Unfortunately, that was exactly what had happened even as some of Harold’s army still tried to fight back and hold off the Norman tide. But the shield wall had failed and the Normans broke through, many of them swarming right to the spot where Harold had lain. And the Norman knight on the ground….
He’d been one of those who had seen Harold’s body and had called forth more Normans to partake in the triumph of a fallen king. He’d been a well-armed, powerful knight, but as he moved about, confident in a Norman victory, he’d made a terrible mistake – he’d traveled alone and without the company of others. He seemed more intent to linger near the Anglo-Saxon lines that were breaking up. For the Anglo-Saxons fleeing the battlefield, the lone Norman knight had been a target of their vengeance.
Knocked off his horse by a nasty club strike to the back of the head, they’d tied the unconscious knight to a horse by his leg and dragged him away as they’d fled. Now, they were several miles to the west in a vast and dense forest, regrouping with some of their dispirited army. The Norman knight was on the ground, dazed, as men took their rage out on him.
But the woman had stopped them.
Even now as she lay sprawled over him, she’d taken a few blows from her own men who had refused to heed her command. An older soldier, seasoned and trying to gain control of the others, held back some of the more aggressive men.
“He is our enemy, Ghislaine,” he said in a calm, even tone. “You cannot prevent what must come about. The men must know some satisfaction on this night.”
Ghislaine pulchra ancilla Merciae, or Ghislaine, The Beautiful Maid of Mercia, and sister to Edwin, Earl of Mercia, didn’t move from her position over the wounded knight. She knew the men wouldn’t strike as long as she was there but, in all honestly, she couldn’t understand why she wasn’t joining them in their rage. She’d been at the battle from the beginning and she, too, held hatred in her heart for the Normans. But there was something about this situation that spoke to her of something beyond a captured Norman knight.
There was an opportunity here.
“His death would be momentary satisfaction only,” she said. “None of you realize that this man is of value to us. Do you not understand? You captured him to kill him but you must not do that – he knows the Norman ways. They are upon our shores and our king has been killed this night. Are you too foolish to realize that he may be of use for our very survival?”
It was very dark in the trees, the shadows from the moon barely piercing the canopy as dozens, if not hundreds, of men lingered below, beaten and bloodied from a day of battle against the Norman invaders. They were also confused and dazed. Even as Ghislaine spoke, the men surrounding her and the injured knight didn’t seem to grasp what she was suggesting.
“I would rather feel the satisfaction of his head upon my sword!” one of the men snarled as the others around him agreed.
But Ghislaine shook her head. “Nay,” she stressed. “He is of more value to us alive.”
“The only valuable Norman is a dead one!”
Men shouted in agreement but Ghislaine put up a hand to plead for understanding. “Killing him would accomplish nothing! We would only be harming ourselves in the end! Can you not see how valuable he could be?”
“He is our enemy, Ghislaine.”
The voice came from the darkness. Then, a slender man with a massive scar across his face running from his left temple, across his nose, and ending by the right side of his jaw pushed through the men standing about. When he made an appearance, everyone seemed to fall quiet; where anger and revenge had reflected in men’s expressions, now there was uncertainty. Fear. Even Ghislaine’s features changed at the sight; there was fear there but she was trying not to show it.
At that moment, the mood in the agitated circle of men seemed to plummet.
“Alary,” she said calmly. “Greetings, Brother. God has been merciful that you have survived the battle.”
Alary of Mercia, a brother to both Ghislaine and Earl Edwin, surveyed the group of men standing around before finally coming to rest on his sister, still spread out over the injured knight. His dark eyes narrowed.
“Aye, I survived,” he said. He began to pace a slow circle around his sister and the crumpled knight. “I survived when our good king did not. Why I should be spared and Harold should die, I will never know. God is, mayhap, not favoring the faithful on this night. And you, my sister? I thought you hated the Normans as we all did. Why do you protect this knight?”
Ghislaine eyed her brother until he wandered out of her sight; she didn’t like the fact that he was behind her now. Alary was unpredictable at best, an edgy sadist with a brutal streak, so much so that their brother, Edwin, had exiled him from the royal stronghold of Tamworth last year. Too much disobedience on Alary’s part and an incident that saw one of Edwin’s favorite knights killed had warranted such a reaction. If evil had a name and a face, both belonged to Alary of Mercia. Alary Obscurum, he was known.
Alary the Dark.
“I am not protecting him,” she said, feeling fearful of her brother even as she said it. “But we should think twice before using him as an object of vengeance. He looks to be a very fine knight. Mayhap, we could ransom him to Normandy or even back to his own family. Mayhap, he even knows of Normandy’s plans. Certainly, we should consider such things before the men run him through and we lose any chance we have of understanding Normandy’s intentions. He could be valuable.”
Alary had wandered into her line of sight again. He stood there, looking down at her, and it made Ghislaine very nervous. Undoubtedly, her brother was considering what she’d said but, knowing him, there was some grisly twist to it all. She’d seen what the man could do to his enemies. Therefore, she braced herself.
“That is a very astute observation,” Alary finally said. “Can the knight speak for himself? Remove yourself, Ghislaine. No one will hurt the knight. I wish to speak with him.”
Ghislaine didn’t trust her brother. He’d been known to break bonds before and had a history of telling mistruths to those around him. Still, she couldn’t lay on the knight forever so she shifted her body, cautiously climbing off the man. He was crumpled on his side, his dark blonde hair matted with dirt and blood. She remained beside him, bending down to get a look at his face in the darkness.
Truthfully, she couldn’t even tell if he was conscious. She peered closer to his face, catching a glimmer of his eyeballs in the darkness.
He was awake.
“What is your name?” she asked him in his language, something she had learned at her parents’ insistence because it was the common language of many people in England. “Do not be afraid. Tell me your name.”
In the darkness, the knight blinked. “You speak my language.”
“I do. Answer me. What is your name?”
“De Lohr.”
His voice sounded tight, as he was in pain. Ghislaine rocked back on her heels, turning to her brother. “His name is de Lohr,” she said. “What would you ask him?”
Alary moved closer, bending over to get a look at the knight. “I want to know a great many things,” he said. “Move away. I would speak with him alone.”
Ghislaine shook her head. “I will not,” she said. “I do not trust you not to kill him.”
Alary’s expression tightened and he reached down, grabbing her roughly by the shoulder. “I told you to go.”
Ghislaine balled a fist and hit his hand away, hard. “He is my prisoner,” she declared. “I brought him here. I saved him from death. If you want to speak with him, then do it, but I will not leave.”
Alary was exasperated. “Why are you so protective of him? What is he to you?”
His question brought her building rage to a halt because it was something she didn’t have a ready answer for. She had a myriad of theories, but no hard truths. Her gaze moved from her brother to the knight, who was looking at her steadily – with resignation. He knew his fate was in her hands. She was his only protection against th
e mob and he knew it. Why was she so protective of him?
Remember Norman mercy the next time you intend to do one of us harm.
Something that big, nasty Norman knight had said to her when he had captured her and demanded to know of her king’s fate. He could have killed her but he hadn’t and he’d reminded her of that fragile mercy. Therefore, his statement remained with her, whether or not she wanted it to.
Now, it was a matter of honor… in the same situation, would she show mercy also?
Perhaps, that was the real truth behind her protection of the injured knight.
“This man is nothing to me,” she said for all to hear, torn between defiance and embarrassment. “But one of this knight’s brethren captured me during the battle and could have easily killed me. Yet, he spared my life and he told me to remember Norman mercy. Because of him, I will protect this knight because I always pay my debts. It is a matter of honor now – my life was spared and so shall this man’s be. He is to be untouched as long as I have breath in my body.”
The men around her understood such a debt. They were warriors, all of them, and mercy was that rare and precious quality that often times was the true test of honor in battle. Ghislaine of Mercia was a warrior woman, raised with her brothers to fight and to protect their lands and people.
When Harold brought his army south, Ghislaine’s brother, Earl Edwin, had been far to the north so Ghislaine and the outcast Alary had joined Harold’s army to meet the Norman invasion. They were warriors from generations of warriors, born and bred, and that was why she was here – a strong woman who commanded respect from the men around her. And because she was a warrior, she had the capacity to understand what honor and sacrifice meant.
I always pay my debts. She was paying it upon the cause of a wounded Norman knight.
But Alary was different. He didn’t understand much beyond his own selfish wants; glory for himself, wealth for himself, and an undying jealousy of his elder brothers’ status – he had two elder brothers who were both earls: Edwin of Mercia and Morcar of Northumbria. But Alary the Dark was nothing; perhaps he had hoped that supporting Harold against the Norman invasion would somehow prove to the king that he was worthy of such titles as his brothers held. But after this day, that was not to be and the sting of disappointment was a powerful thing in Alary’s heart.
Therefore, he wasn’t pleased with his sister’s refusal to turn the Norman knight over to him. Without another word, he stomped off into the darkness, taking some of the men with him. Only a few lingered now but with the declaration of Ghislaine’s merciful intentions, there wasn’t much reason for them to hang around the Norman knight. He was too injured to escape and even if he tried, they could easily catch him. Therefore, they started to move away in a disgruntled weary group.
Ghislaine suspected what the men were thinking and she further suspected that her brother’s departure was not permanent. He knew they had a valuable asset in the Norman knight and, greedy as he was, she knew he would be back. But at least for the moment, she could breathe without his ominous presence. She leaned over the knight once more.
“How badly injured are you?” she asked. “Can you move your limbs?”
Kristoph couldn’t see much of the woman who was hovering over him, but her voice had a silky quality that was deceptively comforting. Could he move his limbs? He really had no idea. He hadn’t tried. He’d rolled himself into a ball once they’d untied him from the horse that had dragged him over miles of rocks and bramble, and that was where he remained. Fortunately, he was wearing mail and protection so he was fairly certain the damage to his skin was minimal. But he’d lost his helm somewhere along the way and his head was painful and swimming. So was the leg they’d tied the rope to. Gingerly, he extended both legs to feel for breaks or damage.
“I seem to be able to,” he said, now moving his arms slowly. He ended up flat on his back, gazing up at the dark canopy above and a glimmer of stars beyond that. “But it is difficult to breathe. I may have broken something when I fell off my horse.”
Ghislaine looked at the man. He was very big and she could see the size of his arms and thighs even through the heavy padding and clothing he wore. It wasn’t much different from what her army wore, but it was better made. The Normans had the latest in armor and protection, but that kind of thing was expensive. The man had money or he came from money, because the protection he wore was very fine.
“Then I will have a healer tend to you,” she said, “but I cannot promise it will be any time soon. We have a great deal of wounded.”
The knight didn’t say anything for a moment, staring blankly up at the sky above. “Where is my horse?”
“I do not know.”
“My sword. It was sheathed on my saddle.”
“I do not know where your horse or your sword are, but I am sure they are both the spoils of war for one of our soldiers. I would not worry over either if I were you. I would worry about myself.”
That was not unreasonable advice. Kristoph knew as much but, still, he had to ask. His head lolled in her direction.
“A pity,” he said. “I was rather fond of that horse and the sword… my father gave it to me when I was knighted many years ago. I shall miss them both.”
Ghislaine’s gaze lingered on him a moment. “Then, mayhap, you should not have come to take our country,” she said. “Had you remained on your own shores, you would not have lost either one.”
He lifted his eyebrows, slowly, as if she had just said something he more or less agreed with. His eyes left her face, moving down her body, seeing that she, too, was wearing heavy protection but on a smaller scale, built for her woman’s body. She was dressed like a warrior.
“Much as you have done, I, too, follow my king,” he said quietly, not commenting on the fact that she was dressed like a man. “If it makes you feel any better, my wife did not wish for me to come, either.”
“You are married?”
“Aye,” he said, his expression softening, even in the dim light. “A woman with skin like cream and hair the color of coal. The angel of my heart. She gives the commands and I obey. But on this occasion, I could not. I was duty-bound to follow my king. She will not be pleased that I have managed to throw myself into the arms of the enemy.”
Ghislaine thought on a Norman woman with pale skin and black hair who was now missing her husband, only she didn’t know it yet. It made Ghislaine think on her own husband, lost in a shipwreck two years ago. He had been traveling with the king to Ponthieu when the ship had run aground. Her sweet Hakon had drown in the ensuing chaos, only three months into their marriage which had been a very pleasant one.
Ghislaine well remembered the grief from that loss, now fighting off the guilt that some woman she did not know would soon be facing the same thing. She should have turned away from the conversation at this point, unwilling to come to know the Norman knight beyond his hated loyalties. But some deep-seated pity in her now had her seeing the knight not as an enemy but as a man. He had a wife, the angel of his heart.
He knew love.
“Then I will repeat that you should not have come to our country,” she said, trying to fight off any compassion she might be feeling towards him. “You should have listened to her.”
Kristoph could hear the sharpness in her tone, but it was hollow, as if she didn’t really mean it. He had been a warrior long enough to know sympathy when he heard it and he knew very well that this female warrior was the only thing that stood between him and a thousand men who wanted to kill him. He didn’t want to anger her, but he needed her loyalty. If there was any chance of him coming out of this alive, he needed her on his side.
“You are right. I should have,” he said. “I regret that I did not. Her name is Adalie, in fact. She bore my daughter last year and she was quite disappointed that it was not a son, but I was not disappointed. I was glad to have a daughter who looks just like her mother. You have never seen a more beautiful girl-child with black hair and blue eye
s. She will be quite beautiful when she grows up. I… I was hoping to be there when she did.”
He was being manipulative now, hoping that the female warrior would feel great sympathy for him with a child he wanted to see grow up. It was a desperate move on his part, but the situation called for it. He couldn’t see her face in the darkness now because she had turned away from him. It was a few moments before she replied.
“If that is true, then you should not have left her,” she finally said. “You did not need to come here with your army. This country already has a king and now he is dead because of you and your men. What about his wife and children? Did you think of them before you tried to kill him?”
Kristoph could hear the strain in her voice. “Nay,” he said quietly, but with honesty. “No one ever thinks on the family of their enemies. But at this moment, my family is the most important thing in the world to me – a wife I love and a daughter I adore. I want to see them again, my lady. Will you not help me?”
Ghislaine turned to him, then. She hissed sharply, shaking her head. “I spared your life because one of your fellow knights spared mine,” she said. “Do not ask for more than that.”
Kristoph had heard that story as he’d lain upon the ground, balled up and in pain. He’d heard her speak of the knight who had shown her “Norman mercy” and he’d heard that she believed she was paying back a debt in protecting him from her angry kinsmen. But he wanted more than a sense of duty; he wanted help.
“Then what do you plan to do with me?” he asked.
She stared at him a moment before looking away. “If you want to stay alive, I suggest you be as complacent and pleasing as you can possibly be. If someone asks you for information on the Norman army, then you will answer truthfully. The moment you cease to become of value is the moment someone will slit your throat. The only way to stay alive will be by cooperating.”
In the darkness, he sighed faintly as he understood what she was telling him. “I will not betray my men,” he said softly.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 5
