Rogue Knight (Medieval Warriors Book 2)

by Walker, Regan

  He sat back, running his hand through his long hair, bleached by the sun. He wore a fresh tunic of dark green, belted with fine leather to which was affixed his seax, a longer one than her own. In his hand was a goblet of mead.

  “We were not ready,” he said with a sigh. “The retreat that followed the first encounter was disorderly, an embarrassment. Many were killed.” He took a drink of the honey wine.

  She reached out a hand and touched his arm. “I am saddened for their families.” She remembered the bodies she had seen in the clearing and shuddered. Mayhap some who were killed in the fighting had been those she knew. “Have we lost so soon?”

  “Nay, Daughter, ’tis not over.” He took another drink.

  “What will you do?”

  “Today Cospatric and I leave on my ship, anchored in the Humber, for King Swein’s court. We will urge him to send the ships we asked for. Edgar has agreed to join us. From there, we will go to Scotland to see King Malcolm and gather new recruits to our cause.”

  “So there will be more trouble in York.” She spoke with mixed feelings, knowing more battles would mean more dead, yet wanting desperately to see her people shake off the Normans, for they had all been made serfs with the coming of the Conqueror.

  “If we are to gain our freedom, Daughter, how can it be otherwise?”

  Seeing his goblet was empty, she got up and poured him some more. “I suppose you are right,” Emma admitted, worried for him and the people she cared for. “How long will you be gone?” She sat again on the stool.

  He fingered his beard. “I cannot say. Mayhap for the summer. Look for me when the grain grows ripe.”

  Her spirits fell. “So long?”

  “It will require time to sail to Denmark and then to Scotland. And more time to bring order to our purpose. We cannot risk another defeat. We must draw our allies to us.”

  “You mean the Danes?” Though he had been an English high sheriff and a wealthy thegn, Emma knew they traced their lineage to the Danish kings so it was not surprising her father would seek his allies among them.

  “Yea, the Danes. We must have King Swein’s ships and men. And there will be others who will join us. Even now Edgar prepares messages he will send all over England, urging rebellion.” At her concerned look, he hastily added, “The Danes will come, Emma. You will see. Swein believes he was promised the throne of England. York was once the capital of the Danish lands. He will not give that up so easily.”

  Her gaze drifted to the flames in the hearth. “Kings and their promises! Too easily given, too easily withdrawn. It seems Edward the Confessor promised many the throne of England, including the Norman Bastard who vexes York. At least he claims it was promised to him.”

  “Aye, well there are many opinions on that. Besides, York is special to the Danes. The other Yorkshire thegns and I are fortifying sites on the Humber to be ready to receive them.”

  His face exuded confidence now, no longer was he the discouraged man he had been for some time.

  “Father, how much more can the people endure?” She was thinking of Feigr and Inga when she asked, but also of Ottar’s young body on the snow-covered ground and the other dead she had seen. “So many have been wounded, so many gone from this life.”

  “They will have to endure more if we are to have our freedom. The Normans have ravaged York, Emma. Even the Minster has been made the object of scorn for they violated sanctuary to take some of our men. A church, by God! You told me yourself what Inga and her father have suffered. I have heard worse tales of the Normans’ brutality. We cannot allow such outrage to continue.”

  She dropped her gaze in resignation. He was right, she knew it.

  “Yesterday,” her father continued, “after the Normans defiled the Minster, the archbishop still urged us to submit. It was a pathetic and wasted entreaty. None of the men who were there would agree. Ask Artur. He was among them.”

  “I believe you, given what I have seen… Ottar, Inga and Feigr.” How could they submit to those who would hurt innocents?

  “They will be avenged, Daughter. Do not lose hope.”

  Emma rose. “If you must leave today, at least I can see you have clean clothes and a hearty meal to take with you.”

  Chapter 6

  Two days later, in the cold, chill air of a morning without sun, Geoff watched from the top of the motte as the building of the second castle began, this one on Baille Hill on the opposite bank of the River Ouse. They were close enough he could hear men shouting orders to the workers as they formed a huge pile of dirt into the mound from which the square tower would rise. Behind him in the bailey of the older castle, the loud clash of metal and shields sounded from the practice yard.

  Seeing Northumbrians forced to join in the building of the new castle, he remembered Emma’s words. And the regret in her beautiful eyes as she spoke of her people being forced to build yet another symbol of William’s reign.

  In her home lived a man who was more than a servant. A tall man, most likely for there had been a shield. Could such a man defend her against knights like Sir Eude? He banished a sudden image of a man sharing her bed. Nay, whoever the man in her home was, Mathieu must have the right of it—’twas a brother she had failed to mention. If not a brother, mayhap an uncle or a cousin.

  Emma was three years widowed. ’Twas possible her husband had died before the Battle of Hastings. If that were true, at least she would not hold Geoff responsible. Was it not time for her to marry again? He thought of Eawyn, so different from Emma of York, and yet both widows. And both had suffered at the hands of those seeking to conquer England. If he were to pursue the beautiful York widow, would she rebuff him, as Eawyn had? He would not vie with a ghost for her attention.

  In the distance, hundreds of men swarmed over the mound that would become the new motte like ants on honey, moving dirt to the desired shape. Emma would be pleased to know it was not only Northumbrians who had been forced into the work. Some of the men were from William’s army. To one side of the men working, piles of new wood were neatly stacked. Such a horde of workers would soon make use of the timber. The king was obviously in a hurry.

  At the sound of boots crushing the thin layer of snow, he turned to see Malet coming toward him. Geoff raised his head in greeting and gestured to the work underway. “’Tis a furious pace the men set to build William’s new castle,” he remarked to the sheriff.

  Malet nodded and took his place beside Geoff to watch the construction. “William expects the castle to be finished before he leaves for Winchester where he would celebrate Easter.”

  Geoff shook his head. “That leaves little time.”

  “Less than a fortnight before he must depart for the South.”

  As he looked out over the city, Geoff pondered what the people of York might be thinking. “William demands the people of York accept his rule,” he mused. “Do you believe they will?”

  Malet crossed his arms over his chest and looked beyond the rising castle. “I know not, but having seen the stubborn resistance in their eyes, I doubt it. Many of the rebels have fled into the woods where they hide among the trees. We believe some went north to Durham. Their leaders remain at large.”

  “The rebels and their leaders will no doubt return.” The realization made Geoff lose hope for peace in York.

  “Mayhap even this year,” Malet added in a somber tone.

  “I understand William has sent Gilbert and a group of Flemings to Durham to root out the rebels there.”

  Malet shrugged. “You can hardly blame him. Durham supplied men, arms and money to the rebels in York. The king would see them all dead.”

  “Mayhap Gilbert will be successful and the rebels will no longer trouble us.”

  “We will see,” said the sheriff. “In any event, William has made Gil the new castellan, so he will remain in York when he returns.”

  “The king needed another after FitzRichard’s murder.” Geoff remembered the morning the foolish castellan had been killed by th
e angry rebel throng and ruefully wondered if the men from Durham had done the deed.

  Malet looked at him with sudden interest. “What about you, Sir Geoffroi? What task is yours?”

  “I am to hunt with my knights to add to the storehouse of meat for William’s army. Sir Alain readies the men even now.”

  “Feeding William’s army is a worthy task and will keep you busy with so many mouths to satisfy. The pigs and cattle from the surrounding countryside will soon be exhausted. Roast venison, boar and hare stew will be welcomed by the men.”

  Geoff loved to hunt but he didn’t relish being the supplier of food for so great an army. “Others will surely hunt as well. Not all William’s men will be building the new castle or searching out rebels.”

  “You can be glad the king will leave within a fortnight, taking his army with him. Will you go as well?”

  “My men and I are to remain in York,” said Geoff, not unhappy at the prospect because of Emma.

  Malet grinned. “Then I shall look forward to seeing more of you.”

  “Aye.” Geoff said, as he waved his goodbye and headed toward the bailey.

  * * *

  Emma stole a glance at Inga as they broke their fast together. Days had passed since the rape, and while the girl’s body was recovering and the bruise on her face was fading, she still woke at night screaming in terror. Though hidden from view, the violent taking of Inga’s innocence would leave scars that would remain forever. It was those deeper wounds of the soul Emma feared the most for her friend.

  Inga drew her arms tightly around her body as she stared at the bread before her, trembling even now, mayhap tormented by thoughts of that night.

  Emma reached out and touched her hand. “You are safe here, Inga. And your father recovers. In time, you will both be well, you will see.” Knowing Inga worried about her father’s livelihood, she added, “Artur has seen that Feigr’s shop is secure and your servant knows you and your father are here.”

  Inga turned, her gray eyes looking at Emma. “You have been kind to do so much for us. I only wish the terrible dreams would leave me. I wake in the night with frightening pictures in my mind, my body drenched in sweat. Oh, Emma, I shall never forget.”

  She would not lie to her friend. In her experience, the truth, while painful, was better handled than a lie. So it had been when she was told of Halden’s death. “No, I do not expect you will. But, in time, that memory will fade, replaced by other, happier ones.”

  Inga reached for some bread. Emma was glad to see she was eating. In the first days after the rape she had refused food.

  Watching the young woman with her emerging beauty, Emma recalled the young men of York who had flirted with Inga when her father’s head was turned. The flirting had been a harmless foreshadowing of the courting that would soon follow. Inga was pretty and many young men had noticed. Would those young men still want Inga now that her innocence had been taken and her body befouled by one of the French knights? Or, would they pity her but refuse to take her to wife? Emma was determined they would not know, for it was certain they would reject Inga if they did. She had seen it happen before. Inga had been an innocent victim, but no decent man would want as a wife a tainted woman.

  Sigga entered the room carrying a tray laden with bowls of steaming gruel. “’Tis well your hound hunts, my lady. Even if Artur would allow me to go to market, I hear the stalls are bare. What the fleeing rebels did not take, the Norman soldiers devour.”

  Emma was thankful for the provisions they had stored and the meat her hound put on their table. “It’s as if Magnus knows to do his part. He keeps us well stocked with hares. As long as our few chickens lay eggs, we’ll have those, too. When the weather warms, we can plant vegetables.”

  “We’ve enough stored for stew till then,” said the cook. “And there is hope the Norman king and his army will leave. Surely he has business elsewhere. Saxons to slaughter in Wessex mayhap.” The last of her words had been spoken sarcastically, Emma knew. None of them wished the Norman king on the English in the South.

  “I imagine half of England is in rebellion against him,” Emma said, glancing at Inga eating her gruel. She did not have to remind the girl that Eude would likely remain when the army left since he had been garrisoned in York with the building of the first castle.

  Suddenly, Ottar exploded into the room, followed by Finna at a slower pace. They climbed onto the bench seat at the large trestle table across from the two women. Ottar’s eyes roved over the steaming oatmeal and his countenance fell. “Gruel again?”

  “’Tis what we have now,” Finna chided her brother. “At least you have food.”

  Emma marveled at the wisdom coming from one so young, but Finna had always been older than her years. Smiling at the girl as her brother dove into his gruel, Emma said to Ottar, “There is plenty of fresh bread and butter. We’ll have hare stew for dinner and tomorrow there will be eggs.”

  His eyes fastening on the pot of thick golden syrup on one side of the table, Ottar shouted, “And honey!”

  “Aye,” said Inga, seemingly cheered by the young ones. Directing an encouraging smile at Finna, she added, “And honey.”

  * * *

  A sennight passed and to no one’s surprise, not the least of which was Geoff’s, the king announced he would see the new castle rise on Baille Hill before he took his army south. Thus spurred on, the building proceeded at a furious pace and Geoff and his knights were ordered to continue their daily hunts in the forests of York.

  They had been hunting nearly all day when Alain, looking at the ever darkening sky, remarked, “’Twill be gloaming soon. What say you we take the four deer, the hares and the boar we have and retire from the field?”

  Geoff chuckled and turned to see Mathieu with one of the red deer strapped behind his saddle. “Yea, I have been seeing a goblet of wine and a juicy slice of venison in my mind for the last hour.”

  With his raised arm, Geoff drew the men to a halt. Just as he did, the wailing sound of a wounded animal rent the air, sending an eerie shiver down his spine.

  “What in the name of Saint Peter is that?” bellowed Alain.

  “’Tis not far, sir,” observed Mathieu. “Do you want me to go see?”

  Geoff hesitated, thinking. The sound had been an eerie one, not easily identified. He remembered that rebels hid in this same forest.

  “Hold, Mathieu. Let us go together. I would see this for myself.” Geoff ordered the other knights to take their bounty back to the castle, while he, Alain and Mathieu remained. He waited until the sound of thundering of hooves died away, then urged his companions deeper into the woods. “Come, let us see what beast cries from the forest.”

  They walked the horses through the underbrush of the dense stands of pine. The wail turned into a long trailing howl as the beast shrieked its suffering.

  “There!” shouted Mathieu. “Across that dense hedge, ’tis a wolf caught in a trap.”

  Through the thick foliage, Geoff caught a glimpse of fur, a rough, dark gray coat of a large animal. “’Tis no wolf,” he said, “’tis Magnus, Emma’s hound, or one just like it. Looks like his leg is caught in a snare.”

  Geoff cautiously walked Athos nearer to where the giant hound was desperately gnawing at the snare around its back leg. Between them was a thick hedge of tangled undergrowth. With every movement of the hound, he imagined the snare tightening, causing the hound more pain as it cut into his leg. Already, blood dripped from where the wire had sliced into its flesh.

  “Poor beast,” murmured Mathieu from behind him.

  “Aye,” acknowledged Alain. “If we had not found him, the hound might have chewed off his leg trying to escape. Wild animals do, you know.”

  “Or the wolves may have taken their revenge,” suggested Geoff, dismounting and slowly walking toward the hedge that was between him and the hound. He would have to crawl through the underbrush. Dropping to his hands and knees, he began to push his shoulders through the hedge. A wave of
anxiety flowed over him as the darkness of the thick bushes closed about him. He hated places that were closed in with no light. It reminded him of that time when he was a boy. Refusing to think of it, he closed his eyes and pushed through. Thankfully, after only a short distance, he emerged into light.

  Rising, he took off his gloves and tucked them into his belt. The experience in the dense bushes had left him sweating. Aware his companions were watching, he wiped the sweat from his brow and walked to the hound and knelt. He reached out his hand, still uncertain if it was Magnus. The hound’s eyes were wild with fright. If it were Magnus, he hardly looked himself.

  From behind him, Alain urged caution. “Best be careful, he may bite. He looks mad with terror.”

  “Magnus,” Geoff softly spoke to the hound. “You know me, Magnus. Do not fear. I will free you.”

  At his voice, the hound calmed. His dark eyes, looking more like those of Magnus, intelligent and keen, followed Geoff’s every move.

  He extended his bare hand to the hound’s nose, letting him sniff. A wet tongue lapped at his fingers, telling Geoff he’d found Emma’s dog. Pleased at the trust shown him, Geoff patted the rough fur on Magnus’ head. “’Tis all right, boy, I will soon have you free.”

  “You’ve a way with the creature, sir,” Mathieu said, dismounting. “May I help?”

  “First, I must free him and see the damage the snare has wrought.”

  Geoff looked at the bloody leg just above the rear paw. He drew his knife from his waist and sliced through the thin wire. Magnus whimpered and when the hound realized he was free, tried to rise, but unsteady on his wounded leg, he fell to the ground with a groan and commenced licking the wound.

  Geoff sat and lifted the leg onto his lap. “Let me see, Magnus.” The hound did not resist but moaned. The wound was bad and if not tended, could result in the hound losing the leg, or worse.