Alinor (15 page)

The attacks on Alinor's land might be the result of a mistake. By and large, only the properties of King John's favorites were still as prosperous as the Roselynde estate. Those whom John did not love were taxed and fined until even good landlords were forced to squeeze their serfs and tenants. Roselynde's freedom from excessive charges was owing to several diverse causes, but not to John's love. Simon had been deeply beloved of John's mother, who had not died until 1204, and the king had remained sufficiently in awe of that mighty woman to leave her favorite in peace. After 1204 John had been too busy with incipient revolt in England and military reverses in Normandy to bother with Alinor and her husband.

All taxes and demands had risen, of course, and many who were not prepared could not meet those demands even when no special fines were added. This problem also did not touch Roselynde. Alinor kept her own books and her own secrets. There was no one who knew what Alinor's revenues were, except Alinor herself. Moreover, the land was only a small share of her income. What Alinor made from the fishing trade in Roselynde and Mersea only Alinor knew, and the ships often carried more than fish. Simon had brought back enormous loot from the Crusades and had made enormous profits from his office as sheriff of Sussex. As taxes rose, Alinor increased her demands on her people, but not enough to ruin them. She and Simon knew what John was like. They had been prepared for lean years.

If the leader of the reavers was wreaking his spite on one whom he believed to be a favorite of the king, it might be possible to turn the man from his purpose. The more Ian saw of his work, the more he respected the common sense and ability of the leader of the outlaws. Considering the situation, he kept his men under good control, Ian thought. Looting was to be expected, since that was the purpose of the raids, but wanton burning was minimal and, Ian had discovered, the women who had been carried off were either widows or whores. Very interesting. Rape, too, was minimal, largely confined to the wives and daughters of the bailiffs. Spite showed there; a special kind of spite. Ian could only hope that the iron had not bit too deep into the outlaw leader's soul.

Ian directed 20 men-at-arms from Roselynde Keep and ten of his northerners to take cover around the burned-out farmstead. Other groups had been deployed at various positions all along the boundaries of the lands, but Ian had decided to take this position in person because he did not believe the man who led the reavers would permit resistance to defeat him. He would be back for the cattle he had not previously been able to take.

In a nearby serf's hut, Ian gathered the remainder of his troop, ten wiry Welshmen with long hair bound back by leather thongs and odd, very long quivers strapped to their backs. Short swords hung from their belts, but as Ian explained what he wanted them to do in French and Owain translated swiftly into Welsh, they did not finger their swords as men preparing for action often did. Those who did not stand quietly ran their hands caressingly along the six-foot bows of ash or yew that they held.

"No killing unless it be needful," Ian snapped.

He knew what those yard-long shafts sped from the enormous bows could do. They were as effective as a crossbow and could be aimed and fired many times more swiftly. Not many men in England knew the use of the longbow, but any man who had fought the Welsh respected and feared the weapon. When he had time, Ian intended to introduce its use to Alinor's men, but skill with it came slowly. Only a few of his northern men-at-arms had mastered the art.

"I wish to know where they lair, but I do
not
want them, or anyone else, to know that my men are making free of the king's forest," Ian continued. "If you kill, hide the bodies—but mark the place, so the poor creature can have a Christian burial when we find a chance to give it to him. It is sufficient evil that any such man die unshriven."

The last was said with more hope than conviction. Welsh hillmen said they believed in Christ, but weird ceremonies still took place in the light of the full moon, and the fear of those sins that Christian teaching most deplored sat very lightly indeed on these stalwart fighters. The men were fond of him, Ian knew, and might mark their victim's bodies to please him. He doubted very much that any concern for the souls of the departed would trouble his Welsh bowmen. Yet he could not help loving them. They were as wild and free as falcons, and they did his bidding out of the same kind of combination of feral greed and affection for its master that a trained falcon has.

He went to the door of the hut to watch them, totally fascinated, as always, by the way they disappeared into the landscape when only a few tens of yards from the place where he stood. Llewelyn could do it, too, and he had tried and tried to teach Ian. The only result had been despair and a conviction that it was an art one had to learn from childhood on Ian's part and desperate attempts to conceal amusement on Llewelyn's. Ian shrugged. Each man had his own arts. Ian knew now he would never make a Welsh woodsman; on the other hand, Llewelyn would never be much of a jouster.

When the disappearing trick was complete, Ian went out to make sure his other men were suitably concealed and the lookouts placed where they could actually see something. As he went, he described what he was doing and why to Owain and Geoffrey. The younger boy's attention was dutiful rather than interested. He did not yet really perceive himself as the master of an estate that he would need to protect. When Geoffrey dreamed of his future, he saw himself as a knight of the romances with streaming pennon riding in a joust, or leading an army into battle. Hunting outlaws because they had burned out a few little farms was not romantic enough for a 13-year-old.

Ian's lecture was automatic; he had listened to so many he could say the words by rote. What he was really thinking about was what to do with Geoffrey. He had forgotten to talk to Alinor about the boy and had been so distraught when he left Roselynde that he hardly realized Geoffrey was following him. Now he had an ill-prepared 13-year-old to protect as well as his 15-year-old squire. Of course, Owain was no longer much of a burden and would soon be a great asset. He was quick and cautious and knew how to hold his place. Although Owain was not yet as strong as a mature man, he was well taught, and could guard himself and get the best out of his weapons. All that was necessary was for one of Ian's hard-bitten northerners to keep one eye on the young man to be sure he did not get carried away by his enthusiasm for fighting.

Geoffrey was something else entirely. He had been well started and then totally neglected. Not only was he naturally slight, but he did not handle his sword and shield well, because no one had bothered to teach him. Ian had started to work with him in the few weeks of quiet after the end of the action in France and was pleased by the boy's eagerness and progress, but that progress was not enough to make an efficient fighter of Geoffrey. It would be necessary to leave him behind in the care of some men or guard the boy during fighting. Ordinarily there would have been no question; Geoffrey would have to be left in safety. However, in this case, where the opposition was not well-trained men-at-arms but runaway serfs or villeins with stolen weapons, the danger would be less and it might be well to blood Geoffrey now.

Having set his lookouts and decided that the farm showed no obvious signs of his troop, Ian returned to the serfs hut. He sent Owain to check the horses, warning him to beware of the gray destrier. True, the horse was not as vicious once his saddle was removed; he had been trained to strike out at anything that ran away when there was no rider on his back. This was a device to prevent enemy men-at-arms from seizing a fallen knight. Unfortunately the horse had no way of knowing whether his rider had fallen in battle or simply had not yet mounted, although the smell of blood always heightened the animal's fury. Nonetheless, Ian did not want Owain to take any chances; the stallions of Roselynde were never sweet-tempered.

When Owain was gone, Ian gestured Geoffrey to sit at his feet and settled himself on the hut's only stool. "Geoffrey, I need you to think like a man, for I have a choice to give you. You must try to think what will be best and safest, not for you but for me. Through no fault of your own, you are not well-skilled with weapons."

The boy flushed painfully. "I practice with Owain―"

"It is not your blame. There is great promise in you, but you are young yet. Now think. Can you swallow your pride and remain well behind me, where I and Jamie the Scot can guard you, or will you forget yourself and thrust yourself forward, thus endangering us all? If you think your spirit will overcome your sense, I can set two men to guard you out of the fighting."

Geoffrey's cheeks remained pinker, his eyes brighter than usual, but he took time to think over what Ian said. He was accustomed to weighing words, because many traps had been set for his unwary tongue in the past, and a misjudgment meant a beating. Here, however, Ian had stated the situation so cleverly that whatever choice he made was flattering. If he chose to go with the fighters, obviously there could be no question of his courage, and Ian had ordered him not to join the battle in such a way that no contemptuous implication about him could be made. If he did not wish to fight, Ian had stated the case to seem that remaining behind was the result of too-great courage.

"Please, my lord," Geoffrey said softly, "I will obey you exactly. I will not speak or move except by your order. Please let me come. I will not forget that it is you I would harm by a foolish act."

"Very well, Geoffrey, that will suit me excellently well," Ian said noncommittally.

In truth, he was delighted with the choice Geoffrey had made. However cleverly he had phrased the conditions to salve Geoffrey's pride, to Ian it would have been a sign of cowardice if the boy had decided to remain behind. Good heart, Ian thought. Good blood will tell, and if it kills me, I will undo the damage that bitch has done the child. I will save him, and he will be a fine man. Ian stretched and yawned.

"Tell Owain when he has seen the horses fed and watered to come back here and catch what sleep he can. You also. We will be watching most of the night."

With no more ado, Ian drew his sword and laid it beside one of the stinking straw pallets on the floor, rolled himself into his furred cloak, and dropped off to sleep. His last thought was that he would have to tell Alinor to delouse him as soon as he came back to Roselynde. He had considered lying on the floor instead of on the infested pallet, but he knew from sad experience that the creatures would be attracted to him wherever he lay, so that he might as well seek what comfort he could find to compensate for the discomfort of the bites to come.

When the boys came in they shut the door, and there was little difference between day and night inside the hut. For a while a circle of light came in through the smoke hole, but it did not disturb the sleepers and soon began to fade. Ian stirred into part wakefulness a little while later, but his half-conscious mind soon identified the sounds that had disturbed him. They were the cowherds bringing the beasts in from the field to the newly repaired pens for milking. He drifted into the depths again, unaware of the steady darkening of the smoke hole or, later, the single star that peered in through it.

Before the lone star had moved out of position, Ian was as instantly and completely awake as he had been asleep a moment before. His sword was in his hand before he was upright or really aware of what had wakened him. Then he heard it.

"Eaorling! Eaorling!"

Something was wrong. The northerners would cry
"thegn,"
the Welshmen
"pendeuic,"
Alinor's men-at-arms "lord." Ian applied his foot firmly to Owain and Geoffrey to rouse them, flung open the door, and hurried out. Three shadows were converging upon him. The foremost was still gasping
"eaorling";
the other two were gabbling at each other in broken French, of which Ian caught the words "guard...warn," in one voice and "huntsman" in another.

"Quiet!" Ian ordered.

The men were close upon him now, and the foremost tumbled down to his knees. Ian could see his body heaving even in the dim light.

"The leuedy! The leuedy!"
the kneeling man gasped.

Ian went cold. There was only one "lady" in Roselynde. Something had happened to Alinor. Had John, with that sudden unpredictability of his, arrived at Roselynde?

"Take hold of yourself, man," Ian said harshly in English. "Speak slow. Tell me what has befallen the lady."

Alinor had visited two fishing villages and was well satisfied with the result of her efforts. The headmen had assured her that if they could not arrange to remove any messenger headed for Roselynde from the boat he had hired, they would mark where the boat came ashore. Whether they would attempt to take him themselves, seek the help of the innkeeper of Roselynde Town or the help of the huntsmen would depend upon circumstances. In any case, they assured her, no messenger would reach Roselynde Keep from the sea. They would pass the word along and warn all the other fisherfolk up and down the coast.

The light was failing by the time Alinor and her men were on the road home, but she expected to reach Roselynde before full dark without trouble. Absorbed in her own thoughts and not particularly alert, because she was in the very heart of her own holding, Alinor did not notice the troop of men that emerged from the little wood. She continued to ride toward them until the group moved to block the road. Then one of her men cried a warning just as Alinor herself pulled sharply on her reins. Almost before she had completed the movement, she comprehended the trap into which she had fallen. The men coming toward her could not be her people.

"Back!" she cried.

The men-at-arms parted to make way for her and formed again behind her when she had turned her horse. All whipped their mounts into a gallop. If they could reach the village, it might be possible to hold off their attackers until help could be summoned. That hope lived for only a very few minutes. Voices cried out for them to halt, promising no harm would come to them, but little time was wasted waiting for a response. Hardly had the sound of the order died than one of Alinor's men cried out in pain. He clung to his saddle for a few moments, then fell.