Arrow To The Heart (De Bron Saga) (8 page)

"No
oooooooo."  A shriek tore from Gwyneth’s lips, such a mournful sound that Rowena's flesh prickled with goose bumps.  Throwing herself upon her husband's body, the woman's sorrow was so agonizing that it was contagious.             

Though she
rarely cried, Rowena felt the sting of tears to her eyes.  Ethelred had gathered the straightest twigs for her when she was a child.  He had helped her form her first arrows.  He had fashioned a small bow for her from the branch of a willow tree.  Could she ever forget all his stories as she sat upon his knee?  No.  He was like the grandfather she had never had, like the image of what men could be--peaceful and kind.             

“It….. isn’t…. fair…”

“Life rarely is, Rowena,” her father answered. "You will of course stay here with us, Gwyneth," he offered, turning away suddenly to hide his own misty tears.             

"Stay?"  She looked towards the door, then to him, then back again.
Where else could she go?             

"Yes, stay," Rowena intoned, laying her hand
upon the woman's shoulder.  "I need you. You are like the mother I never had."

Despite the sorrow of the moment, Sir William’s face brightened.
"Aye, Rowena needs you.  You can teach my daughter how to cook and sew and tend the herb garden. Forsooth, you can teach her your gentle ways."  He laid his hand upon her shoulder.  "Please stay."             

Rowena knew very well that her old nurse had nowhere else to go.  Even so,
Gwyneth's facial features were a mask of dignity as she raised her head. “If ‘tis charity, then the answer is no….”

“Charity, no….” Rowena grasped the skinny fingers, squeezing tightly. “I love you, Gwyneth. I always have.”

“Aye, and I repeat, we need you.” Exhibiting a rare humility, Sir William knelt beside the newly-made widow. “Our home shall be yours once again."             

"At least until you are avenged for this dreadful evil and your rightful property is restored to you," Rowena rasped.  She ignored her father's furled brows as she made her own plans in the darkest corners of her mind.  Let the others whisper caution and hide their hands behind their backs.  She, Rowena, Lady of Grantham Manor, would never again rest until she saw that this wrong was put to right.

The inner courtyard rang with the sound of dogs, horses and men. The castle carpenters, crossbow makers, blacksmiths and armorers were busy at their work. Everyone knew his job and nervously sought to do that job well. In truth, even the gong farmer who emptied the latrine pit was busy with his bucket and shovel. Walking hurriedly about, Kendrick sought out each and every worker, anxiously questioning them about what they might have heard or seen.

“I am searching for a young archer,” he declared, making a guess as to the lad’s height and gesturing with his hand. “About this tall. He would have ridden through the gate in a frantic hurry.

“Lad?” Raising his hammer and chisel, the armorer thought a moment then shook his head. “Nay.”

Approaching the carpenter at work with his axe on a large piece of oak, he tried again. “I must find the young archer who rode into the courtyard this morning. Have you seen him and if so, where did the boy go?”

“Boy?” the air resounded with a loud thud as the carpenter’s ax
e struck the wood. “Haven’t seen one, unless you mean the boys playing with tops over there.”

Turning his head, Kendrick was disappointed when he saw that the lads the carpenter spoke of were little more than babes. Nor did Chadwick or Humbley have any better luck. Seemingly the you
ng archer was as elusive among a forest of people as he had been among the trees.

“How could he not have been noticed?” Kendrick kicked at the dirt in anger. “God’s blood, he rode through the gate in the light of day, then just up and vanished.

“Aye, but how? We were following on his heels,” Chadwick puzzled.

“And we didn’t see him ride forth, therefore….
”. Humbley smiled. “He has to be within these walls somewhere.”

Kendrick folded his arms across his chest. “Aye, he can not have ridden out, lest we would have seen him.” All they had seen was the departure of the frowning old knight and his spirited daughter. A departure that Kendrick had little time to mourn considering the circumstances and the precarious position he found himself in. He had come back to the castle empty handed.

“Sooooo…..” Chadwick grinned. “All that must be done is to ferret the little bow-carrying rat out.”

A procedure that was carried out immediately. Guards were posted on the walls and at the gatehouse. Within the castle’s sturdy walls these gates could become deadly traps. Only the most determined invasion force could enter the castle once the garrison had secured its stronghold, as it did now. Moreover, the gatehouse was also the castle prison. The towers’ massive construction could keep prisoners in just as effectively as they kept invaders out.

“The lad has insured his own doom.” A thought that strangely gave Kendrick mixed feelings. He was angry, of a certainty, but enough so to long for the lad’s death?

Involuntarily he stared up at the town gate where grisly sights greeted the traders and troops who passed through. Staring down from pikes high on the walls were the ghoulishly grinning heads of those deemed to be traitors. Below, in the ditch, stood the gallows and pillory, reminding the townsfolk of the severe punishments for breaking the law.

“I’ll ask John to be lenient.” Perhaps a mere stay in the pillory would teach the young archer a lesson. He could only hope that would be so. It was the punishment that Kendrick suggested as he put the scrap of brown wool into the prince’s hands.

“Nay!” John had other ideas. Looking at Kendrick he raised one eyebrow in a gesture of displeasure. “I must catch him and make of him an example.”

“An example….” The way John said the word gave him shivers. At that moment Kendrick deeply regretted having set the wheel of so-called justice in motion.

“Aye, a lesson to all the outlaws who so outrageously roam about my forests.” His lips thinned as he grimaced. “Archer. Archer, so you say. No doubt he is one of Robin Hood’s ragged band.” Hissing with anger he enlightened Kendrick as to that hated outlaw’s antics then, walking to the window of the meeting chamber, he opened the wooden shutter and looked out upon the courtyard.

“Perhaps the lad is but emulating this Hood fellow. From what you say he has established himself as the common man’s hero.”

“Hero!” For just a moment it appeared that John would lose all semblance of self-control. “He is a thief, a nuisance, and a traitor. One for whom I would give anything that I own. Ah, to see him hanged.”

The way he said the word caused Kendrick to reach up and touch his throat. Once again he regretted having drawn attention to the bow-wielding lad. The boy had been annoying to be sure, yet had his mischief really done Kendrick any real harm? Struggling with his conscience, he was about to plead once more for clemency in the boy’s behalf when John craftily changed the subject.

“Ah, but let us not talk of punishments at the moment when we can speak of rewards.”

“Rewards….”

“Your lands, de Bron. I promised you that they would be given back and so it is done. The usurpers have been driven off. A mistake has been corrected.” He turned his head, waiting in expectation for an outpouring of gratitude that was not forthcoming, then said simply, “For, you see, I forgive you for the matter of Marian.”

Kendrick’s jaw tightened. He would make no apologies to any man, even a prince.

“Let us say then that you owe me, de Bron. Favor for favor. You owe me!”

The words rang hauntingly in Kendrick’s ears long after he had left the chamber.            
 

Chapter Eight

It was good to be home! Good to wake up in her own bed. Lying on her side, Rowena snuggled amidst the blankets like a caterpillar in its cocoon thankful to have a soft mattress and peaceful quietude. Indeed there was only the crowing of a rooster to disturb her slumber. She was content, peaceful; that is until the events which had taken place the previous day snapped into her head.

“The cottage!” She sat up, so quickly that her head spun. How selfish of her to have put it out of her thoughts for longer than a moment. Swallowing hard she crossed herself.  “Poor old Ethelred!” Poor Gwyneth.

She felt a physical ache at the finality of what had happened. It wasn’t fair! Gwyneth and her husband had been kind and gentle people. They had not deserved such violence to shatter both their lives, death for the dear old man and widowhood for his wife. How had it happened? Why?

“Dear God!”

Rowena remembered how elated Gwyneth had been at the thought of having her own home. She had looked forward to the future with hope and gratitude, thankful to Sir William for his generosity. How was she to have known that her father’s act would end up in tragedy?

The cottage and the land upon which it had been built was located between Grantham Manor and the neighboring Melburn Manor. For years its ownership had been in question, her father insisting it to be part of his land, the neighboring absentee lord determined to claim it for his heirs. The prince had been asked to intercede, cunningly using it like a carrot to dangle
in front of her father’s nose. For the last few years it had been under Sir William’s control, and now without warning it had been wrenched away But why?

Because of me?

Her face flushed with warmth as she reflected on her mischievous plotting and scheming. She had thought herself to be so clever, daring and brave. She had taken on the prince’s men, provoking and ensnaring her quarry. Little had she realized that there might be consequence to her deeds.

For a long while Rowena was as still as a stone, going over in her mind every minute detail of what had transpired .  She had cautiously tucked her hair under a hat or hood, kept her face in the shadows, and lowered her voice when she talked. How then could anyone have guessed?

It
wasn’t
possible. There was no way that her identity could have been discovered. Had the prince even a wit of suspicion as to who the mysterious archer was, he would have sent those men to the manor to capture her and take her back to Nottingham. Then why…..?

The more she wondered, the more the answer became obvious. John had sent his henchmen to the cottage to do just what he did. Steal it! “To reward some lord or other for obeying the prince’s whims.”

Maybe you will realize now, Father
. The prince was evil personified and a man who had to be stopped before it was too late. As long as he was in power, no one was safe.

It was a chilling thought that shattered her false sense of peace. Rising from the bed, snatching up her clothes from a peg beside the bed, dressing hurriedly, Rowena moved to the doorway, strangely compelled to visit the scene of last night’s crime.

Alternating between walking and running, Rowena reached the small dwelling, pausing as its thatched roof came into view.
Strange, how peaceful the cottage looks
she thought upon her arrival. Silhouetted against the soft pink glow of the sky, the cottage’s wattle and daub walls, the trees surrounding it and the cool brook that babbled nearby, gave the semblance that all was well.

Thrusting
aside a branch, Rowena cursed when it snapped back and hit her in the face, then made her way to the cottage’s small wooden door. Pushing inside she surveyed the scene, clenching her teeth in disgust as she viewed the damage.

“The
bastards!” Debris was scattered everywhere. There were broken chairs, splinters of wood, shards of broken pottery. A wooden chest had been pried open, the garments inside torn and tossed wildly about. With a sigh she bent down, trying as best she could to salvage at least a few of Gwyneth’s belonging--cooking utensils, a wooden mug, a discarded tunic that had been Ethelred’s finest, a woven basket, some ribbons bought on market day.

“Poor Gwyneth, what does she have now?” Very little to call her own. The woman had been uprooted as surely as if a bolt of lightning had struck her home. A lightning bolt that had a name—John.

Vengeance controlled Rowena’s thought. How dare he do such a terrible thing? “Prince Loathsome, oh but you will pay.” It was written, an eye for an eye.

With a gesture of defiance she clenched her hand into a fist and raised it high. John no doubt thought that there was no one to take retribution, that no one would care about the injustice dealt out to mere Saxons. Well, he was wrong. She cared and because of that she was determined to strike back.

“Perhaps sooner than I could have supposed!”

Turning her head she stiffened as she listened. Horses! Springing to her feet, she moved quickly to the door, peering out. Specks moved across the horizon.  “A hunting party!” No, the prince was up to hawking today. Even from a distance she could see the birds of prey, clutching to their owners’ wrists. Rowena counted the number of men—two, three, five, each with the type of bird that exhibited the owner’s rank in society. A king hunted with a gyrfalcon, a lord with a peregrine falcon, a woman with a hawk.

“You are after small prey, John.” Birds of prey were carefully trained to catch smaller birds, hares or rabbits. “As for me, I am after larger quarry!”

Did she dare? It would be five against one. Dangerous. Were she to be caught, the pen
alty would be severe. Even mere poachers who were apprehended were punished severely, either by hanging or by having their right hand cut off. What would happen to her for harassing the self-proclaimed ruler of the realm?

Hurrying back towards her father’s manor in search of her bow, Rowena refused to even contemplate such a dastardly fate. She was far too clever to be caught.

The oak and pine trees were thick and bri
lliant green. Sparkling with moisture from a recent rain, they glistened in the sunlight as if  bedecked with jewels.  It was tranquil, deceptively peaceful.  As Kendrick de Bron rode alongside the hunting party he felt mildly optimistic. And why not?  John had promised to restore  Kendrick's lands and titles and, BiGod, he had kept his word.  Last night the usurpers had been sent packing, leaving the way clear for him to take possession of his rightful lands. 

"Well, what think you, de Bron?"  Prince John made a wide sweep with his arm
, pointing to his generous gift, acre upon acre of gently rolling hills and meadowland  and a  huge lake.  Beside the lake was the manor that once belonged to Kendrick's aunt and uncle. 

"I think that I am a most grateful man, your Grace."  And he was, but also wary.  Even so, it felt good to know that for once justice had been meted out, at least to him.  "I had nearly forgotten just how beautiful it was here." 

"Aye.  Beautiful.  And an excellent place for hunting and hawking."  Because it was nestled at the edge of the forest, Kendrick's land was unfortunately also convenient to the Prince.

"An excellent place indeed," Kendrick replied. John was hinting none to subtly for an offer of hospitality that Kend
rick could not refuse.  Alas, he would have to lodge all ten of the Prince's royal party when the day's hunting and hawking was done.  "And my home is your home."

The generosity was not twofold.   John's laws forbade anyone to enter a royal forest with bow, arrows, dogs or greyhounds, save with special warrant.  No one but the king and those authorized by him, not even the barons who held the land, could hunt the red deer, fallow deer, the roe or wild board without John's permission.  Indeed
, no one dared, save one--Robin Hood. 

There was something
chilling in the Prince's grin. "A kindly offer, though not unwarranted seeing as how it is by my hand that your property has been given back to you."

“
I hope returning it to me did not create too much ill will."  Pulling back on the reins of his mount, Kendrick straightened his back and sat tall in the saddle, affording his eyes full benefit of the magnificent view.  Even if it had created hard feelings, what did it matter? This was his land again. His!

Shaking his head, Prince John insisted it had been no trouble at all.  "The inhabitants were naught but Saxons," he exclaimed, forgetting for the moment that Kendrick was half-Saxon.  "An old man and an old woman who were of little consequence to anyone.
Indeed, they had no claim to the property at all. Trespassers is all that they were."

"I see."
Kendrick felt a surge of sympathy he dare not show.  He had assumed that some haughty Norman lordling or other would have been given the land and that had filled him with indignant anger.  Now , realizing that an old  Saxon couple had been forced from the land his angry feelings were wiped away.  He could only hope that the pair had not been dealt with too harshly.  He would not have wanted that.

"But come, let us have no more talk.
” The bells on the falcon jingled as John raised his padded glove.  Special equipment was used to train and look after prized birds of prey. A leash stopped the bird from flying away, bells helped to find it if it became lost, a hood kept it calm, a leather purse contained a tasty reward for a hunt well done. “I want to show you something special."

For just a moment a serene stillness echoed through the forest, a stillness that was rudely shattered as the Pri
nce removed the hood of his gyrfalcon.  "After him, Mordred!" he demanded, looking upwards as a wide-winged, gray bird winged its way overhead.  The four men watched as the falcon followed its prey, soaring and darting with a swiftness that spoke of death to the victim.  The silence of the woods resounded with the shriek of the dove as it suffered a mortal wound.

Kendrick watched as the falcon and i
ts victim swooped down, the gyrfalcon dropping the dove at the feet of its master.  It reminded him of  how the Normans had come from beyond the seas, grabbing their Saxon neighbors by the throat.

"You have trained your
falcon well, my lord," Kendrick assessed  as he surveyed the scene. He decided quickly that he had no love for this sport of hawking.  He preferred to do his own hunting, not leave it up to a bird.

"Ah that I could train these pesky Saxons as well," John mumbled beneath his breath.

"Ah, yes the ‘pesky’ Saxons......"  Kendrick mumbled, barely keeping his temper in check.

The Prince was peevish.  "If you ask me, my brother has been much too soft on the lot of them.  A few thrashes of the lash would do much to cool their haughty manners."

“They are a proud people,” Kendrick whispered in his people’s defense. They had been humbled, robbed and overrun, but they somehow managed to hold on to at least a shred of their dignity.
  Some, like his aunt Kendra who could read and write in several languages, had accomplished great things

“Proud? Bah. They are fools. How else could we have so easily vanquished them?”
             

A slight breeze whispered through the branches of the trees, tingling Kendrick's face with its chilled bre
ath, stirring wisps of his dark hair.  There was a quiet all about, like the stillness before a storm, yet not a cloud marked the sky. At least until the blare of a hunter's horn shattered the reverie of the forest.  Kendrick watched as a flock of birds, frenzied by sudden fear, burst forth from a nearby thicket to take flight.

“My lord, there is something in the underbrush,” one of the prince’s men insisted.

“Nay. However….”
John motioned for one of his pages to investigate, muttering "Aha" when the culprit was caught. 

"A boy!"  Kendrick rasped.  A lad of not more than eight or nine.  His hands were clasped tightly to a small hare he had snared and he was terrified, as well he should be.
  The penalty for catching the king's rabbit would be horrible, and the deed had been done all because of hunger.

"You.  Boy
. What have you there?"  Like a preening peacock, John paraded on horseback before the lad.

"I.....I......" Turning, his wide eyes upon the  mounted men, the boy gave in to his fright, setting his feet in motion with mindless terror.  Stumbling over the root of a great tree, he fell with a sickening thud.

"Trapped, BiGod!" Nor was the boy  alone.  Nearby a young girl who looked to be his sister lay hidden. "Ah look, a pretty bird to be sure."

"Pretty, but only a child,"  Kendrick said quickly. 
Immediately all his protective instincts were on the alert.

“Pray, do not touch me.”
This young girl's fears need not be as much for her life as for her virtue.  It was well known that Prince John thought any Saxon maid to be his for the taking.   That was why Kendrick thought the girl suddenly screamed, but as he looked in the direction of her eyes he saw there was a far different cause.  A huge boar pawed the earth a few yards from where her brother lay.  The massive, hairy creature was snorting and slavering as it glared at him.  Paralyzed with fear, the boy could do little except stare into the cold, tiny eyes of the beast.