When Pauline came to fetch Gyrfalon from the refectory she found it empty; but heard his voice in the chapel. Quickly she stepped over, wondering what he was at.
Gyrfalon was standing before the altar, gazing up at the crucifix. He was speaking.
“You know what I ask. And I know well enough You will not do it for me. But she is an angel, as You know; and our child has had no chance to sin. And so I ask…..”
The voice was low, intense, tortured; and Pauline withdrew quickly and quietly, then made a deliberate effort to make a noise in the refectory.
Gyrfalon emerged from the chapel. His warrior’s senses had warned him of her presence; but it had been immaterial. Still, he appreciated her tact.
“Is it time?” his eyes, dark and unfathomable locked with the nun’s eyes. She nodded. He gathered himself and strode to Annis’ chamber.
The young girl’s muttering had increased and again she tossed her head back and forth with increasing violence. Sister Barbara was bathing her brow and moistening her lips frequently.
“Speak to her all you like if you will but stay out of my way,” Sister Pauline instructed Gyrfalon tartly. He nodded briefly; and strode round to the far side of the bed where he might sit conveniently without impeding the nursing sisters.
Annis was calling Gyrfalon’s name; and he took her hot little hand and raised it to his lips.
“I am here, Annis,” he reassured her, “and I shall talk to you constantly so that you know it. What to say I am not so sure,” he paused, then inspiration struck him. “It is my voice that you recognise that soothes you, my dear one; so what I say does not greatly matter. So I shall tell you some of the scrapes Falk and I got into when we were still friends in those days when girls were strange beings that it would be foolish to quarrel over,” he squeezed her hand gently “And if your God is kind I will perhaps be able to tell them again to our child. Our children even, maybe”
And so he talked, until his voice started to hoarsen, speaking of the everyday adventures that two high spirited boys, albeit of such disparate ages, could get into; how often times he had answered back his stepmother when she chid him over his disreputable appearance to give the boy Falk time to neaten up, so that he not be forbidden to play again with his half brother; and even Sister Pauline raised an eyebrow at such a foolish parent.
“Poor little Falk,” Gyrfalon sighed, “she would have wrapped him in cotton and imprisoned him in the cradle, methinks, if she could; and because of that early weakness father cosseted the poor brat especially after his mother died, until you could see him just dying to break out in mischief; and when he did, of course it was always my fault. I suppose that were one reason I minded less being sent off to lead the troops in the north for father; that I was not there to blame when he was at that most high spirited age. And yet it was she who died of the sickness while our weakly little sprite pulled through, despite sneaking out of bed to go sail his new boat on the pond.”
“What became of that boat? It was a beauty.”
Falk had entered the room unnoticed by his brother; and Gyrfalon answered automatically.
“Don’t you remember? Father burned it after you fell in the pond,” and then he started round, “Falk?” he exclaimed.
Falk shrugged.
“I came for news,” he explained. “I have a friend who is a seeress, and she told me it were close to a crisis and that I might wish to be at your side.”
“I am glad of you,” said Gyrfalon softly.
“And here you are, telling Annis of our – or my – misspent youth? I had forgotten that father burned the boat. I suppose I did not want to remember how I resented it at the time. Then he bought me a pony to make amends.”
Gyrfalon laughed dryly.
“A placid little beast, overfed and amiable; a veritable cushion to sit on! And when you could sit straight, you thought yourself a great rider and I had to thrash you for trying to mount my first warhorse.”
“And needfully; I thoroughly deserved your belt end across my backside!” Falk acquiesced ruefully. “You always had a taste for half wild terrors. Your current one tried to bite me in the stable here.”
“He was probably just hungry,” said Gyrfalon. “I like an independent spirit; and it thrills me that I can master a horse with such by personality and mutual understanding. My horses are like me and I’d take it as an insult if any called me docile.”
“I can believe that; but I doubt that’ll ever happen,” Falk’s tone was dry. Then, “Gyrfalon she is quiet!”
Gyrfalon was on his feet, looking down at his bride, anxiety – terror – in every line of his taut body. But the little breasts rose and fell slowly, evenly; and her eyelids lay still, their dark lashes a smudge across the white cheeks.
“She will live?” His voice was harsh as he queried Sister Pauline.
The nun nodded.
“The fever has broken. You might raise her while I change the pillowslip. It is sodden from sweat.”
Tears coursed unbidden – and indeed unnoticed by him – down the warlord’s cheeks. Tenderly and easily he lifted the girl in his arms and he cradled her to him.
“You may as well strip all the linen,” he suggested gruffly. “She is no burden.”
Pauline pursed her lips; then nodded. Annis made a contented noise in her sleep and snuggled in her husband’s arms. Falk looked on amazed and delighted.
The last time he had seen such a tender expression on his brother’s face was after that incident with the boat when everyone had feared that Falk would die.
When Annis was laid in clean fresh sheets, lavender scented and sweet as was the clean nightgown Gyrfalon had himself put on her, Falk laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“I am going to give thanks in the chapel,” he said “Will you join me?”
Gyrfalon nodded.
“He is due all my thanks,” he said, “as are you. Well, I reassured Annis speaking of telling stories to our child; but I suppose there is a price to pay; there always is,” he sighed. “I would have liked to have seen our child grow up.”
“What do you mean?” demanded a mystified Falk.
“Well I presume that you will want to hie me back to some church authority in chains; that God will expect a life for a life.”
Falk blinked.
“You look upon your prayers for her wellbeing as a kind of bargain?” He asked incredulously.
“I do not expect something for nothing. Though….though I would ask that you give me time with her before you take me to answer for mine actions,” said Gyrfalon.
Falk shook his head.
“The God I serve is not vindictive; nor impractical. Now that you have returned to Him, He rejoices. As do I. It is hard to forgive the deaths of our father and of Alys; but I am trying to at least understand as Annis asked me to. And, frankly, you are the best hope for civilisation against the northern barbarians.”
Roughly Gyrfalon embraced his brother.
“I have missed our friendship,” he said savagely, “and I appreciate what you do. I also appreciate your cynicism about my possible use to the church at repelling invaders; over which I don’t doubt you’ll talk very fast. You always were very good at talking very fast and getting us out of a thrashing from father. But truly, Falk, is it enough? The Hierarchy want my head on a plate.”
Falk shrugged.
“They can go on wanting. If they want my services they can leave my brother alone.”
“Heh! That should bring them whining to your orders,” said Gyrfalon cynically. “You pick up the pieces of everything that scares them. Which is mostly me, but not entirely,” he added meditatively.
“Besides, as I shall point out, the scriptures tells us that the Lord takes infinite pains over straying sheep…..”
Gyrfalon interrupted.
“Please! Not a sheep. They are ridiculous creatures. If you must have a farmyard analogy, pick a bull. Or a goose. Geese are more intelligent than many give them credit for and
are quite vicious and excellent watch animals. We didn’t kill the geese at Martinmas that I might have them on the marsh wall in case of sneak attack; and my sentries reported an attack that never materialised because they gave tongue quickly.”
“Geese? My captains would have it that you had some unholy beast like a cockatrice up there. Geese! Well that be something to keep that cocky fellow Therry in order with!” he chuckled.
“Heh, and were it not for Annis I’d have gone with received wisdom that it were impregnable. You floated rafts down and moored in the dead angle with scaling ladders in sections I suppose?”
“Yes. She suggested that? Gyrfalon the girl is a prodigy!”
“She – you remark on her resemblance to Alys, but Falk, I swear she has ever reminded me more of you as a youth than of Alys. Her thirst for knowledge; her spirit, her stubborn refusal to give in. How could I not love her, a feminine version of the person I have always loved best in the world?”
Falk put a hand on his brother’s arm and strove to get his voice back.
“Well; I am glad. And I notice that she too is cynical about the hierarchy of the church. And on that, I am inclined to believe that as you have said often enough there is too much corruption at a higher level; as with that cardinal that shares his predilections with Marfey. Together we might perchance fight that corruption! I love the church and would see her purified and purged of its more venal members. And I shall of course be withdrawing mine army from your gates as soon as possible.”
Gyrfalon’s face brightened.
“In time for the spring planting? That will please Reeve Bullard and the peasants. We had calculated to go on short rations a long time yet. Then we might have a true feast at Christmas!”
Falk smiled and his face lightened.
“You see, my brother? Your first thought is for your peasants!”
“I have ever cared for my dependants,” Gyrfalon said stiffly, “if less for hirelings.”
Falk touched him on the arm.
“Aye,” he said softly.
Amicably they went on to the chapel; and glad was Gyrfalon to give thanks. For the first time in many years his heart filled with joy, not dread, in the sanctified atmosphere and he felt filled with energy to rebuild the village and add to the fortifications against the northern barbarians. He told Falk,
“I am looking forward to showing Annis how to construct watch posts utilising the minimum numbers of men without compromising either their safety of that or the main keep for posting men outside.”
Falk raised an eyebrow.
“Well, you said she has a thirst for knowledge; it is extraordinary but then she’s not a very ordinary sort of girl.”
“Remember that with her steward’s help she held her father’s castle when he was on crusade; she is very able. For a long while I thought it were a shame she was not born a boy. Had she been a boy, not a girl, methinks I should have adopted her as my son.”
Falk laughed.
“I wager you be happier that she be a girl now, that you had opportunity to wed her; that brings you wife and son both.”
“Aye; I am. Though I was considering adopting her even so when she came up with the idea of marrying me.”
“It was her idea?” Falk was taken aback.
Gyrfalon grinned.
“She bullied me firmly from the moment I took her hostage; and had me wrapped firmly round her delicate little finger quicker than I can tell it,” he smiled gently “She is as gentle as a songbird and as hard and tough as steel,” he said “And I shall never trammel her into a woman’s traditional role. She is, as she specified as a condition she expected from a husband, my partner – in all things.”
Falk clapped him on the shoulder; and did not voice aloud his though ‘and your salvation’.
Chapter 16
Gyrfalon left Annis sleeping peacefully and rode home in something of a reverie. So deep in thought was he that he was almost caught off guard by the cry,
“Stand and deliver!”
Half off guard he might be; but Gyrfalon was a warrior; a warrior born that was also trained to an incredible level. Indeed his sword was out of its scabbard and starting to swing without even thinking before he registered the not only was the voice youthful, but so was the skinny body of his would be assailant.
What Gyrfalon saw in the pale light of the waning moon was an ill-nourished lad of perhaps twelve summers old with tousled dark blonde hair and dark eyes too big and hungry in a pale face, holding a rusty old sword as though it were some farm implement.
What the boy saw was not the lonely traveller he had hoped for but a fearsome warrior whose eyes blazed into life as the sword came preternaturally fast from its scabbard and swung towards him. With a gasp of fear at the practised ease with which that blade was drawn and swung in one movement the boy fell back, then turned and fled as Gyrfalon, with consummate skill, stopped the blow that would have cut the boy in half before it even touched his hair. The boy glanced over his shoulder at the warrior and promptly tripped over a tree root.
Gyrfalon sheathed his sword and dismounted, striding forward. The boy’s breath was sobbing as the warlord dropped to one knee beside him.
“Aren’t you a little young for this game?” Gyrfalon asked, his voice half amused “And don’t you think you should learn to use a sword as a weapon, not as something for cutting the hay with?”
The boy stared up at him, dully miserable, waiting for the blow to come, either fist or blade. Then his eyed widened, staring behind Gyrfalon.
The warlord half turned, and saw in time before he enacted violence the small human missile that landed on his back.
“Leave my brother alone!” demanded the treble voice before small teeth attempted to fasten into his shoulder.
“Wilt break thy teeth on mine armour, little one, if you continue thus,” said Gyrfalon mildly.
Armoured as he was, Gyrfalon had no difficulty dislodging his tiny assailant.
And gasped.
The little girl could almost have been Annis at a similar age; about the same age as Lukat.
“Oh please, lord, don’t hurt my sister!” the boy was scrambling to his feet, tugging at the warlord’s cloak.
Gyrfalon held the child at arm’s length.
“Why, my good lad, it seems that both of you attempted an attack first!” He said, good humouredly. With Annis on the road to recovery, and Falk reconciled to him, little could destroy the warlord’s good mood. “Attacking without provocation at that.”
“Bad man, you attacked my brother!” the little girl cried. Gyrfalon shook his head.
“Oh no, my moppet,” he said, “your brother drew a blade on me; and had the sense to realise he was outclassed. And fortunate he be that I am a good enough swordsman to pull short a blow that had I carried on acting on instinct instead of realising him a child would have taken his head off. He fell as he did the sensible thing and fled, through doing the unsensible thing of not keeping his mind on what he was doing. I went to him, girl, curious that so young a lad should seek so risky an occupation as being a footpad. A rather inept footpad. It seems that he had you to feed that he be so desperate. Is that it lad?”
The boy answered sullenly,
“That's it, my lord. And I bain’t selling her to slavers not no how. Reeve warned us about them looking; and I have to feed her somehow.”
“Well you did right to keep away from slavers,” agreed Gyrfalon. “I’ve had dealings with a few myself. I don’t believe many of them survived. Is not Peter Haldane prepared to finance his own get though?”
The boy gave a brief, but pungent description of his thoughts on Peter Haldane; in which Gyrfalon gathered that his guess that the man had forced his attentions on their mother around the time he killed his own wife was correct. He said conversationally,
“His legitimate daughter hates him too, you know.”
The boy stared.
“How do you know that?” he demanded pugnaciously.
&nbs
p; “Because she’s my wife.”
The boy paled even further.
“Then that means you are ….” he tailed off.
Gyrfalon grinned wolfishly.
“That means I am Gyrfalon,” he finished for the lad. “And you and your sister are thus my kin. My wife would not take it kindly if I left you to starve. I presume you are orphans?”
The little girl spoke up.
“Brigands killed Ma and Pa. We were in the woods. J- Joachim looks after me. What do you mean, we’re your kin? I never saw you before!”
“You have a big sister whom you have not yet met,” Gyrfalon explained “And you will not yet; she is ill and the nuns care for her. I have been to see her. So that makes me your biggest brother; and a sight better equipped to care for you than an untrained stripling. You will both therefore come with me and I will see to your needs.”
“But…” Joachim began. Gyrfalon quelled him with a look.
“You may earn your keep,” he said sternly. “You are old enough to be a senior page learning to be a squire; and you will learn not to disgrace the weapon you hold. You, angel-child,” he addressed the little girl, “Will run errands for Annis when she is home; learn sword if it by thy bent, and such arts of herblore as she sees fit to teach thee.”
“Her name is Sylvia,” muttered Joachim.
“Sylvia? A wood nymph? Almost appropriate,” said the warlord dryly. “I will hold her ahead of me if you can ride behind. Try not to fall off my crupper.”
Falconburg Divided (The Falconburg Series Book 1) Page 21
