns that formed on the faces of the knights. “What? I will not interfere unless you have need of my sword. I merely wish to observe the fun.”

  Yrsa smiled at his jesting, but the knights appeared less than pleased.

  “I wonder,” Elrik said, his eyes focused on the empty land in front of them. “Why did the Scots remain in the area?” He looked at William. “The slaughter of your unit took place many days past. If they traveled mayhap four leagues west as the crow flies, they would reach a point about half the distance between Carleol and Penrhudd. Had they kept going they could, by now, have safely reached either city. Think you ’twas their intent to take advantage of the death of Bishop Walcher to continue raids from here, their eastern border, and believed themselves safe because they were in their own territory?”

  “Mayhap,” William said. “’Tis truth, there is an agreement of non-hostilities between King William and King Malcolm regarding Scotland’s invasion last year, but William is displeased with Malcolm’s continued failure to abide by his given word to stop the raids. No direct order has come from our king forbidding patrols to cross the border in pursuit of raiders. This is seen by the area commanders as backhanded permission to do whatever must be done to stop the Scottish intrusions into our lands. Sir Blaise made it plain the specific orders he passed on to us came directly from William.” He jumped lightly from his horse and handed the reins to one of the soldiers. “Whatever their reasons, there will be no more raids from this band.”

  With Betek and Hersin, he left to seek out the bothy. The rest of the company dismounted to await their return.

  Yrsa stretched out the kinks while she admired the horses. She looked at Elrik. “Such beautiful animals. I thought four a lot when I saw yours, but never have I seen so many as these together in one place. Their lord must be rich beyond my ken to mount so many men at once.”

  “He is.” He unpacked his crossbow from their supply horse and then dug into his saddlebag to withdraw a cloth wrapped package.

  ’Twas the first time she saw Elrik’s weapon, though Betek wore his slung across his back since the night the Scots disarmed him. She wanted to ask what was in the cloth package, but ’twould be rude.

  “These animals are only a few from among his herds,” Elrik continued. “Or I should say he was wealthy, and as the Bishop of Duresme and Earl of Northymbre, the most powerful man in the kingdom save for King William. He was murdered in the month of tending sheep.”

  “Murdered? A bishop? Who would commit so heinous a crime as to kill a holy man?”

  His brows shot up. “Do not tell me you heard naught of the death of William Walcher.”

  “I did not, and if rumors came to the headman of my village he did not share them.”

  “Then you should know his murder and the events surrounding it are why we destroyed your village. King William considered it treason, an act of open rebellion against his rule. It so enraged him, he ordered the destruction of the whole land north of the River Tees.”

  She blanched. “All of the people? Even the innocent?”

  “Many escaped, of a certain, but many died, aye. ’Twould seem your king judged all guilty.”

  She closed her eyes, as she comprehended the horror. “I was not aware of so much death. I saw only the threat to Ottham and not even the cause of that.”

  “Your liege lord ordered it. My company finished the work we contracted with Bishop Odo, but your lord hired us to sweep clean the smaller villages within his holding.”

  “Why would he do that? We worked hard for him and were not rebels.” She shook her head. “Ever was he a man with little interest in us. We heard naught from him so long as we provided the income from the land he deemed we owed. He provided only those things we needed to serve him, naught more.”

  “A man’s purpose in contracting with soldiers to fight for him is rarely the business of those he hires. We do not ask, tho
ugh sometimes we are told if the lord thinks our ignorance might in some way interfere with our success. As for your lord, ’twas his way, methinks, of proving his loyalty to the king. Of a certain, he was not the only lord in the north who took the sovereign’s orders so literally to heart.”

  “Once before, a great death came to the north.”

  “So I am told, ten years or so past.”

  “As I foresaw this one, Módir dreamed of that one and warned the people of Ottham in time for them to flee to safety.” She stepped close. “Walk with me? I would rather speak of you than of death. I know little about you and would learn more.”

  Elrik chuckled at her words. “’Tis not because you have failed to ask.”

  He searched her face, momentarily lost in her gray gaze. Taking her arm, he paced a goodly distance from the others. They came to a patch of green grass overlooking the vista of empty moorland beginning to purple with heather blossom.

  “Sit.”

  She cuddled close to his side. The warmth and scent of her pleased him.

  “I meant to give you this sooner,” he said, “but until now, the time was not right.”

  He handed her the package he carried in his saddlebag, the contents of which he purchased before fetching her from the nunnery.

  She unwrapped it to reveal the complete change of clothing inside, but unlike that which she wore, by no means could this apparel be called practical. He bought it because it served one purpose: to enhance the beauty of the wearer. The Norman merchant at the marketplace assured him the wife of a high and wealthy lord would consider it worthy of her rank.

  Yrsa stroked the folds of the soft linen cyrtle in rich blue and then lifted the gray syrce to her cheek. He had searched long to find that exact color, for its hue matched her eyes. She lifted the silver headrail of nearly transparent silk so she might peek at him through it. Each piece displayed neckline, hems or sleeves finely embroidered in silver thread. A woven circlet in blue to secure the headrail, an embroidered mantle in the same shade, blue slippers and silver leggings completed the ensemble.