Later that evening, on his way to his chamber, William, who stood at one end of the hall with Robert, stopped him.
“We are determined to celebrate Christmas in York,” said the king, “no matter it will be amidst the Minster’s ashes. But after that, we ride to Cheshire. And you will accompany our army, Sir Geoffroi.”
Geoff bowed his head. “As you wish, Sire.”
“You will be pleased to hear that after Cheshire,” continued William, “since we will be near the Red Wolf’s den, you and your companions may be released. If all goes well, I might even pay our wolf a visit.”
Geoff watched the king stride away, thinking of the awful punishment he had inflicted upon the North, hoping to never see the likes of it again. In his mind echoed Maugris’ words.
William is a great king, but terrible in his wrath.
Chapter 14
Emma woke to the call of a thrush, its flute-like song one she could not ignore even inside the cave. The long days of summer were gone. No longer did the linnet send its melodious notes over the green meadow that had once provided a soft bed for her and her Norman lover. No longer did the lavender flowers bloom at the forest’s edge. Now the brown thrush with its spotted chest trilled its solitary song over the bleak, winter forest.
A longing filled her heart for those earlier sun-filled days of love, so strong at times it caused her to shudder. She missed her gallant knight, his easy smile and his welcoming arms. He had brought laughter into her life. Now it was gone. But ’twould do no good to ponder what could not be. She had her little family to care for and protect.
Ottar had shown them the way to his cave. Once Artur and Magnus had chased away the small animals that dwelled there, its chambers, leading deep into the limestone cliffs, became their home. The main chamber was very large, at least fifteen feet in height. Deeper into the cave, the chambers were smaller and devoid of light. They always took candles when going into them. They stored food in one of the chambers. The twins, Inga and Emma slept in another, Artur and Sigga in a third and Jack and Martha in yet another. Inside the cave, the ground was hard, coarse rock but their pallets and furs made it tolerable.
A boulder and a dense stand of trees hid the opening of the cave, which was large enough near its entrance to provide shelter for Emma’s mare. At night, the two guards slept by the fire they made inside the main chamber, giving Emma a sense of safety, though she well knew if the Norman army discovered them, the guards would afford little protection.
From the guards, who scouted far afield, she had learned the Normans had returned to claim York and now a large part of the army was headed north toward Durham, destroying all in its path. She was glad for the dream that had allowed them to escape. Were there others who had fled? She had warned her neighbors but was not certain they would heed her plea to leave.
Living in the forest required everyone to do their part, but the duties were not onerous. Ottar fished in the stream near the cave and foraged for plants with Sigga. Magnus hunted for hares and squirrels, but Emma would not allow him to leave the cave at night for it was then the wolves howled. The women cooked and saw to the needs of the children. Finna helped. The guards, who grumbled that they had been turned into serfs, helped Artur and Jack to hunt and kept the fire going. During the day, all of them gathered wood. Each night before they took to their pallets, the men laid heavy brush across the cave’s entrance.
With December and the onset of winter, the days grew short and the air so cold, Emma could see her breath. The frost on the morning ground did not always melt in the midday sun and seeing the thick coats of the squirrels, she knew it was only a matter of time before the forest was blanketed in white.
Hearing the twins stirring, Emma rose and fumbled to light a candle. Once it burned brightly, she donned her woolen tunic over the undertunic she slept in, and pulled on her woolen socks and leather shoes. She let Inga sleep, for the babe had given her a restless night. By Emma’s counting, in a sennight Inga would become a mother.
Emma found her way to the main chamber where Sigga huddled under her cloak, tending the cooking fire. “Artur and one of the guards have gone for water. Magnus is with them.”
Emma added a log to the fire and sat beside her servant who had begun to measure out grain for gruel. Sigga had been a stalwart soul throughout the ordeal. “Thank you, Sigga, for your faithfulness. We would not eat so well if I were to cook our meals.”
The servant gathered her cloak around her with one hand while she reached for a bowl with the other. “Mistress, you are the one who holds us together. You carry the weight of us all. If it were not for you, we would not just suffer the cold, we would be long dead by now. You have kept us alive and safe.”
Emma reached for the dried berries to add to their morning meal, wondering how long any of them would be safe. “God and the archbishop’s prayers that live beyond him protect us, Sigga. I can think of no other reason. Did not God send the dream to warn us?”
Sigga’s hazel eyes held a glimmer of hope. “Aye. I believe he did.”
“Once winter has passed, we will find a new home,” Emma encouraged, all the while knowing it would not be anywhere near York. Sigga said nothing, mayhap because, like Emma, she did not know where they would go.
Since the guards had cleared the brush away from the entrance and let Thyra out to be watered, the cave took on the faint light of the new day, making it easier to see using only the light of the cooking fire.
Finna was the next to rouse from the rear chambers, stumbling out as she rubbed sleep from her eyes while clutching her poppet. The cloth plaything had become her constant companion, its red tunic now soiled from being dragged everywhere with the child. It occurred to Emma the poppet was, to Finna, a symbol of happier days.
She held out her arms to Finna who came to sit in her lap. “Are those your warm socks?” she asked the child.
“Yea, and my warmest tunic, but I’m still cold.”
She hugged the girl to her. “Soon the fire will warm you and we will have some hot gruel in our stomachs.” She rubbed Finna’s belly making her laugh.
Artur and the guard returned carrying water and more wood. Magnus, trailing alongside the men, trotted over to greet Emma and Finna. The child stroked his rough fur as he plopped down next to Emma.
“I think your hound likes living in the forest,” said Artur, handing his wife the wooden bucket, water sloshing over the sides. He took the wood from the guard and stacked it next to the cooking fire. “Magnus was a happy fellow, running in circles around us.”
Magnus’ tail beat against the ground as if he were anxious to tell her of his morning adventure.
As the men sat around the fire, Jack and Martha came from their chamber to join them, reaching out their hands toward the warmth of the fire. Jack scratched his belly, then ran his fingers through his mussed hair. “I sleep right well in the cave,” he remarked with good humor.
“Speak not for me, husband,” said Martha, rubbing her back. Her brown plaits were graying but she was not old. “I can nay get used to the hard ground.”
Once Ottar and Inga had risen from their pallets, they all sat together around the fire, breaking their fast. Emma was glad for their company, for each had given to her in his or her own way. And she had given to them all she could.
When they had finished the meal, they went about their chores.
Emma set aside her half-eaten bowl of gruel. Her stomach lurched and her head suddenly began to pound. She did not feel at all well. Raising her palm to her forehead, she felt her burning skin. Unlike the others, she had not felt the cold.
* * *
Two weeks before Christmas, because rumors persisted of rebels around York, William ordered Geoff to lead a group of knights to make a sweep of the buildings that still remained in the city and to scout out the surrounding countryside. Geoff selected nine knights to accompany him, Alain and Mathieu, who was nearly a knight himself. All had been with him on the march to Durham.
/> Inside the city walls, there were enough homes and shops remaining, even some that had been newly rebuilt, that it seemed prudent to Geoff to divide the men into four groups of three, each taking a different section of the city. He reserved the quadrant containing Emma’s home to search for himself.
With Alain and Mathieu on either side of him, he rode through the debris-filled streets of York, past the burned out Minster, to the part of the city where Emma had lived. A rain had melted much of the snow but patches of white remained. The homes in that part of the city had not fallen victim to the fire, but as they began their inspection, it was clear they had been ransacked and were devoid of people.
Entering Emma’s home, Geoff was assaulted by memories. It was cold now, but he imagined a blazing fire in the hearth ring and Emma sitting beside the flames. In his mind, he heard the laughter of the twins. He could smell the stew they had shared. He could taste the honey wine. Where had Emma gone?
“’Tis a mess,” said Alain when they discovered the chests in Emma’s chamber, the remains of their contents scattered on the floor, the things the departing Danes or arriving Normans did not want.
Geoff stared at Emma’s bed, remembering the first time she had brought him here and their first coming together. He turned away, but not before Alain had seen his regret.
“At least with her father, she is safe,” the Bear said.
“Aye,” was all Geoff could manage to say.
They walked through each room, taking more time than they might have with another dwelling. The house had more memories for him, each room bringing a picture to his mind of the twins or Magnus, Sigga and her berry tarts, even the sword-maker and his daughter.
He could see by the gloomy expressions on the faces of his companions that he was not the only one with fond memories of the times they had spent in this home. “Come, let us be done with this,” he urged Alain. “We still have the woods to search.”
Before he left the house, Geoff retrieved one thing he had hidden there under some boards beneath the work table inside the kitchen.
As had been his plan, sometime later they joined the rest of the men on Coppergate. Other than a few villeins who had taken shelter in some of the homes, they found nothing of note. There were no warriors and no rebels.
“You did not kill the people you found, did you?” he asked the others.
“Nay,” replied one of the knights. “Done enough killing of serfs.”
“Bien. I too would have spared them. Now for the woods.”
To better enable them to cover the surrounding countryside, Geoff divided the twelve men into two groups and chose for himself the woods to the west of the city.
“We will meet back at the castle before the evening meal.”
The one appointed to lead the other group waved as his group of six rode off toward the east.
Geoff turned Athos toward the woods.
* * *
“Her fever still rages,” Sigga informed the worried Martha, standing at the entrance to the chamber where Emma lay at the back of the cave. Candles lit the dark space but added little warmth. Magnus lay close to the pallet his head on his paws. “This wet cloth does little to cool her even with the chill in the air.” She reached out to bathe her mistress’ face once again, despairing of hope. As soon as she laid the cloth on Emma’s forehead, it became hot to the touch. “She is out of her mind most of the time. Once she awakened but she was so confused I do not think she recognized me. She takes no nourishment. Martha, I am scared.”
“At least she no longer spews up her stomach,” encouraged Martha.
“That is because her stomach is empty, poor mistress. I made her some ginger tea but even that she would not touch.” Looking up at the villein who had come to inquire after Emma, Sigga chided, “You should not be here, Martha. You cannot become ill; Inga will need you for the babe. ’Twill be here any day. If you were to come down with the sickness that has befallen our mistress, it would leave only me and I do not have your skills.”
Martha hesitated, her worried gaze fixed on Emma. “Ye think we might lose her?”
“I refuse to consider it. She will recover. She must.”
Three days had passed since Emma had fallen ill. Sigga was gravely worried. She had friends who had died of such fever. Emma had lost weight for lack of food. And she was weak. They had moved her to a chamber deep in the cave to isolate her from the children and Inga. Only Sigga had spent any time inside the chamber where Emma lay too fevered at times to know where she was.
Emma moaned in her sleep, mumbling, “Geoffroi, Geoffr—”
Sigga dipped the cloth in the bowl of cold water, wrung it out and placed it on Emma’s forehead. “It will be all right, Mistress.” I know you miss him.
“Who is it she calls for?” asked Martha.
“Sir Geoffroi.”
“A… a French knight?” Martha stammered, disbelieving.
After all they had lived through, the question did not surprise Sigga. “Aye, but one to whom we owe much.” One whom her mistress loved. Sigga had observed the inner light that had shown from Emma’s face whenever she was with the Norman. After each of her trips to pick flowers last summer, her eyes had sparkled with some secret knowledge; her face had glowed with happiness. Sigga had known from the beginning that it was not the flowers that drew Emma to the meadow. It was the French knight. Sigga was certain the two loved each other. Sadness overcame her as she thought of the pair. Her mistress had only found love only to lose it.
“You should go, Martha,” Sigga urged the woman.
“All right,” Martha said at last. “I will leave… for Inga’s sake.”
“’Tis best. Will you ask Artur to take Ottar to gather some pine needles and herbs? Some garlic root, chickweed and St. John’s Wort? Even in winter they can be found buried under leaves beneath the snow. Ottar has picked those herbs with me before. He knows where to find them. I must have them to make a tea for the fever. She cannot go on like this. If I can get her to take the tea, it may help.”
“Aye,” said Martha, her brows drawn together as she gazed down at Emma. “I will send Artur and Ottar with the guards. Jack can stay with us.”
What neither acknowledged was that if the Normans found them no man could save them. But they kept to the belief they were well protected. Life was easier that way.
As the villein departed, Sigga lit another candle and set it on the rock ledge to replace the one that had burned to a stub. Although her mistress’ fever raged, Sigga kept the fur cover ready because when Emma was not burning up, she was shivering with chills. Remembering the last time, Sigga shuddered. She could not bear the thought she might lose the mistress she loved.
* * *
The sound of clashing swords rang through the forest startling Geoff. A side-glance at Alain told him his fellow knight was equally bewildered. They were far from the practice yard and, to his knowledge, he and his men were the only ones dispatched to search out rebels around York.
With a shouted, “Follow me!” Geoff spurred his horse into the woods toward the direction of the tumult. Alain, the three other knights and Mathieu followed closely behind.
Geoff emerged from the trees into a snow-dusted clearing.
A scream rent the air. A child’s scream.
Drawing rein, he quickly slipped from his horse and stepped into the bleak space of winter-shrouded ground. Patches of snow lingered in the shadows under the surrounding trees. In front of him lay the bodies of two men, bloody upon the ground, Northumbrian rebels by their beards and weapons. He caught a sudden movement and jerked his head to one side. Two Norman knights stood, their swords drawn and dripping blood.
Clutched in the hand of one was a tearful, squirming Ottar. Shaking the boy, the knight pressed his sword to Ottar’s neck. The other Norman had a horrified Artur pinned to the ground with a sword pointed at his heart.
“Hold!” Geoff demanded, drawing his sword, his eyes narrowing on the knights.
At
his side he heard Alain yank his sword from its scabbard. Behind them the sliding steel of other knights rang in the clearing.
The two Normans paused. They would not have expected their fellow knights to draw swords on them, but Geoff was not in the mood to explain.
“What goes here?” Geoff roared as he stomped toward them.
Ottar whimpered, his young body hanging limp beneath the knight’s grasp. The boy’s eyes darted to Geoff and in them he saw recognition.
“Let the boy and his servant go!” Geoff commanded.
The Norman looked down at Ottar and moved the sword back from his neck but did not release him. “Why should I not kill this rebel spawn when the king has ordered all their deaths?”
The voice of the knight was familiar to Geoff, but since the knight wore a helm, Geoff could not be certain. “Who are you?” he asked in a gruff voice.
With his sword poised once again above Ottar’s throat, the Norman said, “Sir Eude—not that my name is any concern of yours.”
Eude. Geoff had never liked the knight who had raped Inga and now he threatened the boy Emma loved. His thoughts scattered. If Ottar was here, Emma must be near. But how had Eude come to be here? The day of the Danes’ attack no Norman had been spared, save for those taken prisoner. And Eude was not one of them.
Before he could pursue his questions, Eude asked, “Which of William’s knights are you?”
“Geoffroi de Tournai.”
Eude fell silent, as if pondering the name. “Ah, Sir Geoffroi. I recall you.”
“How did you survive the Danes’ slaughter, Eude?”
“The rebels are not the only ones who can hide in the woods. Murdac and I escaped into the forest and have only just rejoined William’s army.”
Rogue Knight (Medieval Warriors Book 2) Page 22
