The Conqueror (Hot Knights) (17 page)

And the wealth and luxury articles of Oxbury also belied the image of brutishness and lack of culture that most Normans had of the English. He’d never slept in such a comfortable well-appointed bedchamber. Even everyday functional things at Oxbury were crafted with an eye towards beauty: The silver ewer and cups on the table, fashioned with ornate, curving handles and scrollwork. Edeva’s carved ivory comb, decorated with horn inlay. The wooden chests in the corner, bound with embossed leather strips and secured with bronze fixtures.

As odd as it seemed, Jobert thought it might well turn out that the Saxons had as much to offer the Normans as the other way around. They were not savages to be killed or reduced to serfs. If a Norman treated fairly with them, they appeared willing to offer an honest day’s work.

A pity about the village child. Some family mourned him. But children died frequently in any household. Even kings were not spared that sort of grief.

They were certainly sending off the unfortunate Saxon with a lot of fuss, Jobert decided. The odor of the smoke had not abated, but grown stronger. And was there not a lot of commotion and noise for a peasant funeral?

Jobert rose stiffly and went to the window and unfastened the shutter. A gust of cold, damp air assaulted his face. Squinting against the sudden brightness, he looked out across the valley to the village along the river. Not one, but a half dozen plumes of smoke rose from the group of dwellings.

He frowned as he stared out at the distant scene. Something was wrong. That was no funeral pyre, and the figures running between the burning buildings were not Saxon mourners, but his knights!

Jobert reacted in an instant. Ignoring his weakness, he left the bedchamber and groped his way down the stairs. The hall was almost deserted, but he found a serving wench polishing tableware by the main hearth. “What’s happening?” he demanded. “What’s going on in the village?”

She looked at him with wide, fearful eyes, but remained mute. Jobert quickly realized that she did not know what he was saying. He struggled to remember the Saxon words, then gave up and hobbled to the doorway.

He did not stop to question the handful of squires and servants in the yard, but hurried to the gate. “Guard!” he shouted. “What the hell is going on? Why are our men attacking the village?”

A helmed head peeked over the edge of the gatetower. “Brevrienne! My lord! Why are you out of bed?”

“I came to find out what’s going on! Christ’s balls! Will someone please tell me?”

The man started down the ladder. “’Twas Fornay’s order. He said that they should ride out. He said you were ill and not to be bothered.”

“But why? Why?”

The guard reached him, panting in his heavy mail. “It all started with the fire. Lady Edeva went to the village—for a funeral, she said. The next thing we know, she comes running back here, screaming that people’s homes are on fire. She demanded that some men go down and help the villagers put out the blaze.”

The man shrugged. “I sent the men, I’ll admit that. Fornay was nowhere to be found, and you know Lady Edeva. There is no arguing with her when she makes up her mind “

“But you said it was Fornay’s order.”

“That was later. After the Saxons attacked.”

“They attacked?”

“Apparently so. I did not see it, but Hamo came back here, yelling for reinforcements. Says two men are down, that it’s an ambush. Then, Fornay shows up. He takes the rest of the men and charges down the hill. I would not be surprised if he torched the whole village himself, He was that angry. Shouting about ‘the traitorous Saxon bitch’ the whole time he armed himself.”

Jobert took a deep breath. He doubted he could stay on a horse. His legs already swayed beneath him. He would have to insist Drogo enforced his will. “Go down to the village,” he told the guard, “and tell Fornay that he is not to burn anything. Indeed, he is to help put out what fires he can. Also, tell him that he is to take what prisoners he sees fit, and bring them back here. Most of all, inform him that he is not to touch the woman, or he will face my wrath!”

Drogo gaped at him, wide-eyed. “I will do it, my lord, but who will watch the gate? If we were attacked now, the palisade would be completely unprotected.”

“I will watch the gate. I may not be able to sit a horse or fight, but I can still shoot a bow well enough to hold off an attack for a short time.”

Drogo nodded and ran to get his horse. Jobert opened the gate, and the knight galloped down the trackway. Bending over, Jobert vomited into the dirt, then regained his shaky legs and pushed the gate shut. With the quivering, agonized steps of an old man, he climbed the gate-tower and made his way to the edge of the walkway.

Drogo had reached the village. Jobert saw his mounted figure disappear into the billowing smoke. With a violent oath, he pounded his fist into the wall of the tower. “Damn Fornay! And damn her. What were they thinking, either of them?”

He clutched the wall as another wave of nausea assaulted him. Part of his sickness came from fear. Had Alan been right and he, wrong? Had Edeva deliberately lured his men into an ambush? If she had, he would punish her. No matter her beauty, her womanliness, he would not be moved to pity. She would pay for the wasted lives of his men!

Why had she done it? Better that she had murdered him in his bath than inflict this treachery upon him. Like Eve in the Garden, she had tempted him and brought about his ruin.

Bitterness choked his throat. If others suffered because he foolishly trusted a woman, he would never forgive himself.

He gritted his teeth and looked out at the smoke-filled valley. How could she treat his wound and nurse him for days, and then do this to him? It made no sense.

But mayhaps that was the key to it, he thought. Mayhaps there was no sinister plot behind the events unfolding before him. Edeva might well have gone to the village to comfort the dead child’s family, and then, without her knowledge, her countrymen set the fires to draw his men into the trap.

Edeva need not have had any part in the ambush. ’Twould be her nature to run for aid if she thought her people were in trouble. It did not necessarily imply that she was in league with the rebels. In fact, the plan probably would not have gone so smoothly if Edeva had been part of it. Hers was an easy face to read. He would have sensed it if she were involved in some sort of intrigue. All he had noticed during their conversation earlier was that she seemed slightly irritated with him. That happened often enough as to be meaningless.

Jobert felt some of the crippling tension leave him. Something serious had occurred. He might even have lost good men. But Edeva had not betrayed him.

He swayed on the watchtower, praying that his legs would hold him a while longer.

Relief surged through his body as he saw Drogo riding up the hill.

He started down the ladder. He was heading for the gate handle when he heard Drogo’s shout. “It’s over, my lord. We took two prisoners and scared off the rest.”

Jobert pulled open the gate and waved the knight in. “Lady Edeva,” he asked. “How fares she?”

“Fornay did not kill her, if that’s what you mean, but there’s other trouble. One of the prisoners is her brother. She near fainted when she saw him.”

Jobert did not think to ask how Drogo had come by this information. He was too near fainting himself.

He waved Drogo up to the tower. “Keep watch. I’m going back to the hall.”

His legs wobbled and shifted and waves of gray surrounded him as the shape of the hall loomed ahead. He stumbled through the doorway and collapsed onto the nearest bench. He heard the servant girl’s cry of alarm and her whispered exhortations. Then all went black.

H
e regained consciousness a moment later and saw the maidservant bending over him, her face contorted with fear. “Bring the some ale or mead.” He made the motion of drinking.

The woman ran off.

Jobert struggled to a sitting position as the servant returned with a cup of ale. He rapidly drank it down, and then waved her away. The ale had helped fortify his feeble body, but any more would muddle his wits, and he desperately needed to think clearly when his captain and the others arrived.

Hearing a commotion in the yard, he got to his feet. Outside, Fornay was the first one he saw. The knight’s face was set in grim, bitter lines. “Another ambush. Two men ‘badly wounded. I doubt Nigel will regain the use of his arm, even if he lives. I told you she was a traitor.”

“Where are the wounded men?”

“They’re bringing them now. The bitch said to put them in the hall.” He gave a snort of contempt. “If you trust them to her care, I vow you will regret it. They’ll not live the night!”

“Do you forget that I am alive because of Lady Edeva’s efforts?”

Alan shook his head, barely in control of his fury. “I know not why she aided you, or what cunning plan she has. I only know that she led our men into the Saxons’ trap. For me, that is proof enough of her evil intent!”

“Where is she?”

“They are bringing her now, with the other prisoners.”

Jobert looked toward the gate. His eyes alighted on two fair-haired men being jostled and pushed into the yard. Their arms were bound behind their backs and they both stared straight ahead with the desperate bravado of condemned prisoners.

The men were a study in contrasts, one old and grizzled, with silver threading his fair hair and skin weathered to a ruddy brown, the other, scarce more than a boy. A tall, gawky youth with striking blue eyes and finely modeled features, features which appeared sickeningly familiar to Jobert.

Edeva’s brother. There was a curve to the brow, a fullness to the mouth that was unmistakable.

“I’ve ordered the men to build a gallows.” Fornay spoke from behind him. “We’ll hang them outside on the hill, in clear view of their cohorts. I do not think it would come amiss to torture them first. Make it clear how we deal with rebel Saxons.”

“Nay.” Jobert turned toward his captain. “We won’t hang them, not yet.”

Alan’s face grew red and his eyes bulged out. “What do you mean? We cannot let this uprising go unpunished!”

“Have you considered that it might be wise to question them before we put them to death? I would be interested in knowing how many of their band remain and where they hide.”

“You think they will betray their companions?” Alan regarded the prisoners thoughtfully. “Mayhaps you are right. With torture, they might well tell us something interesting. Especially the young one.” His gaze jerked back to Jobert. “But then they must be hung. Justice demands it.”

Jobert nodded, although something twisted inside him at the thought. If he hung her brother, would Edeva ever forgive him?

He forced his attention back to the present. “Put them in the souterrain.”

“And the woman?”

Jobert abruptly noticed Edeva. She stood behind the other prisoners, a knight on either side and her hands bound behind her. Her face was smeared with soot and dirt, her clothes filthy and bloodstained. Unlike the other prisoners, her head was bowed. She did not look at him.

He approached, then reached out and lifted her chin with his hand. She met his gaze, her expression a mingling of anger and despair. “Milord,” she said clearly, “you should not be out of bed.”

Relief swept through him. Whatever other turmoil her countenance reflected, he did not read guilt there. He released her and turned to Alan. “The woman will come with me.”

Alan gave an outraged gasp. “I will not leave you alone with that treacherous bitch!”

“I’ll deal with her.” Jobert motioned for the men to untie Edeva.

“She must be a witch,” Alan cried, “Else you would see her perfidy! I tell you, I will not let you do this. I will not have you alone with her!”

Jobert took a step toward the hall, feeling the nausea and weakness strike again. The pain in his shoulder was near unbearable and his vision had begun to waver. “Find a man to aid me,” he said. “Where is Rob?”

“He was one of the men wounded. They’re bringing him on a litter:”

Jobert turned. “How badly?”

“A dagger in the gut.”

The grinding weariness bore down on him. Not Rob. Dear God, not Rob.

“Have Will aid me.”

“My lord.”

Jobert turned to see his squire behind him. “Support my arm. Nay, the other one.” He closed his eyes, trying not to put his full weight on the much smaller youth.

There was a soft touch on his right arm. “You should not have left your bed,” Edeva chided. “This will set your healing back for weeks.”

When they reached the bedchamber, Jobert collapsed on the bed. The ringing in his ears and dizziness gradually went away, although the pain seemed worse.

He could hear Edeva moving around the chamber, speaking quietly with Will. She came to the bed and wiped the sweat from his face with a damp cloth. “Would you like some mandrake and poppy? ’Twill help you sleep.”

He hesitated. They had much to talk about, but already he could not think clearly due to the pain. He also dreaded where the conversation would lead them. The problem of her brother. The questions regarding her part in the ambush. “Yea, I would drink some,” he said.

She went to the table and returned with a cup. He drank down the bitter mixture and waited for it to take affect.

Jobert heard Edeva sigh. He forced his eyes open, and saw her by the table, washing her face and hands.

“Is any of the blood yours?” Will asked.

“Nay. ’Tis from Rob.”

Her voice was ragged with sorrow, and Jobert knew a sense of relief. If she had been part of the ambush plot, she would not be grieving for the injured men.

“How serious is his wound?” Will asked.

“I don’t think the blade struck anything vital, but you must know gut wounds are dangerous. More often than not, they putrefy.”

“Sweet heaven,” Will whispered. “Is there naught you can do for him?”

“I have sent one of the women to the healer in the village to get her advice. Her suggestions aided your lord. Mayhaps she can tell us how to treat Rob.”

Jobert heard rustling sounds as Edeva dried herself, then she said, “I have washed off the worst. Now, I’m going down to see to the wounded men. Lord Brevrienne should sleep. I’ll be back before he wakes.”

“My lady,” Will protested, “Fornay said you must not leave here.”

“Would you rather that I left your companions to die?”

In the vague, dreamlike state before sleep, Jobert sensed the squire’s hesitation. Will was clearly wondering if he could trust Edeva. Like Jobert, Will apparently decided he had no choice. “Go,” he said. “I will keep watch over Brevrienne.”

* * *

The wounded soldiers had been brought near the fire, and the screen which the women used for privacy had been pulled up to shield them from the commotion in the hall. Edeva went behind it and was surprised to see Wulfget leaning over Rob, wiping his face. She opened her mouth to order the woman back to her own pallet, then changed her mind. Wulfget had a gentle manner that might be useful. If she felt well enough to care for others, Edeva would not gainsay her.

The two women did not speak. Edeva went quickly to the other knight, the one called Niles. His arm had been slashed by a sword blow. Thinking that he went to fight a fire rather than into battle, he had not worn a mail shirt, but only a leather jerkin over his tunic. Above his elbow, a sword had sliced his arm down to the bone. Although his quick-thinking companions had gotten the bleeding stopped, the severed flesh now hung down limply. It would need to be painstakingly stitched back in place if the muscle were ever to function properly again.

The thought of sewing up his arm like a intricate embroidery project horrified Edeva, but she knew she had no choice. First, he must have something for the pain, or he would never hold still. She would need to fetch the sleeping drug from the bedchamber, as well as her needles and thread.

Bracing herself, she moved to Rob’s pallet. He watched her as she examined him, but said nothing.

The wound had cut deep into the right side of the knight’s belly. But it seemed clean, oozing clear blood when she pressed it, a sign that the entrails might have been missed. She let out her breath. There was a chance, aye, there was a chance.

She turned to Wulfget, still not meeting Rob’s gaze. “Has Eadelm returned from the healer?”

“Nay, not yet,” Wulfget answered.

Edeva stood away from Rob’s pallet and repressed a sigh of frustration. The healer’s hut had been one of the first set ablaze. Edeva had discovered the fire and run to get men to carry the healer out. But the village men balked, saying they dare not touch Helwenna lest she put a curse on them. ’Twas the Normans who finally dragged the old woman from the blazing hut.

Edeva did not think Helwenna had been injured, except her pride. But she was difficult under the best of circumstances, Now she might refuse to do any healing work at all.

“I’m going upstairs to fetch some things,” Edeva told Wulfget “When I return, do you think you can help me?”

“With what, mistress?”

Edeva jerked her head toward Niles. “I will need someone to hold his arm while I stitch.”

“I... I don’t know if I am strong enough,” Wulfget half whimpered.

“I will have a knight keep him still, but I will need other assistance. I must have someone who has a fine touch and who understands needlework.”

“I... I will try.”

“Good girl.” Edeva nodded at Wulfget. Mayhaps she could mold the young woman into a useful servant despite her delicacy.

Edeva hurried upstairs and got the things she needed, and then returned to the hall. After giving Niles a strong dose of the mandrake and poppy mixture, she washed her hands again, this time in near-searing water and the cleansing herbs Helwenna had told her about.

As she dried her hands, her fingers trembled. She had restitched Jobert’s wound, but ’twas a simple one, unlike to do more than scar a bit if she sewed it crooked. This time a man’s whole future depended on her skill. If she failed, Niles might never wield a sword again.

A squire brought an oil lamp, and Edeva bent to her task.

The queasy thought that she sewed flesh rather than fabric soon left her and her hands steadied. Nothing mattered but lining up the fibers of the muscles and painstakingly stitching them in place.

Occasionally, Edeva glanced over to see how Wulfget fared. The girl went green-gilled early on, then, like Edeva, gradually calmed. Her pale, slender fingers gently smoothed the knight’s forehead when she was not threading needles for Edeva or helping her tie off knots with the little silver scissors.

Edeva idly wondered if Wulfget might not be the one to teach healing skills to, rather than Eadelm. The fragile-looking young woman was proving to be much stronger than Edeva had thought. And there was clearly something about Wulfget’s tender manner that anyone hurt or sick would find reassuring.

At last, Edeva motioned for Wulfget to bring the clean rags for bandages. “Why don’t you bind it up?” she told the younger woman as she swiped at her own brow. “Wrap the arm securely but not too tight.” She watched as Wulfget carefully followed her instructions.

Edeva’s mood of accomplishment abruptly shattered as Fornay spoke from behind her. “Well done, lady. If I did not know better, I would think you actually had a care for whether Niles heals or not.”

She sighed and turned to face the knight. “I mislike seeing anyone suffer.”

“You were not always so gentle-natured,” he taunted. “I remember a time when you wished to kill us all, when you would have scratched out our eyes if your hands had not been bound.”

Edeva remembered, thinking how quickly the faceless, hated enemy had changed into men whom she felt compassion for.

“Do you hope we will show the same pity toward the Saxon prisoners?” Fornay asked, “I would not count, on it, Lady Edeva. Lord Brevrienne may have a weakness for you, but it does not extend to the rest of your kind. As soon as we have the information we seek of them, the Saxons will be put to death.”

“Please do not torture them!” Edeva’s stomach twisted into knots at the thought of Alnoth suffering. “If it’s information you seek, let me speak to them. I will find out whatever you wish to know!”

“Not likely,” Fornay answered, his dark eyes gleaming.

“But Alnoth is only a boy! He won’t see fifteen years until after Yule!”

“He was man enough to set the fires that drew our men into your trap. Two men lie sore wounded because of his actions. Even if he were not a Saxon, he would be punished for that.”

Edeva felt her heart grow heavy. There did not seem to be any way to save Alnoth. Unless she could convince Jobert to spare them. Jesu, she would do nearly anything to accomplish that. Vow to serve as his chatelaine forever... Spy upon her other brothers and betray them to the Normans...

Nay. As angry as she was with Godric and Beornwold for risking Alnoth’s life and burning the village, she did not want them to die.

What could she offer Jobert to sway him to mercy?

“I would advise you not to do anything until Lord Brevrienne gives the order,” she told Fornay, then started toward the stairs.

The Norman caught her arm. “Where do you go?”

“To see Brevrienne.”

“Nay.” Fornay’s eyes gleamed. “You will not use your witch’s wiles on him while he is weak and injured.”

“Who will stop me?” Edeva challenged.

“I will.” Fornay moved closer.

Edeva was tall for a woman, and Fornay short for a man. They stood almost face-to-face. “How?” she asked silkily

Fornay’s grip tightened on her arm. “Do not try my patience, wench. I might decide to have you thrown into the souterrain with the others.”

“Nay!” Wulfget gasped. “She is our lady. You cannot!”

Fornay looked at Wulfget as if she had sprouted two heads. Mayhaps if she had, he would have been less surprised. Edeva, too, was stunned. What had gotten into shy, meek Wulfget? And where had she learned to speak Norman French?