Lord of My Heart (41 page)

On the word, a spear flew. Fulk’s shield moved a second late. The spear took him in the throat, and he crumpled, choking, to the ground. Madeleine knelt quickly, but there was nothing to be done. Within seconds Fulk was dead.

She had to do something. She had to find Aimery. Before the two shocked guards moved to block the door, Madeleine darted out into the misty hell.

She slipped past the fire and crouched down behind a broken wall, looking for Aimery, looking to see who the attackers were. If it was Hereward, perhaps she could appeal to him. She had little faith in such a move, but she had to try.

Then she picked out Aimery fighting with the sword against a heavier man armed with an ax. She edged closer. His opponent was a noble, judging from the quality of his armor, and blatantly English with his flowing hair and beard. He was not Hereward.

“Keep faith with your English blood,” she heard the rebel shout as he blocked a mighty blow with his shield. “Will you let the Bastard spawn here at will?”

Aimery pushed forward. “I’m Norman, Gospatric, and I’ll kill you here unless you flee.”

The larger man laughed. “Northumbrians never flee!” He swung his great ax. Madeleine shuddered as Aimery took the blow on his shield. “You’re the one who’ll die here, de Gaillard, along with the Bastard’s bitch and whelp. You’re outnumbered with no help coming.” Gospatric stepped back and grinned. “We interfered with your messengers,
Norman.
Your advance guard is making full speed to York. Your rear guard is camped far back. Surrender or die.”

“Then I salute death,” said Aimery, and attacked.

Madeleine watched the fight in horror, tears running down her face. They were all going to die here, now, when she finally had absolute proof of Aimery’s honor.

Then the sounds of battle changed. At first she couldn’t interpret it. It sounded as if more men had joined the attack. But after a moment Gospatric’s attention wavered, and the shape of the whole battle shifted.

Aimery landed a blow on his enemy’s mailed shoulder which made him howl and retreat. “Who?” Gospatric shouted over the sounds of battle. “Who comes?”

The answer floated back on the mist. “Hereward of Mercia.”

In a moment the man was there, in mail this time, his eyes bright with battle. “Go, Gospatric. This field is mine.”

Madeleine crouched down, unsure whether this was rescue or a case of wolves fighting over a kill. Aimery, too, was watching.

“Are you not with us?” Gospatric asked.

Hereward, too, was armed with an ax. He swung it lazily. “I have your interests at heart, Northumbria. William has you in the dust, my friend, but he’ll pardon you if you talk sweetly enough. But not if you kill his queen.”

The fighting had stopped as the leaders talked. There were only the groans of the wounded to break the silence.

“And what if she’s borne a son?”

“That is no longer your concern. My men outnumber yours. Allan de Ferrers makes his laggardly way here, and even now help should be setting out from York, summoned by the advance. Leave while you can. The day may come when we can fight together to drive out the Normans, but not today.”

The matter hung in the balance of fate. Madeleine could sense it was as much Hereward’s force of personality as reason that was swaying Gospatric.

Then he cursed, bellowed to his men, and was gone.

Madeleine relaxed, feeling as if she was taking her first real breath in hours. Then she noticed that Aimery was still on guard.

“No thanks, Nephew?” asked Hereward lightly.

“In due course,” replied Aimery, sword at the ready.

Hereward chuckled. “I’d like to think it was my shaping, but it’s your damned father. Reinforcements really are on the way.”

“Good. Then you can doubtless leave us to take care of matters here.”

Now that Gospatric and his Northumbrian rebels were gone, Madeleine could see the large number of Hereward’s men surrounding the weary Normans. Dear Lord, was it all to start again? What did Hereward want?

“And how is the Duchess of Normandy?” Hereward asked.

“The queen is well.”

“Has she delivered her babe?”

“I’ve been too busy to inquire.”

“I would be interested to know.”

Madeleine rose from her hiding place. “The queen is safely delivered of a son, and Lucia says she will geld you with your own knife if you make mischief.”

Hereward laughed. “Is my sister here then? Woden help me.” He sobered. “It’s a shame it is a boy, for I will have to take him.”

Madeleine stepped forward, knife in hand. “You can’t take a newborn from his mother!”

“I have a wet nurse ready. He will not be harmed, but he will not be an atheling either.”

Aimery spoke up. “You have little faith in your own prophecy, it would appear.”

“Who knows how it is to be served?”

“It will be served by me, then,” said Aimery calmly. He pulled off his ring and tossed it into the fire, then placed himself between Hereward and the hut.

They faced each other as the ring flared on the glowing embers.

“And by me.” Lucia appeared at her son’s side, Fulk’s sword in her two hands. It was clear she could hardly lift it, but there was nothing ludicrous in her challenge.

Madeleine moved to stand at Aimery’s other side. “And by me.”

Hereward considered them. “Is it thus? Is this the future, that English, Norman, and Norman-English stand together?”

No one answered.

“So be it,” Hereward made a gesture, and Gyrth came forward to take his ax. Madeleine let out a breath, hoping for the first time for life, for a future.

The breath was knocked out of her again when Hereward pulled a knife from his belt. A knife with a carved amber knob for its pommel. “I took this from a woman who sought to twist our traditions for her own gain, and foist a Norman bastard on my line. She will trouble you no more.”

Aimery lowered his sword tip to the ground and rested his hands on the pommel. “You killed her?”

“As was my right. Care for my daughter.”

“You claim Frieda?”

“She is a lord’s child, therefore mine. When I come into my own again, I will acknowledge her, as is right.”

“You’re blind, Hereward,” said Lucia in exasperation. “The land is won.”

Hereward made a gesture which encompassed more than the squalid setting. “Look around with more than your eyes, Lucia. You at least have the blood for it. The land is never won. It merely waits for those who deserve it.”

He leaned forward gracefully and hooked the glowing ring out of the fire on the tip of the dagger. He walked forward to face Aimery with the ring between them. “I gave you woman, mark, and ring on the one day. Do you renounce me?”

“I must.”

“Then you should have none of them.” With lightning speed, he dropped the ring on Aimery’s hand and pressed it there with the knife. By the time Aimery had knocked it off and raised his sword, Hereward was away and taking up his ax again. “Give my respects to Matilda,” he called, “but tell her, breed as she will, no son’s son of hers will rule England!”

The mist swallowed him and his men as if by magic. Aimery hissed and Madeleine turned to look at his hand. An angry circle was branded over the skin-mark. Aimery clutched it, but the pain on his face was more from the passing of a part of his life than from the burn.

There was no goose grease to hand, so Madeleine dipped a cloth in water and bound it on. “Can you fight left-handed?” she asked.

“After a fashion.”

“I’d practice if I were you,” she said tartly, “because if this goes on, one of these days you’re going to have no useful right hand at all.”

He laughed and hugged her close. “We’re alive! For a while there I had grave doubts.”

“I was terrified, but,” she said, looking up, “I trusted you.”

He held her closer. “I merely prayed. And if you’re wondering, to the God on the Cross.”

Then they heard hoofbeats. Madeleine peered at the mist in dread. “Please, Mary, not more.”

“I think, I hope, this is the relief party from York.”

It proved to be so, with William in the lead. His quick eyes took in the scene. “The queen?” he asked.

“Is safe,” Madeleine said, “and delivered of a son.”

William grinned. “Good news! An atheling. Now all is secure. But who attacked you here?”

“Gospatric,” said Aimery. “By mistake. He left when Hereward explained it to him.”

Madeleine only just stopped herself from gasping at this version, but she knew Aimery must have his reasons.

“Hereward was here? How long since?” William was already looking around to organize the hunt.

“Not long, sire. He was the agent of the queen’s safety.”

William frowned at his godson. “You’re over-fond of the man. What happened to your hand?”

“A burn.”

“You aren’t wearing his ring.”

“No, sire.”

William nodded. “Let Hereward go, then. The day of our meeting will come, and I will prevail. For now, I would rather see Matilda and my son.” He swept into the hut.

“Why?” asked Madeleine.

Aimery sighed and stretched. “If Gospatric’s aims were made clear, William would hound him to the death, and Northumbria would end up a bloody waste. If I judge aright, the Earl of Northumbria will be on his knees within the month, asking nicely to be forgiven, and that should be the end of things.”

“Edwin, too?”

“Of course, particularly if William gives him Agatha. That will leave Hereward isolated, and he, too, will have to sue for pardon. Then, perhaps, England can have peace.”

Madeleine shook her head. “You’re as mad as your uncle.”

“Indeed he is!” It was Count Guy, his mailed arm wrapped firmly about Lucia. “As mad as Hereward, but as fine a man as well.” He gripped his son’s arm. “You have done well this day, Aimery. I have to tell you, though, that the Lady Madeleine’s cousin, Odo, is spreading a strange tale. He says you are the English outlaw, Golden Hart.”

Aimery glanced at Madeleine. “Why would he do that?”

“For reward, of course, though he misjudges if he thinks any man will gain from forcing William to ruin you.” Guy held his son’s eyes. “Is it true?”

Aimery seemed perfectly calm. “That I am Golden Hart? What does William think?”

“Does anyone ever know what William thinks? Odo de Pouissey claims he rode ahead to York when he had news that you were planning to deliver the queen to Hereward. He feared he would not have the authority to thwart your plans . . .”

Now that it had come, Madeleine found she was not so much afraid as purposeful. She felt like a sharp blade. That triggered a thought, and she looked at the amber-headed knife on the ground.

With a warning pressure on Aimery’s arm, Madeleine slipped away from the group. She stooped to pick up the knife as she passed, then went to the wharf and onto the barge. By good fortune, her chest was on top of a pile. It took only a moment to find the gilded scabbard, slip in the blade, and fix it on her girdle.

She returned to Aimery’s side just as a man came forward to summon them all to attend William.

It was crowded in the hut. William sat by Matilda, holding his son. Guy, Lucia, Madeleine, and Aimery stood where they could. Then Odo came in. He looked around at the group uneasily. Perhaps even he sensed there was no one in the room who felt kindly toward him.

“Ah, Odo,” said William benignly. “You may congratulate me on my fine son.”

Odo bowed. “I do most heartily, sire.”

“And it would appear that your information was at fault, for Lord Aimery defended the queen most staunchly.”

Odo flushed and looked around. “And yet he let that cur, Hereward, escape.”

William looked a question at Aimery.

“We were outnumbered, sire. As Hereward appeared to intend us no harm, I thought it better to let him go.”