She realized Hawise was waiting for a response. She summoned up a reasonable retort. “Aye, I will give Fitzhugh a chance. I will not condemn him until he proves worthy of it. But I can’t forget he is English. His people have always oppressed others. They invaded my homeland and seized whatever they wished. They built castles to subjugate and crush us.”
Hawise shook her head. “Even before the English came, there were barons and chieftains and princes. There will always be men who rule and those who are ruled. All you can do is hope that the man who is your overlord is reasonable and fair.”
Reasonable and fair. So far, Fitzhugh had shown those qualities. Rhosyn nodded. “Perhaps you are right. I should not be so suspicious.”
Hawise’s voice was warm. “Nay, you should not. You are quite comely when you smile.”
Rhosyn felt her expression instantly darken. Being comely was dangerous. It attracted the wrong sort of man.
Chapter Eight
“William! My lord! The village is being attacked!”
William bolted upright on the pallet and saw Adam, face pale and panicked in the glow of the night candle.
“Who?”
“The Welsh. That’s what Althelstan the tanner said.”
William leapt from the pallet and grabbed his clothes from the top of the storage chest. “Jesu! Why now? I was told the Welsh have left Higham alone the last few years.”
“I don’t know, milord. Do you want me to arm you?” He gestured towards William’s gambeson and mail shirt, hanging on pegs on the wall.
William shrugged on his tunic and pulled up his braies, struggling to tie the drawstring. “Is there time? What about the attackers? Are they wearing mail? Are they mounted?”
“I don’t know. The message came from Rollo. He was on guard duty when a boy from the village arrived screaming frantically about being attacked. Then Rollo saw the fire from the gatehouse. He and the other guards got their horses and rode out immediately.”
“Why didn’t Rollo see the fire sooner? What’s the point of having a guard up in the gatehouse if he isn’t keeping watch?”
“I don’t know, milord.”
William gritted his teeth in frustration as he sat on a stool and put on his boots. Rollo was probably asleep…or worse. Nay, he couldn’t blame anyone else for this. The protection of the castle and the village were his responsibility.
He thought suddenly of the healer, alone in her cottage, surrounded by herbs that would act as tinder if there was a fire. The panic twisting in his stomach deepened. “Arm me. But be quick about it.”
It seemed to take forever for Adam to help him into his gambeson and hauberk. When the knight reached for William’s helmet, William shook his head. “Don’t bother. I’d be half blind in that thing at night.”
William strapped on his swordbelt. The next moment they were rushing down the stairs. Adam took off for the barracks to arm himself and William hurried to the stables. To his relief he saw his squire Gavin waiting outside the building with Trueheart already saddled and bridled. Ralf and Stephen came rushing up, fully armed. “What about the other men?” he asked.
“They’re still getting their armor on,” Ralf answered.
“They’ll have to catch up. There’s no time to wait.”
The three men mounted and set off, clattering through the gate. It was a warm night. William could already feel sweat soaking his gambeson. His body felt like it would explode with tension. Even going into battle in France, he’d never experienced this overwhelming dread. But then he hadn’t been in charge, the person responsible. And not just for his men. For everyone. The whole village. Women and children. The healer. Once again, he thought of her alone at her cottage in the forest.
Ahead of them, the village was lit by fire. The main blaze seemed to be near the mill. William’s tension increased even more. If they lost the mill, that would be disastrous. And much of the season’s grain was in a storehouse nearby. Every pair of hands would be needed to help put out the fire. But first he had to make certain the enemy wasn’t still around.
When they reached the common pasture, he halted and spoke to the two knights. “Keep a sharp eye out for the enemy. We are going to circle around the village and make sure they’re not still here setting more fires.”
“What about the mill?” Stephen gestured to the blaze.
“We’ll help them as soon as we can. For now our responsibility is to make certain the enemy isn’t in the area.”
“If they are, we’re probably badly outnumbered,” Ralf muttered.
“I don’t like this either,” William said. “But it’s what we have to do. We must stay together.”
Of course his men were uneasy. None of them were experienced in this, riding around in the dark, uncertain where an attacker might be lurking, In that sense, the fire was a boon, as it gave them some light to see by.
They circled the village. When they reached the forest beyond the village, William struggled to keep from turning off to go to the healer’s cottage. But riding through the woods at night, he’d be an easy target for an ambush. And as he had told his men, they must keep together.
They rode along the river, through the hayfields and the orchard. When they returned to the village, the whole area was illuminated by the fire. People were lined up, passing buckets and troughs of water to those nearest the flames. Their efforts to douse the fire seemed futile, like pouring spoonfuls of water on a blazing firepit. Yet they had to try to put the fire out. Everyone knew how important the mill was. Not to mention the granary. What would they do for food this winter if they lost their main supply of wheat? From this vantage point, William couldn’t tell if the granary was ablaze.
Stephen’s mount whinnied, clearly spooked by the flames. “What do we do now?” Stephen asked.
“We’ll have to leave our horses and join the villagers.”
“I don’t want Shadow to run off in panic.” Stephen stroked the neck of his mount.
“We’ll have to find a place to tie them up.”
They backtracked until they found a cottage with a wooden fence around the yard. After tying up the horses, they set off to join in fighting the fire. They jogged toward the blaze, the best pace they could manage in their mail shirts, William felt as if he was being pulled in two directions. He could not get the healer out of his mind. She seemed so isolated in her cottage. So vulnerable.
But if the raiders were Welsh, as the guard had said, perhaps they would not bother her. But what if they didn’t know she was Welsh? What if they set her cottage on fire before she could escape?
He shoved the horrifying thought to the back of his mind. His responsibility was to the people of Higham, all of them. Right now putting out the blaze and salvaging the mill must be his first priority.
Being part of the fire line was hot, exhausting work. He and his men had taken places near the blaze, since they could more easily empty the heavy containers than the smaller, less robust village men. But their mail made their task even more arduous, and William cursed himself for both taking time to put it on and the foolishness of facing a raging fire attired in a garment made of metal. The metal rings grew so hot he wondered if his linen gambeson underneath would catch on fire. But perhaps it was so soaked with sweat that would douse it. Sparks struck his face and the smoke choked him. His arms and shoulders ached from carrying the heavy buckets and tubs. But he kept on throwing water on the flames. If the villagers could keep going, so could he.
Gradually, the flames died down. Although that was probably because the fire was starved for fuel, more than their efforts fighting it. The exterior of the mill was almost totally gone, reduced to a charred blackened skeleton.
William helped the other men smother the remaining flames with wet sacks. It was getting light. William could finally make out the faces of the men he’d worked beside for hours. Almost all of his knights were there. He was pleased they’d helped fight the blaze, even though he hadn’t given a specific order to do so. H
e scanned the faces of the villagers, which were so covered in soot he could hardly tell one from the other. But he saw no sign of the healer.
Finally, it was safe to rest. He and the other men sank down under the huge oak by the commons. Some of the villagers joined them. No one said much. They were too exhausted, too numb. William asked, “Has anyone seen the healer?”
“She’s tending the miller and his son,” one of the villagers responded. “They’re the ones who raised the alarm. They tried to fight the blaze themselves before help arrived and both of them were burned.”
“How badly were they hurt?”
“I don’t know,” the man said. William thought his name was Peter. “They’re at the tanner’s house right now, since their own cottage is badly damaged.”
“What about the miller’s wife? He has other children, doesn’t he?”
“Aye, he has two daughters. They were able to get out. And his wife as well. They’re probably all at the tanner’s.”
“Are you injured, milord? Is that why you want the healer?” That was Stephen.
“I simply wondered if she was safe, all alone there in the woods.”
“She probably smelled the smoke and came to help.”
The healer was safe. William felt almost weak with relief. Which was foolish. Her safety should not matter so much. Although they did need her skills for the wounded. “At least the granary didn’t burn.”
“The mill was obviously the target,” Adam answered.
“Were the raiders Welsh?” William asked.
“I think so,” Peter responded. “I saw them. They wore leather jerkins and had shaggy dark hair. And their horses are small and rough-looking as well.”
“I thought the Welsh had not raided here in some time.”
“That’s true.”
“I wonder what has changed,” William mused.
“Something must have emboldened them to attack,” Ralf said. “Mayhaps they thought Higham was more vulnerable now that it had a new lord.”
William felt a surge of self-disgust. He should have made more effort to guard the village.
“Roscales could be behind it,” Baldwin said. He and the rest of William’s knights had joined the fight against the fire as soon they had arrived from the castle. “He might have allied himself with the Welsh to try and get Higham back.”
“Does he really think he can take back Higham?” Adam shook his head. “The king would never tolerate it. Roscales would end up as an outlaw.”
“Mayhaps he doesn’t want to take back Higham,” Peter suggested. “Mayhaps he simply wants to see us suffer and starve this winter.”
It seemed very cruel for Roscales to take out his bitterness on the villagers, who had no control over who ruled them. But he knew many lords had little concern for serfs and sokeman. Roscales might see the villeins as property—property he had lost—rather than as people.
At least no one had been killed. And the mill could be rebuilt. It was likely the millstone had not been damaged. And most of the grain was safe, for now.
William pointed in the direction of the granary. “I want to set a guard on the storehouse at night.”
Adam nodded.
“What else is most at risk if the raiders return?” William directed the question to Peter.
“The livestock.”
He was right. William had not even thought of that. He gestured. “Ralf, Henry, Robert, Anselm—ride out and check on the cattle herd.” While they were fighting the fire, the raiders might have been stealing their cattle.
“Mayhaps we should have the herds brought in,” Stephen suggested after the four knights left. “We could start butchering early this year.”
“The weather’s too fine,” said a villein named Thomas. The meat would rot in the heat, long before we could preserve it.”
“Not to mention we have no salt,” William added.
“Could we bring the herds in closer?” Stephen asked.
“The grazing won’t be as good,” Thomas answered. “The nearby pastures are used mainly in the winter. Then we try to keep the cattle and sheep close, so we can make certain they don’t founder in the snow.”
“Does it snow much here?” William asked. His father’s lands were to the southeast where the winters weren’t normally harsh.
“Not a lot usually, although it’s different in the hills to the west where the best grazing is.”
To the west, on the borderlands with Wales. “But we had a good hay crop, did we not? If it was necessary, could we feed the livestock that way?”
“You’re forgetting the horses,” Thomas responded. “They require a lot of fodder. Which won’t leave much for the cattle. The sheep can get by on what grass there is, although if they graze too heavily it ruins the land for the next year’s grazing.”
“Then we’ll have to cull the cattle herd down to some milch cows and a bull.” This attack by the Welsh changed everything. In the few days since they arrived here, his knights had known a life of ease. Now he would have to send out regular patrols. Refurnishing the castle was no longer a priority. The furniture would have to wait while Aldreth helped rebuild the mill. William glanced around at the villagers. “Are we certain the attackers were Welsh? Did anyone see them clearly?”
Young Theo spoke up. “I didn’t see the warriors clearly, but I saw their horses. Shaggy mountain ponies, they were.”
“They were Welsh.” An older villager whose name William didn’t know spoke emphatically. “If you searched you would likely find arrowtips in the ashes. That’s how they set the fire.”
“You’re familiar with their means of warfare?” William asked.
“Aye. They used to raid Higham regularly.”
“How long ago?”
“Six years or so,” an older man answered. William recalled the man’s name was Heath.
“What’s changed? Why haven’t there been any raids recently?”
“Who knows,” Heath responded. “Mayhaps they made some sort of truce with Roscales.”
A truce that was now broken since Roscales was gone. “What chieftain or prince is in charge nearby? Where is his stronghold?”
“I’m not certain, milord. Perhaps someone at the castle would know.”
William stood. His whole body ached with weariness. To his men he said, “Go back to the castle and get some rest. I will be there soon.”
“I must get Shadow,” Stephen said. “Do you want me to bring Trueheart, milord?”
“Nay. I want to find out how badly injured the miller and his son are.”
Adam and Stephen headed to where they had left their horses. William went the other direction.
As he walked, he thought about all the work brought about by this night. The challenges facing him had been daunting before the fire. Now they seemed overwhelming. But he could not think about that. He must focus on what needed doing immediately. After they’d rested, he would send some of his knights back to the village to help with clearing away the debris from the fire. The others would need to take turns patrolling the area.
That reminded him of Ralf and the other men who’d gone to check on the herds. It seemed they should have returned by now. But maybe they’d gone directly to the castle. He would go there himself soon. But first he wanted to check on the miller and his son. And to make certain the healer was safe.
Chapter Nine
Rhosyn hurried from her cottage, the precious jar of poppy juice clutched in her hands. When she first smelled the smoke, the harsh acrid odor had evoked terrible memories. She’d wanted to run away and hide. But she’d quickly overcome her dread, gathered up some healing salve and bandages and headed towards the blaze.
Before she even got close to the fire, Glyda had intercepted her, shouting that her husband and son were badly burned and needed help. Rhosyn had spent an hour at the tanner’s house dressing and bandaging the miller and his son’s wounds. The man and youth had been in shock at first. But now the pain was setting in. Soon they wo
uld be in agony.
Burns were difficult to treat. They often grew poisoned. At best, they took a long time to heal. Anxiety squeezed her chest. If anything happened to the miller or his son, the villagers might blame her. They might think she was too inexperienced to be a healer. This was her first serious test. She must not fail.
She’d nearly reached the tanner’s cottage when she saw Lord Fitzhugh. His face and hair were streaked with soot. It made him appear older and fiercer. Witless though it was, a part of her was glad to see him. Somehow, his presence reassured her. As he approached, she gestured to the tanner’s cottage. “I must see to the miller and his son.”
“How fare they?”
“Not well.” She held up the jar of poppy juice. “I’ve brought something to ease their pain.”
“When you are done, will you speak to me?”
He phrased it as a question, but of course, she had no choice.
In the cottage, she measured out a small amount of poppy juice and mixed it with some ale that someone had brought. The miller and his son lay side-by-side on pallets. The miller was silent, although he was sweating and his features were tight with suffering. The youth groaned and thrashed around.
“Lie still,” she told the young Ned. “You don’t want your bandages to come off. I’m going to give you something for the pain.” She helped Ned sit up and held the cup of ale to his lips. When he had drunk about half of it, she did the same thing with his father. “’Try to sleep,” she urged them.
She spoke to Glyda, sitting nearby. “The poppy juice will help for a time. I will return in a few hours and give them more. If you can find some mead to mix the poppy with, that would be better than ale.”
“Will they recover?” Glyda’s face was etched with fatigue and worry.
“They have a good chance.”
“But my husband’s hands…. His face…” Glyda made a helpless gesture.
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