Fire Dance

by Delle Jacobs

  "We will stop at the stone ford," he said. "The horses need water."

  "I could also use some," she replied.

  "We will drink, but we cannot stop to eat. Anwealda could be down upon us quickly."

  "But we are not so far from the castle now."

  He nodded. "Soon. We must stop for the horses anyway. But, one thing, Melisande."

  "Aye?"

  "When we stop, the coif must go back on."

  "Why?"

  "We will be vulnerable. We should expect an attack then."

  "I have been a burden to you."

  "I have willingly accepted it, and you have rewarded me greatly. Be assured, my men will protect you with their lives."

  "Aye," she said.

  At the ford, the knights dismounted by groups, some always in the saddle, and none far from it. Reluctantly, she drew the rough mail coif over her head again. Its fit was poor. It snagged her hair, and like the hauberk, bagged uncomfortably.

  Melisande dismounted and brought her grey courser to the stream in the first group, then remounted the moment it was through. She drank only a little.

  As the last group of knights finished refreshing their mounts, the first began to ride out. Norman knights surrounded her, while their eyes scanned restlessly about the hillsides and down the stream.

  Still, nothing happened. She had begun to believe Anwealda had lost his taste for a fight. The castle was almost too close now for him to take the chance.

  "Do you think we will make it, Chretien?" she asked, as that knight came up beside her.

  "Mayhap. Or Anwealda could have taken the castle."

  "Do you think he did?"

  "I cannot tell. These are dangerous times, lady. We must take no unnecessary chances."

  She had seen him fight, knew his bravery. But she also sensed the tense grip he held on the reins of his war horse. This was not the placid Chretien she had known before, within the castle gates. Like a wild tomcat, he seemed to bristle down his backbone. His eyes were focused on the bend in the dirt road, but flicked anxiously to the hillside at their right.

  "What are you expecting?"

  "If we make it round this hill, we will make it home. I expected an attack at the stream. But this is as dangerous."

  "Why?"

  "We have decided against an outrider, so that he will not have notice of our coming, but he may also have spies in the hills. I watch for them. We will charge around the hill together, and may catch him off guard. But if he blocks us, we can either fight or try to ride over the hill. So he would try to block that as well."

  "Does he outnumber us still?"

  "Likely."

  She fell silent, watching the horizon as did he. Near the top of the long hill, she caught a flickered glint beneath a clump of trees.

  "Chretien," she said softly, and nodded in that direction.

  "I see it. Alain. The trees near the top."

  "Aye. Hold the charge until we draw nearer."

  "Aye."

  Again, the knights bunched about her, while acting as if they did nothing unusual. Like them, she awaited the signal, and prayed she would not hinder them.

  "Go!" shouted Alain, and the knights jammed their spurs into their mounts. Her swift courser easily matched the racing war horses as they sped around the curve.

  Her heart stopped. Blocked.

  Saxon knights spread in a double line across the road, both up the hillside and below. She had not guessed Anwealda still commanded so many men.

  Norman chargers drew to a halt, prancing nervously. Chretien drew the net closer around the lady.

  "Chretien," said Alain. "The lady, at all costs."

  Chretien took her grey courser by its bridle to steady it. The horse jerked about as if in a stable on fire.

  Melisande slanted a glance at their rear. Riders came around the curve of the hill behind them, trapping them.

  "Dougal," she said.

  Dougal, at last to show his face. They were not merely trapped, but outnumbered. Greatly outnumbered.

  "Ho, Norman!" shouted Anwealda. "Have you taken to making knights of women, now?"

  "I have heard they all are women," said another Saxon.

  "Aye, or they take the place of women. Mayhap that is a boy who rides with him. Has he taken a liking to boys, think you?"

  "Mayhap he learned it from Rufus."

  "First hand!"

  "It is but the witch, herself," said Anwealda. We should not be surprised to see her ride to battle with men. Have you told him, witch, what he really faces? I think not, else he would flee back to Rufus, his tail between his legs."

  "He is no coward, Anwealda," she shouted. "Nor do you frighten me."

  "Quiet, lady," Chretien hissed. "Do not stir them. I had hoped they would not recognize you so soon."

  "He knows me well, Chretien. But so does Dougal. Dougal!"

  "Lady, I did not know you rode with the Norman."

  "You know, now. What say you, Dougal, that you ride against me? Have I not inherited my father's place?"

  "Nay, lady, for you sup with Normans. I have no quarrel with you, but my land is my own, and I will not bow down to a dissolute Norman king. And I am no man's vassal. Leave them, and join Saxons like yourself."

  Melisande flashed a look at Chretien by her side. "He has no stomach for this," she said in a low voice.

  "Aye. He explains himself too much. When the melee begins, try to break free. If you must be captured, head for Dougal."

  "I do not wish to go anywhere."

  "You must, lady. Ride uphill. Your courser is light and swift, and likely to break free. No Saxon war horse could catch him if you push him hard enough."

  "Nay."

  Chretien latched her wrist in an iron grip. His eyes blazed. "You must not be taken. Promise me, lady."

  She dared not object. In his eyes blazed the remembrance of his dead wife, and Gerard's living one. He and Alain both would die before letting Anwealda take her.

  "Aye," she said.

  "I will be behind you."

  It would be futile to object to that, too. But she could see no clear path, either up or down. She turned again to Dougal, assessed his men and their strength. Even without Anwealda, he was strong enough to take them.

  She affixed her eyes to Dougal, who jerked nervously on his charger's reins while the horse did an awkward, poorly controlled dance. The mounts of his front-riding knights balked. What unnerved them?

  The word began like a low rumble, an indistinct sound she could not understand, that spread through the Saxon knights at their rear. As a group, they bolted, whirled, dug in their long spurs and fled.

  "What?" shouted Chretien, whose eyes flitted anxiously over the countryside. She pivoted in her saddle as a hideous scream rolled down off the fell, freezing her blood. The word she had not deciphered became a shout as the Normans took it up.

  "Gerard!"

  Down from the hill rode Gerard, with his long lance lowered, and leaning into his racing stallion. His Saxon knights thundered after him with a yell that blended in a grotesque, bloody music.

  "Gerard!" she screamed back. "And Thomas, too! Look!"

  Thomas, his silver hair flying beyond his helm, with the household knights, crested the hill and raced down the slope.

  Anwealda's men faltered. The Normans seized the advantage, and Anwealda sat in the trap. His great brown stallion reared. Anwealda jerked the reins of his steed and spun away in the only direction he could go, downslope from the road, across the valley, up to the hill beyond.

  The look of blood steamed in Gerard's eyes as he sped past. He had a grudge to settle. Lynet lived, as did his babe, but Anwealda would have had it differently. Gerard would see Anwealda in his grave.

  "See to the lady!" shouted Alain at Chretien, then he spurred his own charger to the chase.

  Thomas pulled his men to a halt, and surrounded her and Chrétien's knights, while Alain and Gerard raced on.

  "Thomas!"

  "Aye,
lady. It is good to see you safe."

  "How did you know?"

  "We have been watching since you left. When we saw Anwealda skulking near the castle, we thought first he meant to lay siege. But then we understood his plan, for if he has you and the Norman, he has the game. I will not let you away from the castle again, lady."

  The pursuit across the dale slowed, for Anwealda had made his escape good. Only a few of his lagging knights had been unhorsed, and they were being forced afoot back up the hillside to the road.

  "Come, lady, we must not delay, lest Dougal realize we are split again." Chretien, always the first to recognize their weaknesses, tugged her courser's bridle as if he did not trust her to obey, and they dashed along the road, surrounded by the melded group of riders.

  She glanced back for Alain. But she knew better than to ask to wait. At Chrétien's bidding, she kicked the courser's flanks, and it galloped off toward the castle.

  Once within the gates again, Melisande felt the heaviness lift from her chest, and realized that more than the mail had weighed upon her. A stable boy caught the grey courser's bridle and steadied it as Melisande dismounted.

  "Help me out of this thing," she told the closest page, but the boy could not do it alone. He was much too small. He ran off to find two larger boys for the task.

  The castle gate again swung open, and the remainder of the knights rode in, first Gerard's troop, then only a moment later, the Norman lord with the others. Gerard pitched himself down from his mighty white war horse, and stalked across the bailey where she stood. He yanked at his gauntlets as he faced her, and his brown eyes blazed fury.

  "Ah, my lady of the chain mail. Well, you have wreaked havoc this time."

  "The lord. Is he hurt?"

  "Nay, lady, none are injured. But that is either by God's grace or pure fortune." Gerard then dismissed himself with a court bow and stomped away, seeking help with his own mail.

  "Gerard!" called a feminine voice from the hall. Melisande turned to see Lynet, who stood within the double doors. "Gerard, are you well?"

  "Aye, lady. But your pardon, I must tend to other things first."

  Melisande stared at Gerard. She had never seen him in a fit of temper. Then she saw Alain, saw that his dark, piercing eyes sought her out first and found her safe. The anxious tension in his face faded to a smile. She felt an unfamiliar quirking at the right side of her mouth. He was safe, too.

  The Norman, like the others, launched himself out of the saddle to the ground and steadied his mount, which was blowing hard. A squire rushed up to take the animal. Then also like the others, Alain shed the heavy mail.

  "De Crency!"

  Alain turned at the shout, as Gerard stalked toward him. Gerard planted himself before him, glaring. Then a hard fist flew forward, and caught Alain on the chin. Alain staggered back and barely retained his footing. Gerard stood, seething, feet planted, fists balled and ready.

  "Chretien!" Melisande shouted, stunned at what she saw.

  Chretien, who stood beside her, merely shook his head. His jaw was set as rigidly as Gerard's.

  "You do not do something?"

  "Gerard has earned the right to settle his differences with the lord."

  "But to hit his lord?"

  "Alain can hit back, if he chooses," said Chretien. "I think he will not. I will not interfere."

  Chretien guessed correctly. When Alain made no offer to return the blow, Gerard turned and stomped away to where his lady waited at the hall's door.

  Melisande's jaw hung slack before she recovered to speak. "I do not understand Normans."

  "You do not?" Chretien almost growled his reply. "Had it not been Gerard, I would have done the same."

  "But why?"

  "I did not approve of your going, lady. The risk was unnecessary. Had not Gerard arrived when he did, you would be in Anwealda's hands, and we would be dead. I am angry at him for exposing you to this, and angry at you for going. But even more, I am angry at myself because I did not stop it."

  "Then you did not care that I treated your wounded knights?"

  "I am grateful to you, for I do love Robert like a brother. But he is a knight. He knows the risk he takes."

  "As did I."

  "You did not. We have trained at the quintain since we were babes, and rode in to war as naught more than boys. We suffer our wounds so that women do not have to risk themselves."

  "You tell me naught I do not already know, Chrétien. But you have forgotten something. Women also have their place in the world. We must also take our risks."

  "Then take yours in bearing babes, and leave ours to us."

  Melisande felt her defiance surging through her. "Then if it was so dangerous, why did he let me go?"

  Something flashed in his eyes, and he looked like she had slapped him. "Because men in love are rash and foolish." Chretien gave a stiff, small bow, and tromped after Gerard for the hall.

  In love? Could it be? Chretien did not look as if he lied, and he knew his friend far better than she. Mayhap there was hope in that. Yet a man in love would have farther to fall when disappointed.

  "I see we have both been thoroughly set down for our folly."

  Alain now stood beside her. An angry red mark spread across his jaw, discoloring the skin beneath the bristle of black beard that had grown since they had left the castle the day before. The swelling made his grin lop-sided.

  "You are not hurt?"

  "Nay. But the point was made. I suppose they are right. It was an unwise decision. I should have left you within the safety of the castle."

  It felt like a slap on her face. "Why didn't you, then?"

  "I cannot explain. But with Cyneric dead, I did not think the risk was that great. We were fools to think Dougal gone to the north merely because he had not been seen about."

  "So you also do not value my skills."

  "Not so, lady. But I value you, yourself, more than my own life."

  "Gerard brought Lynet. How was she safe, when I was not?"

  His throaty chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. "He could not very well leave her behind, for the south is too weak without his presence. But do not worry yourself. They will calm down. It is always easier to criticize after the act."

  "I have never seen Gerard so angry. And Chretien, I thought him the most even-tempered of men. He has always seemed so placid, as if naught at all ruffled him."

  "Nay," he said, taking her arm to walk. "He is a very angry man. For all that he seems at peace with the world, his pain and grief are still very deep. As is his loneliness."

  "Mayhap he should marry again."

  "I think not. Not yet. A woman could not find her place in his heart, so soon. Come now, mayhap you will want to wash up before your supper, or see to your guest."

  "Aye," she replied. "There is time enough. Will you not want a bath, lord?"

  "Leave the water for me," he said.

  "Nay, lord. You may have it first. As you have said, I must see to my guests."

  Melisande and Lynet had never been close, although she called her friend. They had seen each other but a few times. Gerard loved his wife, yet Lynet harbored a wariness over the lady he protected. She had never wanted that. But Gerard, like Thomas, had kept his secret watch because he feared Fyren's evil, not because he held some undeclared love for Melisande.

  Still, Lynet was here, and it was Melisande's obligation to make Gerard's wife comfortable within the hall. Stopping only to pass through the kitchen and see that supper preparations were properly done, she hurried toward the paired doors that opened out onto the upper bailey.

  At first sight, Lynet emitted a little squeal and ran up to Melisande, her arms draped quickly around her quarry in a delicate embrace. Even that small gesture engendered discomfort that perhaps Lynet sensed.

  "We were so worried," said Lynet, "when Gerard saw the rebels and guessed their plan. Why did you go, Melisande?"

  "I was needed."

  "Aye, but it is so dangerous."
<
br />   "Do you not think sometimes a risk must be taken? I would do what I must to defeat Anwealda, for he is no better than Fyren."

  "Aye, 'tis so. 'Tis a terrible thing to say, I know, but all are glad Fyren is gone. Gerard would not allow me to come to you as long as Fyren might be here. I hope I do not offend you."