The Firedrake (15 page)

“You overjudged them.”

Laeghaire finished shaving. He wiped his face on his sleeve. He turned and looked at Fitz-Osbern, sprawled easily in the chair.

“I meant no offense,” Fitz-Osbern said. “I was merely pointing out that we have both made errors.”

“My lord.” Laeghaire put his hands on the table and leaned on them. He stared at Fitz-Osbern. “The next time you err, err against me, and not what we’re fighting. The next time you make an offense, make it against what we’re fighting, and not me.”

Fitz-Osbern stood up. He looked at Karl. “Boy, you are witness. I’ll have you to accounts for that remark, merce nary.” He turned and went out the door. Laeghaire jumped around the table and opened the door and stuck his head out.

“I’ll say it again in front of twenty witnesses,” he shouted after Fitz-Osbern. “I’ll write it down and sign it.”

Karl laughed.

“How did you mean that?” Laeghaire said.

“Don’t be angry, my lord. You looked so funny.”

“You keep your mouth shut. Get me something to eat.”

Karl left.

Laeghaire sat down. He rested his chin on his fists. He thought about the fighting. He thought that maybe Fitz-Osbern had been right. Not right. He was not right. Maybe he was less wrong than Laeghaire had thought at first.

He wanted to go. He wished he could ride back to Flanders. He felt the walls pushing against him. He wondered what his men were saying.

Just after the first snowfall, the news came north that William and the Normans were sieging Le Mans. They had caught Walter of the Vexin there, but the lord of Mayenne had apparently slipped out. William sent word that Laeghaire and his men were to stay, holding the line between Maine and the way to the Vexin, but he called Fitz-Osbern up to Le Mans. Laeghaire and his men fretted. It seemed that Le Mans, all gold and women and good one-sided fighting, was to go to the Normans.

Laeghaire went up one night to the bell tower in the church. Josse was there, standing early watch, with a young Norman from near Caen. They were playing the fingers game when Laeghaire came in. They saw him and stood up quickly. The Norman locked his hands behind his back.

“Good evening, my lord,” he said.

“It’s hard to keep watch against nothing.”

“Aye,” the Norman said.

“My lord,” Josse said, “is there anything new from Le Mans?”

“Nothing new.” Laeghaire leaned on the windowsill. “This quiet is enough to make me go crazy.”

“That’s sure. Rolf, go fetch me some water, can you?”

Rolf slid off through the door.

Laeghaire turned. He slacked his weight against the windowsill. “You are always kind, Josse.”

“My lord?”

“I used to know every man I rode with, everything they thought and wanted. And now I don’t know half the faces. Much less the names.”

“No one expects it of you, my lord. You have captains for that.”

“I am growing old and feeble-minded and… quite possibly crazy.”

“My lord, you’re joking with me.”

Laeghaire turned his eyes toward the moon.

“My lord,” Josse said, “if anyone is fit to… say anything about you—”

“You were about to say ‘judge.’”

“Well, then, judge you, it is the men you lead. And not since that fool Gabriel has any roan in this whole army said one word except in your greatest praise. I—my lord, we could not follow anyone but you.”

“You’ll have me weeping, Josse.”

Josse put his hand on Laeghaire’s shoulder. “When we fight again, you’ll feel better.”

Laeghaire shnigged.

“Who is somebody named Hadrad?”

“Who?”

“The King of one of those Norse places.”

“Harald Hardraada.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Josse’s face was sly. “Oh, someone mentioned him last night, and the men had an argument, who was better, you or he.”

“Hardraada is a sea pirate. He gives orders. I am a land pirate. I take orders.”

“Some of the men maintained you were better.”

“Maybe I am.”

“I’ve never seen anyone fight the way you do. You fight as if you had no mind.”

Laeghaire threw back his head and laughed. “What a compliment, Josse. Tell me, had you ever heard of me before you met me?”

“No, my lord. But I had never heard of Hardraada before this afternoon.”

Rolf came in with a jug of wine. “I got it from Franzes. He was just going by. My lord, there’s a messenger come from Le Mans, I think.”

“Good.” Laeghaire went by him. He saw Rolfs eyes follow him. He went down the ladder and came out of the bell tower into the churchyard. He could hear the noises of the men gathered by the messenger. He started toward them. They were gathered by the gate of the house he lived in. Suddenly there rose a ragged cheer. Laeghaire broke into a run. He shoved into the crowd and caught the bridle of the messenger’s horse.

“What’s this?” The noise was all around him. He wheeled and raked them with his stare and they stilled. He turned back to the messenger.

“Laeghaire of the Long Road?” the man said.

“Yes.”

“My lord, I came to tell you that Walter of the Vexin was taken prisoner. Le Mans has fallen. Also, that the lord of Mayenne with some seven hundred men is coming north. I passed him at noon. He’s headed for the lie.”

“Are you sure?”

“My lord, I’m headed there myself.” The messenger smiled. Laeghaire waved to the nearest man to take the horse. The messenger dismounted. He said, “My name is Robert of Montgomery. The Duke’s sent me to Paris.”

“I’ll give you fresh horses.”

Laeghaire started into the house. Robert of Montgomery followed him.

“My lord, I won’t need them. I sent my escort on to take the messages. And if they need someone of great name, one of the d’Avranches is with them.”

“Did the Duke send me any orders?”

“He said that I was to tell you that Mayenne was coming.”

“Nothing more?”

“No.”

“And he gave you to think nothing?”

“No. Will you fight him?”

“My lord, I’ll fight him all the way to hell. Thierry.”

Karl, sleepy, suddenly appeared. He turned and ran off shouting for Thierry. Laeghaire opened the door into his room. Montgomery went in and sat down.

“You’ve ridden all day, my lord,” Laeghaire said. “Sleep a little.”

“When will you ride out?”

Laeghaire put on his mail. “Ill ride now. To look. I’ll send my orders. Why were you going to Paris?”

“To reach the King before Mayenne does.”

“The King?”

“The Count of Flanders is in Paris now.”

“The—”

“He’s your master, isn’t he?”

“He pays my wages. If he intends to… pull Mayenne out of his—”

“The word was that he had recalled you for Epiphany.”

“He knows I’m caught here and not likely to do anything but sit. And now… sleep, my lord. I’ll send a messenger.”

Laeghaire took his gloves from the table. He thrust them into his belt and went out. In the hall he met Karl and told him to saddle both horses. He went out into the street and called up as many of his men as he could find in a moment, and told them all that Mayenne was somewhere near and that he was going to find him. Thierry arrived all at once, lacing up his shirt, his reins looped over his arm and the horse protesting every step. Laeghaire sent all the men to wake up the others and tell them to be ready to ride at any moment. Karl trotted out with the horses.

“Can you ride the black?” Laeghaire said. “Here.” He tossed Karl into the saddle. The black horse leaped once and stood shivering. Thierry mounted. Laeghaire put a hand on the black’s neck. “He’s never carried anyone but me,” he said. “I broke him.” He turned and mounted the brown stallion. They rode down the street and out the gate. The whole town roiled and shouted behind them.

“If he’s headed for Paris and the messenger passed him from Le Mans,” Thierry said, “there’s only one way he could have come. You know how the land slopes down from the edge of that forest down there?”

Laeghaire nodded. “And if he’s seen the messenger and knows how strong we are, he’ll have turned off.”

“East,” Thierry said.

Laeghaire grinned. “West. I’ll lay odds on it. While we’re watching all the possible approaches on the east hell ride west, turn north, and cut past us north of Rougemont. Avoid the Vexin and reach Paris from the south.”

“Where will he be?”

“Right on the track Vexin took when he was up here that time.”

They trotted under the full moon. Like wild deer or outlaws they dodged into the trees that ran unevenly over the plain. Laeghaire wished he had brought his bow. He asked Thierry for his.

“I had my scouts out all to the south,” Thierry said. “I wonder why they haven’t reported him.”

“They’ve grown careless from no dangers.”

The wind rose and fell. Karl had some difficulty with the black horse. The horse tried to bolt and came up close to Laeghaire. Laeghaire caught the rein and snatched him. The horse stopped dead. Laeghaire patted him quickly on the neck and jogged off again. The horse followed, sulking.

They passed through a meadow, up a slight slope, and into a fringe of trees. In the trees, like deer or outlaws, they froze. Far, far down the plain the army of Mayenne lay under the pale moon. Everything was silver-blue from the moon, and the fires looked bright and smaller than usual.

“Karl. Go back. Wake up the lord of Montgomery. Bring him with every man out here. Tell him to move fast. Thierry, come with me.”

Karl wheeled and rode off. The air swallowed the noise. Laeghaire and Thierry rode into the thickest part of the trees. The snow lay light and dimly tracked all around them.

“They must have sentries. They must have seen us.”

“Perhaps.”

Laeghaire tethered the stallion and climbed a tree. He saw Thierry, on the ground, watching him with wide eyes. Laeghaire settled himself comfortably into a fork in the tree. He looked once down at the camp. The horses beyond it moved slowly, grazing, drowsing. Thierry had sat down at the foot of the tree.

They had not seen them. There was no movement down there, but for the horses. He counted them roughly, thinking that perhaps they had figured this all out and left this camp and those horses as a trap, and he counted at least five hundred. He leaned his head against the tree trunk and smiled and dozed....

He woke suddenly, flinging out his arms, and his hands struck against the rough bark. He twisted his fingers around the branch. The bark came loose and bits of it clung to his palms. The wolf.

“They are coming, my lord.”

He slid down from the tree. He mounted the brown stallion and waited. All through the trees they came, and he could see the others, strung out behind them. He shook his head to forget the wolf. His hair fell over his eyes. He tossed it back and rode past the first men. He rode along the line, slowly, telling them to be still and wait, and telling them where the army of Mayenne was. From these trees they could not see them, for the little rise.

At the end of the long string of men he found Montgomery, on a borrowed horse. Laeghaire rode up a little, over the rise, and saw the camp below from the other side, differently. He saw a sentry, too, and the sentry saw him.

The sentry wheeled. His tiny arms jerked. Laeghaire took his horn and blew a charge.

They burst out of the trees. Some of the horses staggered in the brush. Laeghaire saw Karl, a full stride ahead, shouting. Below them the camp jumped awake. They crawled out of blankets and darted around to get swords and horses. The horses began to mill.

Laeghaire’s men struck the camp with all those men still dashing around and looking for things. They crashed through the empty blankets and scattered them underhoof and galloped on. The enemy, on foot, rallied to stop them, to hold them. Some of them were swept up and carried along on the ends of swords and lances. Some of them stopped the charging knights and fought to a standstill with them, fought reaching up and died falling down. The rest turned and ran.

“Give quarter,” Laeghaire shouted against a noise like twenty thousand men all shouting. “Give quarter—I want prisoners.”

He had no idea if they heard him or not. They were chasing men all over the camp and through the neighing colliding mass of free horses. He battered through them, shoving them off. He beat his way straight into the last clump of fighting Mainards. They leaped at him like wolves and he pounded them down. The horse reared and lashed out with his hind legs.

The Normans were pressing in against the fighting Mainards. Laeghaire flogged them with his sword.

“Quarter!” one man cried.

“No quarter!” another shouted.

“Catch me that man.” Laeghaire pointed to the man who had cried “No quarter.” His own men were all around him. The man started, thinking of fleeing, and stood, with his head up. The others around him ceased fighting and threw down their weapons. Laeghaire’s Normans surrounded the man. Laeghaire turned in his saddle. All around the fighting was over. Josse trotted up, hitching his shield around.