Kim Iverson Headlee Page 20

  Alain joined him at the window in time to see a heavily laden wagon lumber to a stop near the kitchens. The driver and his assistant jumped down and sauntered around to the back to begin unloading the crates and barrels, while several servants emerged from the kitchens to help them.

  “I have no wish to worry you, sir, but I am concerned that Ulfric will not let Kendra go without a struggle.”

  “So am I, Alain.” Waldron faced him, determination conquering the worry in his gaze. “Go. Take my men, provisions, weapons, horses—whatever you require.”

  “You will not come with me?”

  Waldron sighed. “Although Ulfric and I claim kinship, my open support of King William has made me less than popular with him and his allies. Besides, this is your fight. All I ask is that you bring my Kendra safely home.”

  “I shall, sir.” Alain felt his lips thin to a grim line as he prayed with all his heart for increased measures of strength, luck, skill—whatever it would take to fulfill this vow.

  THE DOOR swung to. The candles flickered, casting the cottage back into gloom.

  Ha, old? Ha-hold? Kendra squinted at the ailing man, mouthing the words he’d spoken. Old go in sin? Go in sin? Go—

  Stifling a cry with the back of her hand, she rose from the chair and dropped to her knees at his feet, scarcely noticing that Ethel struggled to follow her example on age-stiffened joints. “Please forgive me for not recognizing you.” Shame bowed her chin to her chest. “Your Majesty.”

  The man who, until the fourteenth day of October in the year of Our Lord one thousand sixty-six, had embodied the final hope of the Saxons’ cause, rested his hand atop her head in silent absolution: King Harold Godwinson.

  Chapter 16

  “OUTRAGEOUS!”

  The king crumpled the parchment and hurled it into the hearth, where it hit the embers and ignited. Bishop Odo thanked God for inspiring him to order his scribe to craft a copy.

  “Who do these Saxon miscreants think they are?” William braced his hand on the hearth stones, staring at the fire. “I show them mercy, and this is how they show their appreciation.”

  Habit forged by their years-long friendship—in spite of being half brothers—drove Odo across the slate floor of William’s private reception chamber to clasp the shoulder that bore the burdens of two realms.

  “The demonstration of mercy is always a sound policy in God’s eyes, Will. I pray you do not regret your decision.” Odo gave that broad shoulder a companionable squeeze before releasing his hold. “But some policies require more patience.”

  “Patience?” William snorted and turned his back on the fire, feet spread and arms crossed. “Hah. We are not at war, and yet I have taken up residence on this side of the Channel for mere days before being bombarded with ransom requests.”

  Odo cocked an eyebrow. “I would not consider one letter ‘bombardment.’ And this isn’t a ransom demand. Thane Waldron reported that your knight and the knight’s squire suggested the ploy, with the intent of rescuing Waldron’s daughter.” He stopped short of voicing his suspicion that William hadn’t bothered to read anything other than the word ransom.

  “Waldron.” William stroked his blond-bearded chin. “Waldron…why does that name sound so familiar?”

  “You decreed that Sir Robert Alain de Bellencombre become betrothed to Thane Waldron’s daughter, Lady Kendra.”

  “Of course. But…” With his index finger, William rubbed the bridge of his nose, a familiar sign of deep concentration. “There’s something else about that name…”

  Glad he’d made inquiries prior to this audience, Odo said, “Thane Waldron Edgarson of Edgarburh attended your coronation to swear fealty to you and to present a rather unique petition.”

  William’s expression lightened. “Ah, yes. He claimed his son was ambushed and mortally wounded by one of my knights.” He tilted his head. “What was the investigation’s result?”

  Odo sighed as he strove to craft a tactful response. The bonds of friendship with powerful men could stretch only so far. “If you gave the command, Will, it was never recorded.”

  That wrenched a rueful laugh from William’s throat. “In other words, I was too caught up in the coronation festivities to act upon the thane’s request.” Grinning, he raised both hands in mock surrender. “Guilty, Father Confessor. But if you dare breathe a word of this to another soul…” Seriousness eclipsed his countenance, and he rested his fists on his hips. “Might this matter be related to de Bellencombre’s ransom?”

  “I don’t know.” Odo battled the temptation to chide William for not fully reading the missive. “Waldron did not mention Sir Robert in his letter.”

  “What? Where is he, then? I’d have expected him to be the first to go charging after the men who’d abducted his bride.”

  “Perhaps.” Odo scrunched his shoulders. “But I had ordered Sir Robert to investigate reports of outlaw activity and gruesome deaths in the region, and I have not heard from him since he left Winchester, almost a fortnight ago.”

  William’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Sir Robert probably would have attended to that mission before wedding the woman. So he’s either still pursuing the outlaws, or—God forbid—they have bested him. But if the latter is true, then why would they not have sent a ransom demand for him?”

  “That’s what I’ve been puzzling over,” Odo admitted, “and why I chose to bring this matter to your attention.”

  “I don’t blame you.” William’s quiet tone suggested he might have made similar choices, and it heartened Odo. “So, who is this other knight Thane Waldron mentioned?”

  “Sir Ruaud d’Auvay.”

  William clenched his fists, staring at the ceiling. “God’s bones in a gilt box!”

  “Will…”

  The king had the grace to look repentant for a moment. “D’Auvay is a fine frontline fighter; I knighted him myself years ago. But the man has never possessed a shred of subtlety or finesse, and both qualities would be necessary in rescuing the woman from these brigands against the level of odds I expect d’Auvay has had to face. De Bellencombre owns both traits in abundance, and is a shrewd soldier besides, but God alone knows where he is.”

  Odo closed his eyes to offer a prayer for the safety of Sir Ruaud, Sir Robert, and Lady Kendra. The sharp sound of footsteps interrupted his petition, and he opened his eyes. William had already crossed half the distance toward the chamber’s door. “Will? What do you intend to do?”

  William paused at the wall where his battle sword hung in its hard leather sheath, supported by two oaken pegs carved in the shape of lions’ claws. He removed the weapon from its perch as Odo strode closer to help William strap it in place.

  Nodding his thanks, he said, “The very last thing I want to do is convey the impression that I don’t believe my knights are capable of handling themselves in difficult situations. That would foster rebellion faster than I could blink.

  “But there are too many mysteries at work here: Lady Kendra’s abduction, Sir Ruaud’s surrender, Sir Robert’s disappearance, the death of Waldron’s son.” William enumerated the points on his fingertips. “All of those events are connected to Edgarburh.”

  After adjusting the sword to more comfortably ride his hip, William met Odo’s gaze. “What I do will depend upon the answers Thane Waldron supplies me.”

  “A state visit?”

  William laughed. “God, no. That would take weeks to arrange, for Matilda would insist on coming with me, and she’d insist on having her say regarding who and what to bring.”

  His expression sobered. “No, Odo, this venture shall include you and me and a company of my personal guardsmen. No wagons or pack animals; just what weapons and provisions we can carry upon ourselves and our horses.”

  “It might also be wise to arrange for a division to mobilize quickly, if necessary,” Odo suggested.

  William’s eyebrows knotted into a thick golden line across his forehead. “You believe there may be more afoot?”
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br />   “I’m not certain what to believe, Will. All I can tell you is that my sources have reported some unusual movements in the Glastonbury district.”

  “Troops?”

  Odo shook his head. “Pilgrim traffic has swelled, and many Saxon thanes and their entourages have been identified among the crowds.”

  “Saxon pilgrims at Glastonbury?” William sounded incredulous. “Won’t Abbot Thurstin be surprised; I didn’t think the Saxons were a particularly pious lot.”

  “My point exactly.” The bishop gave a lopsided shrug. “But we could be wrong about them. Worshipping the same God does make us all brothers in the Lord’s sight. As a precaution, I have the pilgrims’ camp under surveillance, but I don’t expect another report for several more days.”

  Fingering his sword’s pommel, William strode to the man-size map of southern England—Odo’s jurisdiction whenever William resided abroad—hanging on the opposite wall. The king traced the route from London to Glastonbury, tapping his finger first on Sarum and then on Edgarburh.

  “I do not want to wait for confirmation. The lives of Sir Robert, Sir Ruaud, and perhaps many others,” proclaimed the conqueror of England, “may depend upon how swiftly we can arrive.” He inclined his head toward Odo. “I will, however, follow your advice and order a regiment to muster at Sarum. God willing, we won’t need them, but it is prudent to be prepared.”

  Odo could not have agreed more heartily.

  Chapter 17

  ALAIN’S MAIL CHIMED as he rose from his knees following the conclusion of Wednesday’s dawn prayer service. In London’s West Minster, such a sound would have jolted off the stones and echoed embarrassingly throughout the nave. Not so inside Edgarburh’s humble timber chapel, where the only stone took the form of the altar and two granite sarcophagi decorated with carved marble panels.

  With a voiceless apology to its occupant, he used the closer tomb to lever himself to his feet. It felt good to be arrayed in war’s trappings once again, but the leather and steel ensemble did impose limitations.

  “That’s my son. Sir Delwin Waldronson.” Sadness muted Waldron’s voice as he stopped beside the sarcophagus, hands clasped behind his back. “We call—called him Del.”

  Alain studied the effigy, carved as a comely knight dressed in full Saxon battle gear, a longsword at his left hip and a seax strapped to his right, his expression stern and hands folded in prayer. A pair of dried roses lay entwined across the granite knight’s chest on a nest of petals: a white and a red.

  His spine tingled in recognition. Wonderingly, he reached out to touch the blooms. The petals felt brittle, but his fingertips released a cloud of fragrance. He withdrew his hand to keep from damaging the flowers.

  “Kendra laid those there before she—she—” Waldron sucked in a breath, studying the tomb. “It was—is her custom, every day the rosebushes bloom, to select the best one for Del. Only one rose, without fail. Yet for some reason, on the morning of her abduction, she placed two here. And two the day before, now naught but loose petals…” He glanced at Alain, dashing tears from his eyes. “I haven’t had the heart to remove them.”

  Alain felt his lips twitch into the semblance of a smile. “The red one looks like the rose I gave her that morning.”

  Waldron nodded as if it came as no surprise. “Del planted the roses for her after their mother, my beloved wife, died several years ago.” He sighed, gazing at the other sarcophagus. Its lovely female effigy led Alain to presume it housed the remains of Kendra’s mother. “I think Edwina and Del would have liked you, despite your fighting on the other side at Hastings.”

  “You didn’t approve of your son’s choice to join Harold’s cause, did you?” Alain asked.

  “Approve? I was proud of him, aye. But how can any parent approve of a child’s decision to risk life and limb, no matter how worthy the cause?” His expression turned frank. “I will not lie to you, Alain. I would have rejoiced to see Harold defeat your duke and send him fleeing tuck-tailed for Normandy. But Harold failed, and so here we stand with a Norman overlord rather than a Saxon one, and life muddles on. Del must have accepted that fact and was prepared to live with it; he was a realist at heart. I believe he was murdered for his realism.”

  That rang true enough in Alain’s ears, based on the suspicions he harbored. “Lord willing, I shall return with answers.”

  “Just returning with your bride will make me happy.” Waldron thrust out his hand, and he and Alain gripped forearms. “God speed you and guard you well, son.”

  The fatherly benediction bolstered Alain’s spirits more than he ever would have imagined possible.

  With a sharp nod to Kendra’s family, dead as well as living, he strode from the chapel to join Ruaud and those of Waldron’s fyrd who had not been ordered to guard the burh, tugging on his leather riding gloves as he went.

  Alain’s warhorse, Chou, saw him coming and tossed her head, pricking her ears and nickering a greeting. Ruaud, already mounted astride Azure at the head of the unit, added his admonishment for Alain to hurry. Dawn had yielded to a glorious summer morning; with favorable weather, the hundred-member company could cut half a day off the two-day journey to Thornhill.

  A stable hand steadied Chou as Alain climbed the mounting block and hoisted himself into the saddle. After he settled in, the lad handed up Alain’s shield, emblazoned with the de Bellencombre rose. Alain drew his sword and held it aloft, glinting bright and deadly in the morning rays.

  “For God, Lady Kendra, and Edgarburh!”

  With a thunderous whoop, echoed by the surrounding crowd, the men took up Alain’s shout as they set spurs to their horses’ flanks and cantered away from the rising sun.

  While streaming past the stables, they were joined by a noisy black streak that scattered chickens and children in its wake. Alain allowed himself a smile as Noir adopted an easy lope beside Chou, who sidled a bit but calmed when she realized the hound wasn’t a threat. Alain welcomed Noir’s presence.

  He could use all the help he could find.

  WHAT HAD begun in Sarum as a dreamy summer morning had by nones transformed into a dreary, drizzly nightmare. Odo pulled his sable-trimmed cloak’s hood closer to shut out the damp. Much more of this, and his mail would rust solid.

  He slid a glance toward his half brother, who rode tall in the saddle, sans hood, defying the weather. That William bothered wearing a cloak gave mute testimony to the fact that defiance sometimes had to be tempered with wisdom.

  In due course, William’s messenger returned with the welcome news that Edgarburh stood ready to receive its king. When they topped the final rise separating them from their destination and Edgarburh lay before them, Odo wanted to whoop for sheer joy.

  Instead, he nudged his black mare to keep pace with William’s sorrel stallion as the king ordered their company to canter the remaining distance.

  Edgarburh’s residents greeted William and his troop with respectful if wary bows, the hoods of their drab cloaks making the people kneeling in the mud appear like giant mushrooms.

  One mushroom rivaled the eye of a peacock feather.

  “Thane Waldron, well met,” said William as amicably as possible, given the sodden conditions. “If memory serves, I believe you met my regent and half brother, Bishop Odo de Bayeux, the last time you visited court.”

  The man in the peacock-blue cloak lifted his head. The rain had plastered his white hair to his forehead in haphazard strips. His eyes shone clear and unafraid. “Your Majesty and his regent honor humble Edgarburh with your august presence. To what, pray, may we ascribe this good fortune?”

  William’s stallion pawed the muck and shook his head, spraying droplets everywhere, doubtless as eager to retreat from this miserable weather as everyone else was. The water muffled the tack’s jingling.

  “Two of my best knights are missing,” said the king. “I want to know why.”

  “Then might I suggest that Your Majesty and his men join us for hot mutton and mead in the feast hall?
” The thane swept a cloaked arm in the general direction of the timber building behind him. “I believe my tale shall be easier to stomach in that manner.”

  Chortling, William swung down from the saddle and ordered his men to do likewise, admonishing them to see to the comfort of the horses before accepting the thane’s hospitality. He entrusted his stallion into the care of one of his men as Waldron rose and directed his guards to assist the soldiers.

  Odo and William’s three ranking bodyguards handed their reins to other soldiers, and the five Normans followed their Saxon host into his small but warm and aromatic hall, where a feast awaited them. While William and his retainers fell gustily upon the mountains of mutton and bread, Waldron regaled him with what he knew of the events surrounding Sir Robert and Sir Ruaud.

  “In fact, Your Majesty just missed seeing them,” concluded the thane. “They departed at dawn this morning to return to Thornhill for my daughter.”

  “Thornhill?” asked Odo.

  “In the Glastonbury district, Your Grace.”

  That the thane had mistaken Odo’s question for ignorance, the bishop let pass without comment.

  William, who had claimed what had to be the thane’s dais chair, straightened to regard Waldron. “Are you aware that an upsurge of pilgrim activity has been sighted in that area? Numbers that might suggest an army?”

  Waldron appeared genuinely surprised. “Alain—that is, Sir Robert expressed concern that he might face armed resistance, but he said nothing of the proportions you indicate, my lord.” Color drained from his face. “Do you think he and Ruaud and my men may have ridden into a trap?”

  “I know not what to think, Thane Waldron,” William snapped, “other than perhaps my policies toward the Saxon people have been too lenient.”

  Odo whispered into William’s ear, “Your Majesty will do well to recall that this Saxon is not your enemy.”

  “No?” William all but roared, startling a nearby maidservant into sloshing her mead pitcher. As she squeaked an apology, curtseyed, and withdrew, another servant rushed to mop up the spill. Oblivious, the king continued, “How do I know Thane Waldron didn’t plan to send my knights into harm’s way to be destroyed by the traitors with whom he is in league?”