Rose of Hope (28 page)

Opening the door, she peeked inside, and drew a relieved breath when her cousin looked up at her from where she sat embroidering by the window.

“Fair morn, Ysane,” Roana said. She smiled in welcome. “I trust my lord is well this morn, and free of fever?”

“Aye, that he is, and in fine form, as well. He is fractious as a hungry babe.”

Roana chuckled and set aside her embroidery. “Did you sleep at all, my kinswoman?”

“Nay, I did not,” Ysane said, shortly and quite untruthfully. She relented. “At the least, it feels I did not.”

“’Twould appear my lord is not the only one in a less than good humor. What has he done to upset you?”

Unsurprised at Roana’s perception, Ysane almost gave vent to her fury, but remembered her private vow to keep her emotions under control. She shrugged. “’Twould seem Fallard is not at his best in the morn, that is all.”

She nodded to herself in approval at the quiet restraint of her tone. Good. She would be coaxed not into losing her temper again.

“Hmmm. Mean you he snapped like a dragon with a sore throat, or in this case, a sore knee, almost as soon as he awoke.”

The words were a stick poking the anthill of Ysane’s annoyance. Forgetting her vow, she flung around to face her cousin, eyes flashing emerald sparks. “That oaf! That lout! That…that…that….” She broke off her sputtering, unable to think of another word that matched her infuriated thoughts. “He thinks to make a fool of me. He thinks I am naught more than a, a
thing
he owns. He called me foolish, and
then
he tried to seduce me. As if that were not enough, he accused me of trying to break my troth with him.

“I watched over him through the night, worried he might become fevered, and he mocked my concern. I know he will be foolish today and refuse to heed Luilda’s advice to stay off his feet. There is little doubt he will pull the stitches from his wound, stamping around all over the burh, and he….”

She broke off, glaring at Roana who laughed aloud at her tirade.

“Oh, my dear, forgive me, but you sound so much like my mother,” Roana said between chuckles. “How well I remember how she used to fuss about my father in much the same way. She loved him, more than her own life. Methinks he loved her too, as much as he was able. Men are so different than we women, you know. ’Tis much harder for them to say what they feel, or even to admit they feel aught. Ah, ’tis so unmanly to suffer the softer feelings. Men must ever be strong, and brave and unyielding as iron, and I admit, ever the one who must be right in any argument. ’Tis our role to teach them ’tis no dishonor to concede to sentiments they believe should be only of womanly bent.”

Her anger subsiding, Ysane sighed as a tentative knock sounded. Lynnet stuck her head in the door, and seeing them, brought in the wash water.

“Mayhap you are right, Roana. ’Tis certain Fallard is more proud and stubborn than most. But never has anyone tried my composure as
that man!”
She eyed her maid. “Leave the water, Lynnet. Go. Find Luilda. I would have her tend the wound of our lord ere he takes himself out of the hall for the day.”

“Luilda is already with him, my lady. As I came here, I heard him roar at her to take her poultices and potions away, and leave him be. He said to tie up the bandage and get out so he could dress, and that he would go to his duties whether she approved or nay.”

“He roared?”

“Fallard
roared?”

Both women spoke at once, then stared at each other and giggled. They looked at Lynnet. The three of them burst into laughter, though Lynnet hid hers behind her hand.

“Fallard does not roar,” Ysane said. “’Tis truth I have never heard him raise his voice in anger.”

“Nor have I,” Roana said, her golden eyes laughing. “You seem to have an unhappy effect upon him, Ysane.”

Laughter tinkled through the chamber once again, but the moment of shared feminine understanding was shattered by a cry from the hall.

Ysane ran into the antechamber outside Roana’s bower to peek into the hall where one of the hearth companions called loudly enough for all to hear. “The rebels are massing ere the gates. Sir Trifine orders that all are to stay within the hall until he gives word ’tis safe. Does anyone know how fares the lord D’Auvrecher?”

She ducked out of sight as she heard Fallard answer. “I am well, Rufus. What other word bring you?”

Hidden behind the doorway arch, she watched as he strode toward the man, his gait rapid and sure, and preceded him out the door, listening all the while to the soldier’s rapid briefing. Roul skipped at his heels, happy and ungainly as a pup.

What does it cost him to move without limp, or other sign of pain?

“You were correct, of course,” Roana whispered behind her. “But you understand why, do you not?”

Ysane whirled to face her cousin. A smile softened her countenance. “Aye. I could say ’twas mere pride, but while that may be true, ’tis so much more. He is lord of Wulfsinraed now, and he must lead as he was born to do, as he knows he must. ’Tis his responsibility to protect us from the danger outside the wall. He can show no weakness before his men. Trifine, Domnall and Jehan are fine, trustworthy warriors, but they are not Fallard. His people look to him, and though I fear for his safety, and worry should he further damage his wound, I would not have him do otherwise.”

Roana smiled and hugged her. “A wise woman knows when to let her man be,” she said simply. “Come, my dear, let us see you properly dressed. You also have a role to play this day.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“Now that Ruald has lost his one chance to get inside the gates without losing an unacceptable number of his men to fighting,” Fallard said, “siege is his only recourse, though he must know he will be unable to sustain it for long. William’s patrols will eventually learn of the situation and reinforcements will be sent to rout him. He will now search for options—in particular, for another way inside the wall—but methinks he will soon yield the day. ’Tis my thought he will not linger more than two seven-days, before he decides to withdraw and regroup to try again at a more favorable time.”

He was on the wall, sitting with his back to the parapet and his leg stretched out as he had been all the morn—though he would not have admitted it to Ysane—and manfully eating the meaty stew ordered by Luilda to replenish his blood loss. The sun was warm, the breezes soft and he was actually quite comfortable as he discussed with Trifine the ramifications of an immediate, all-out assault on the rebel force ere they could become entrenched.

Ruald’s troops, more than expected and a sizable threat, had spread themselves out in the tree line across from the gates and were setting up for a protracted stay. Protected by a shield-wall, his archers had spent the morn loosing burning arrows over the wall and into the outer gate, more as a simple harrassment than with any real hope of success.

Long ago, Wulfsin had foreseen that threat to the gate. Into the roof above it, he built thread-narrow openings by which water or sand might be poured to douse fires. The blazing missiles were snuffed ere they could take hold, as were those that reached the courtyard.

Abruptly, Fallard sat back from the map spread out between them. “I believe we would see victory should we attack directly, but our loss of life would be heavy. I will choose not this option unless we have no other choice. On the other hand, Wulfsinraed can withstand a siege, but I begrudge the waste of time.” His eyes rose to his First. He tapped his lips with his forefinger while he considered his thought. “There is a way to end the siege now, and I have decided to employ it.”

Trifine’s eyes lit. “What is this plan? Might it have aught to do with Sir Gyffard?”

Fallard’s gaze locked with that of his First. “It occurs to me Ruald is unaware Sir Gyffard has promised to return, with or without reinforcements from Witham. The commander yet abides at the garrison, and I suspect Ruald believes he will soon hie to London with his tail tucked firmly between his legs. By the time he learns differently, ’twill be too late.”

“Aye, and I had wondered how we might make use of that fact.”

“’Tis my thought the commander feels his honor is stained by his loss of the prisoners. He will wish to wipe that blot from his record, and we will use that to our advantage. An attack will be coordinated between his troops and Wulfsinraed before he arrives. I will order a messenger through the postern gate to intercept him.”

Trifine stiffened and frowned. “Postern gate?
What
postern gate? I know of no such exit. You keep much close to your chest these days, Fallard. ’Tis not like you.”

His First sounded miffed, and the corners of Fallard’s eyes crinkled. ’Twas not oft he unearthed information before Trifine discovered it, but when he did, he enjoyed his friend’s pique. “The gate is hidden in the southwest wall above the abutment where the river forks. Remind me to show it to you and Jehan, lest I forget. ’Twas remiss of me not to do so sooner, but we have all been somewhat…busy, of late.”

Trifine glared at him. “The plan, Fallard.”

He laughed outright, then said, “the orders I will send are two-fold. Ruald’s soldiers outnumber the combined forces of the burh and Sir Gyffard without the Witham company. Does Sir Gyffard arrive unaccompanied by them, he is to hold a league out from Wulfsinraed. After nightfall, he is to send half of his men in silent passage through the forest south of the burh to the far side of the village. An hour before break of day, the other half will mount up and slowly continue on to the burh, as if expecting no challenge. At dawn, our men will make a foray from the gates, while the commander’s troops ride in fast from east and west to attack in a pincer movement. If Ruald discovers not the division of Sir Gyffard’s men, the element of surprise should once again play in our favor, and methinks ’twill even the odds. But even does he guess our plan, twill still be effective. What think you?”

“Agreed.” Trifine cocked his head, his look reflective. “You have an uncommon wealth of good luck, Fallard. Who could have foreseen Sir Gyffard’s foresight? Ruald will know not the commander’s purpose in returning or what his response might be to the rebel presence.” His grin widened. “’Twill be enough to cause gnashing of teeth with our insurrectionist friend. I find myself glad I am not one of his scouts.”

Fallard snorted. “Do the scouts have the sense of a cow, they will not return to offer the news. The second aspect of the plan is thus. Does Sir Gyffard come with the Witham troops, I will order that he hold at the tree line, in full view of the rebels, and
appear
to make camp—a peculiarity I hope will give rise to some measure of consternation, for he will have enough men that Ruald would expect him to make a run for the gates. At sound of the dawn trumpet, the gates will be opened and the burh troops will rush the Saxon line. Sir Gyffard is then to come in with pennons flying.”

“’Tis good, this plan. ’Twill succeed.”

The messenger was duly sent. Three days later he returned and came through the postern gate as soon as ’twas dark enough to reach it unobserved. ’Twas well after sup and Fallard was in the hall, talking with Domnall. He beckoned him over. “What have you to report?”

“Captain D’Auvrecher, Sir Gyffard travels to Wulfsinraed with the extra troops from the Witham garrison. He will arrive by mid watch this night. He will hold ready at the treeline, as ordered, for the daybreak attack. He has captured several of Sir Ruald’s scouts, but believes those still free will find it difficult to reach Wulfsinraed to give warning to Sir Ruald much in advance of his arrival, as indeed, I have only just come.”

“Well and good,” Fallard said. “Take your rest, now.” He grinned as he looked at Domnall. “It begins.”

The situation unfolded much as he had outlined, with one exception.

In the pallid light of a half-phase moon, little could be seen of Ruald’s activities, but he appeared baffled by Sir Gyffard’s peculiar decision to halt and camp on the road at the tree line rather than attempt to reach the safety of the burh. Torchlight in the enemy camp revealed what appeared to be a rather haphazard attempt to ready for battle.

Come the dawn, the reason for the disorganized effort became quickly apparent. It seemed many of his men had no inclination to fight. They had come prepared for an easy conquest of a lightly defended burh, not a full-scale battle against mounted knights and armed soldiers equaling their number. They took no chances. By the time ’twas light enough to see, more than half the rebel force had, to all appearances, deserted the camp.

Fallard watched from the wall as the ground shook beneath the thundering hooves of the Norman contingent tearing like a storm wind from the forest, while his men charged through the gates, trumpets blaring, like a horde of howling Norsemen. Ruald ran for his horse, apparently screaming orders to retreat. The remaining rebels lost no time in obeying. They dropped everything and ran.

In the short time it took for Sir Gyffard and Sir Aalot, the commander of the Witham garrison, to join the Wulfsinraed contingent, the Saxon camp was deserted. Except for a man found lying, bloodied and insensible, inside Ruald’s tent, not a single rebel remained.

Sir Gyffard ordered his men to chase them, though he admitted to Fallard he had little hope of tracking those who knew this forest as well as their own homes. He also gave orders to gather whatever supplies the rebels left behind. The people of the burh would make good use of the bounty.

The unconscious man found in Ruald’s tent was brought to the hall for treatment. When he woke, Fallard questioned him, but the man had perforce to use hand signals to tell of the powerful, gauntleted fist that broke his jaw, knocked out several teeth and left the skin shredded from the sharp metal studding the glove. Fallard eventually gathered he was a scout, and Sir Ruald had liked not the news he bore of the approaching unit from Witham. He claimed himself a simple man who had lived a peaceful life ere being recruited—against his will, as he hastened to indicate—into the rebel force, but he clearly expected a slow and agonizing death by torture. Upon Fallard’s assurance such was not to be the case so long as he abandoned the insurrection, he wept, and signed his willingness to kneel before this Norman lord and swear any fealty required.