Rogue Knight (Medieval Warriors Book 2) (15 page)

Inga, sitting next to her, looked at the twins with an
amused expression. Her friend showed great patience with the children, making
Emma think she would make a good mother.

“He lived to slay the dragon only to fall, fatally wounded
in battle,” Emma told the twins. “’Twas a crushing blow.”

“I do not want him to die,” said Finna mournfully.

“Ah, but ’tis the way of warriors,” said Emma, tapping
Finna’s small nose.

“A great warrior expects to die in battle,” Ottar sternly
informed his sister as if he were an authority on great warriors and intended
to become one himself. She supposed he did. His fascination with the knights
had not diminished with the battle he had witnessed. The twins had just turned
ten the week before and she regretted that the innocence of their childhood was
being cut short by the times in which they lived.

“’Tis best to avoid battles, Ottar, and live in peace,” she
chided. Even as she said it she knew one sometimes had to fight for what was
important and to defend one’s home, one’s honor. To live peaceably sometimes
meant playing the coward. She would not want that for Ottar.

Artur strode into the garden. “Mistress, the squire has come
on a matter he says is urgent.”

“Squire?” It took her a moment to realize he meant
Geoffroi’s squire. “Oh, yea… Mathieu. I will come.” She rose. “Inga, can you
tell them another tale? Mayhap the tale of Cnut the Great?”

“Of course,” said Inga, smiling at the children.

The twins settled down to hear more and Magnus left his
place between them to follow Emma into the house.

The squire stood next to the hearth, his young face somber.

“Will you have something to drink?” she asked.

“Nay, my lady. I come in haste and must return. Sir Geoffroi
sent me to warn you. We have word the Danes are sailing north towards York with
hundreds of ships, mayhap only weeks away from the Humber.”

She let out a sigh.
So it begins.
Thank God
Geoffroi knows.
She thought of the danger for him and her family on
different sides of a fight that was surely coming. Would they survive such an
onslaught?

“Please tell Sir Geoffroi I am grateful that he sent you,
however unwelcome the news may be.”

“Aye, my lady.” With that, he bowed and departed.

She did not move but stayed next to the hearth, listening to
the pounding of the horse’s hooves as the squire galloped down the street to
return to his master, her Norman lover. From the open door leading to the
kitchen and the garden beyond, she could hear the twins’ chatter.

Magnus nuzzled her hand with his cold nose. She patted his
neck, having nearly forgotten he was there. Inhaling deeply, she steeled
herself for what must be faced in the days ahead.

* * *

“How did she take it?” Geoff asked Mathieu, regretting he
could not have gone himself to see Emma, to embrace her, to love her. It had
been days since he had been able to get away and he sorely missed the woman who
had become the light of his life.

“It was odd, sir. She did not faint or cry, as I dreaded she
might. She was calm, saying little. Just thanked you for the warning. It was
almost as if…” His brow wrinkled. “… as if she expected to hear what I had to
say.”

“Many of us have been expecting the Northumbrians to muster
another attack. I have often spoken to her of my concern. But I never mentioned
the Danes. I would have thought they were gone with Hardrada’s defeat three
years ago. But Emma is a strong woman. Mayhap she was trying to be strong for
the children.”

The meeting that evening was boisterous, each man having a
different opinion.

“We must let William know we need more men and soon,” urged
Gilbert.

“The Danes are experienced warriors,” said FitzOsbern, the
gray in his dark hair suddenly speaking loudly of his years at William’s side. “One
wonders why they waited so long.” He had fought them before, Geoff knew. “Why
do they come now?” FitzOsbern’s need to understand the why of it was not unlike
Geoff’s own but there was little to gain by pondering the Danes’ motives at
this late point. They were coming.

“No one knows,” Geoff said, “but it hardly matters now.”

“William asks how long we can hold out,” said Malet,
bringing them back to the message from the king. “Mayhap he means to send us
more knights.” The sheriff sent a hopeful glance in Geoff’s direction.

“We must begin immediately to take in food stores and
water,” argued Gilbert. “I have room in the new castle’s bailey for pigs and
cattle enough to see us through a long siege.”

“We must do that, of course,” said Geoff, “but food and water
will not be our only concerns. With one torch, the Danes could set the castles
ablaze. And then there is the very real possibility the Northumbrians will aid
the Danes by filling up the moats to ease their crossing.”

“Aye,” said Malet, “they might use timber from the houses
that ring the castles. What do you suggest, Gil?”

“I would burn the houses that surround the castles,” replied
the castellan.

“Fire is a dangerous tool in our hands as well as the
enemy’s,” warned Geoff. “Be careful what you do.” He did not see how burning
one row of homes would prevent others from being torn down, their timbers used
to fill the moats. And he liked not using fire in such a way.

They argued for some time, but in the end, Malet decided to
send the king word they could hold out for a year, as he believed. Geoff
thought it unlikely. He would have asked the king for more men at once.

In keeping with his idea, Gilbert was dispatched by
FitzOsbern to see to the firing of the homes near the castles.

“You do intend to warn the residents of York who live in
those houses?” Geoff asked Fitz.

“For all we know they may succor rebels,” insisted
FitzOsbern. The Earl of Hereford’s reputation was that of a harsh overlord, so
the suggestion did not surprise Geoff. If it were left up to FitzOsbern, the
people would have no warning at all.

“Fitz, there are women and children in those homes,” argued
Geoff. “They should at least be allowed to leave with what they can carry.”

“Very well,” FitzOsbern conceded. “We have time yet. You
take a group of knights to warn the people in those homes, Sir Geoffroi.” To
Gilbert, he said, “We will give them five days to get out before you set the
torch.”

Geoff did not relish the task of telling people they were
about to lose their homes, but he would see it done. Better he risked his men
to warn the citizens of York who were threatened than allow innocents to die in
the flames.

* * *

Maerleswein rapped on his daughter’s door, anxious to tell
her of all that would take place. Already he tasted victory on his tongue,
knowing thousands of Northumbrians would join the Danes when they arrived at
the mouth of the Humber.

The door opened and Emma stood there, smiling, but he sensed
an underlying tension that spoke of worry. In her eyes he saw something else,
mayhap fear.

“Father,” she said, as he entered, “from whence do you
come?”

He kissed her on the forehead. “The Humber most directly,
where my army assembles. ’Tis where Swein’s ships will meet us and soon, but
before that I was in Scotland with Cospatric and Edgar.”

She beckoned him to sit. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“’Tis a warm day. Some ale would be welcome.”

She fetched the drink herself and when she had returned and
he sat on the bench, she pulled up the stool she always sat upon.

He took a drink of his ale and wiped his mouth.

“I have heard the Danes are coming,” she said, “plundering
their way north.”

“I expect they are; you know they love their plunder, Emma.
But how did you learn of this?”

“The Normans know, Father. Their king sent them word.”

“Did you hear this from the Norman knight you spoke of?”

“Yea, he meant to warn me. He knows nothing of you.”

“As I would have it. If they knew you were the daughter of
the thegn who once ruled the North for King Harold, and now leads the uprising,
they would as soon see you dead.”

“Some of them, mayhap.” She looked down at her hands
entwined in her lap.

When he recalled her friendship with the French knight, his
forehead creased with concern. He brushed it off, knowing the man would soon be
dead. Glancing about the room, he suddenly realized how quiet it was. “Where is
your brood, your hound, your servants?”

“Artur took Thyra to the blacksmith to have a loose shoe
tightened. Sigga went with him to shop in the market—we want to have as much
food on hand as we can—and the twins are in the garden with Inga and Magnus,
tending the new plants. Why?”

“’Twould be best if you stayed close to home for the next
fortnight. Thank God the house is far from the center of town. The Danes and
our allies know to stay away from this street but with thousands of men, I
cannot guarantee they will abide by their orders. I will post guards on every
side and come to you when I can.”

A shadow crossed her face.

“Do you worry still?” he asked.

“For you and my family, yes.” Then looking up at him, “And
for my friends in the city. Even for the Normans who have shown me kindness.”

“Friends among the Normans?”

“You know the ones I have spoken of… the ones who brought
Ottar home, who rescued Feigr and Magnus. I owe them much, Father.”

“No matter, the Normans must go. We would again see an
English king in the North.”

Emma sighed and looked away. “I wish they would leave
without all the killing.”

“’Twill never happen, Emma. William wants Yorkshire as he
wants all of England. To think we can stop him without a fight is to want
something that can never be.”

“Aye, I know it well,” she said.

Seeing her sad face, he thought to cheer her. “Cospatric
asks after you, Daughter.”

She turned her beautiful eyes on him, the eyes of her
mother. But her expression was not one of gladness as he had hoped. “The earl
is a nice man,” she said with no great enthusiasm. “Please give him my best.”

“I am certain you will see more of Cospatric once York is
again ours. We stopped at his estate at Bamburgh on our way sailing south from
Scotland. ’Tis a grand place.”

“Would you like to see the twins?” she asked, changing the
subject. “They miss you.”

He heaved his large frame off the bench. “Aye, let me at the
little mischief makers.” He would have to speak of Cospatric another time.

* * *

Emma was happy her father was home, at least for a time, but
she was restless and unable to gain any peace for her anxiety over the battle
that grew ever closer, like a great, roaring beast stalking its prey.

Who would live and who would die? Should she and her little
family flee or should she trust her father to guard them? He had many
Northumbrians at his command. Surely they would protect her and the children,
but what of Sir Geoffroi? And her friend, Helise Malet, and her sons?

When her father suggested they visit the old archbishop
together, she leaped at the chance. Mayhap he would have words of wisdom to
share.

“Can we go, too?” Ottar asked.

Inga looked up from where she sat on the bench at the end of
the garden, the children and hound at her feet. “You and Finna can stay with
me, Ottar,” she said, seeing Emma’s shake of her head when the boy wanted to
go. “I do not think Emma will take Magnus either.”

“Nay,” said Emma’s father, “the beast stays. We go to the
Minster on business. I doubt the archbishop would want the hound sniffing
around his sacred relics.”

“You can go with me to Mass, Ottar,” said Finna. “’Tis not
as if you never go to the Minster.”

“Oh, all right,” the boy reluctantly agreed. “I would rather
hear another tale anyway.”

Emma tousled his hair with her fingers. Then thinking of how
young, how vulnerable they still were, she took them into her arms and held
them close. “I will be back soon and then we can make some more berry tarts.”

The twins exchanged eager glances and, placated by the
promise of tarts, settled down to listen to Inga as she began a tale of a
Danish warrior of long ago.

Emma and her father walked to the Minster. They were far
enough from the castles where the knights congregated that she felt confident
her father was safe from recognition by any, save for his friends.

The sun was bright in the cloudless sky and the day so warm
she needed no cloak. Since they went to see the archbishop, she wore a gown of
dark green linen finely woven and a belt of cloth embroidered with golden
thread. Halden had traded for much fine cloth and she had a store of gowns
saved for special days and feasts.

People passed them on the streets, going about their
business. Some recognized her father and bid him welcome. He was well liked in York.

“’Tis odd to think that these streets, filled with people
plying their trades and shopping for their families, will soon have to deal
with thousands of Danes,” said Emma.

“The people will see them as coming to their aid. The
Northumbrians and the men of York will join the Danes to defeat the Normans.
The people will rejoice at the victory the Danes will allow them.”

When they were nearly to the Minster, it occurred to her to
ask, “Why do you want to see the archbishop? Do you seek Ealdred’s blessing?”

“Nay, though I would have it if he offers. My purpose in
coming is quite different. Cospatric will meet us at the Minster. We want the
archbishop to agree to crown Edgar king, if not of England, then at least of
Northumbria.”

Emma knew the archbishop well enough that she did not think
he would agree. After all, it had been he who had crowned the Norman king three
years before. And it had been the archbishop who had warned against further
rebellion.