The Wolf and the Dove (59 page)

They waited. Nerves grew taught. Wulfgar decided the others had had time enough to take position and his wavering war call shrilled through the forest. As one the men leaned forward and urged their mounts into the charge.

The mad chaos of battle was joined and in the tangle of the wood it seemed a thousand men charged. The mottled shadows lent to the confusion as men on horseback appeared everywhere and on every side. The Flemish, seeing the hopelessness of a stand here, fled further to the open fields before the ruined town.

The one knight who led them bade them stand and hold their shields up into a wall. He brought a few within the circle to bend their bows and give some protection. Their horses had been left in the forest and now the raiders stood boldly exposed.

Wulfgar dismounted his archers at the edge of the woods where cover was plenty and full. He brought his five knights into view, Bolsgar on his left, Sweyn on the right and Gowain and Milbourne at either end. He raised his pike with its standard and called out.

“Yield yourselves,” he offered. “The day is lost.”

The single knight shouted back. “Nay. We’ve heard of William’s justice to raiders. Better we die here than under his ax.” The knight raised his shield and sword and shook them. “Come to the killing, Norman.”

At the last words, Wulfgar glanced to his left then to his right. He couched his lance and a shower of arrows fell among the enemy. He set spur to the Hun and charged. His long lance reached past the shorter spear of the man before him and bore him to the ground, opening the wall of shields. They crashed through the defenders and whirled to charge again. The lone knight labored to form the men again, but Wulfgar and his knights were on them. This time he struck not the center but the corner of the square. He peeled the foe back and opened the way for the others. Dropping the lance he swung his long sword out and hacked a path about him as the Hun thrashed forward. Half of the Norman archers drew swords and with spear and blade joined the battle. The others held back and let slip an arrow when an opening was presented or a foe sought to flee.

The field lay silent but for a moan here or there and only the single knight still stood. As Wulfgar drew his men back, the knight rested his arms on the hilt of his sword with its point upon the ground. Without a word Wulfgar dismounted and with shield and sword met him fairly. It was no match but the knight died with honor.

Sweyn and Bolsgar searched the fallen for Ragnor or Vachel and found neither. Three of the Normans were slain and six were wounded but able to ride. The Flemish were stripped of arms and armor and laid together to await a grave. Wulfgar scanned the horizon and sat the Hun uneasily, wondering where Ragnor and Vachel were.

Aislinn paced the hall, her mind in a turmoil. Wulfgar was in danger and all because of a woman’s folly. She whirled on Gwyneth in a temper, intending to berate her sorely, but she found the woman’s eyes fastened intently upon the door. Aislinn followed her gaze but could see nothing. She returned her gaze to Gwyneth who now sat looking at her hands folded in her lap. Aislinn frowned in puzzlement and went to sit at her sewing, setting a stitch now and then as she watched the other. Gwyneth sat quietly, but her eyes continually went to the door as if she waited.

“We knew a traitor was in the hall, Gwyneth,” Aislinn said with deliberate care. “Wulfgar rides slow and waits for word from us. ’Tis far more likely your Ragnor will be the one to meet his end today.”

Gwyneth only stirred slightly and returned, “Ragnor will not die.”

“The men rode out early but only to wait upon Wulfgar beyond the hill,” Aislinn further needled and watched Gwyneth carefully. There was no reaction, only the words calmly spoken.

“Ragnor will not die.”

Aislinn clapped her hands to the arms of her chair and came to her feet abruptly, bringing Gwyneth’s eyes sharply to her.

“Ragnor will not die,” Aislinn repeated, “because he comes here!”

By the triumphant look on Gwyneth’s face Aislinn knew she had struck the truth. She wasted no time but called up the tower for the sentry there to fetch Beaufonte and any men with him. The man went off to do her bidding as she returned to watch Gwyneth, her hand on her small dagger. There was a rattle of hooves outside and Aislinn drew her blade, ready to do battle with the slim weapon if Ragnor burst into the room. To her relief Beaufonte entered with one man running at his heels. The knight glanced about the hall and seeing nothing amiss, turned questioning eyes to her.

“My lady?”

They turned as Kerwick came running into the hall, gasping in his baste with the watchman close behind. Now the men all stared at her.

“Ragnor is on his way here while his men seek to ambush Wulfgar,” she informed them. “We must secure the hall against him.”

They all ran to close shutters and bolt them, then Beaufonte threw the heavy bar across the door. Aislinn remembered well the night Ragnor came and could almost hear the crashing of another bolt being splintered beneath the pounding of a heavy, ramming log. It was well her mother was safe in her hut. Her mind could not bear a repeat of that horrible night. Aislinn chafed further, wondering at what more could be done to see them safe, then thought of the obvious.

“Beaufonte, the watchers! Send a signal to Wulfgar to return to Darkenwald and let us pray he sees the message!”

The knight called up the tower well and the lookout climbed down to him. They were discussing the message when there was a heavy pounding on the door and Ragnor’s voice called for entry. Before anyone could stop her, Gwyneth leaped to the portal and threw the bar to the floor. The sturdy oaken panel was flung aside and two strange men surged through followed by Ragnor, Vachel and two more. They were all dressed in Norman trappings, yet Beaufonte drew his sword and confronted them. One of the men behind Ragnor threw a spear and the watchman died with the shaft in his chest. Beaufonte’s man joined him, and the two battled valiantly, but Vachel took that man on his blade and laid him low. Beaufonte stood alone and engaged Ragnor and the others while Kerwick pushed Aislinn up the stairs to her chamber. Vachel drew aside and worked behind Beaufonte. Taking his sword in both hands, he swung it upon the brave knight’s back, hewing through the links of mail and biting deeply into his neck. Beaufonte fell
with a cry of warning then sank to his back and stared at the huge timbers of the ceiling as his eyes dimmed and his breath stilled.

Kerwirk thrust Aislinn into the chamber, closing the door behind her then snatched an old shield and sword from the wall beside the door. He stood ready to meet the foe and delay them as long as possible. Two of the raiders came forward with Ragaor close behind.

“Saxon dog, give up this play,” Ragnor beckoned with a confident grin. “What have you to gain in defense of the lady? She will be taken anyway when you are dead.”

Kerwick held his stand. “If my life is all I have to give for her, then so be it. Come, Ragnor, I’ve longed for this since you first took my betrothed.”

“You too, Saxon?” Ragnor chiled. “Is everyone smitten with the wench?”

Kerwick brushed aside a spear thrust and plunged his blade into one of the men’s stomach. He fell but Ragnor’s sword struck the one Kerwick held and snapped it near the hilt. The neat blow fell upon the shield but the other raider’s spear caught the Saxon’s arm. Ragnor swung again and passed Kerwick’s guard to strike him down. Blood streamed from his head and he rolled beneath their feet as Ragnor rushed by to throw open the door to the chamber.

Aislinn whirled with a gasp and Ragnor grinned, advancing into the room.

“I said I would have you, dove,” he laughed. “And the time has come.”

Aislinn’s eyes flashed but she gave no outward sign of her fear. A stirring from the cradle made Ragnor pause and he stepped to it, raising his sword. With a cry Aislinn threw herself upon his arm, but Ragnor struck her free of him with the back of his hand, flinging her to a heap against the foot of the bed. She came to her feet in an instant, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

“You would slay your own son?” she taunted him.

“There is that possibility, but also some doubt,” he calmly returned. “He is better dead than Wulfgar’s.”

He turned and raised his sword again.

“Nay!” Aislinn screamed.

There was something in her voice that gave him pause and he looked to her. She held the blade of her dagger against her own breast and in her eyes he saw the threat.

“Touch the babe and I will kill myself. You know Wulfgar and you know there will be no corner of hell for you to hide in if I am dead.”

He laughed cruelly. “That bastard is of no worry to me. Even now my men push the dirt upon his grave.”

“Have care, my love,” Gwyneth’s voice came from the doorway. She had sought him out, unwilling to leave him alone with Aislinn for long. “Wulfgar is warned. They found me out and my father rode to him. They knew of someone here and have set their own trap.”

Ragnor sheathed his sword and for a moment was lost in thought. “Now that bodes ill for us, my pet,” he mused aloud. “If I know the bastard’s luck, he will survive the day and while I had thought to hold the rest at bay with his wife as hostage until we ruined his lands, now I am afraid we must flee. I spent what few men I had to buy his death.”

He looked at Aislinn now holding Bryce in her arms and knew he could not easily separate them now and the moments had become precious. He turned to Gwyneth.

“Fetch foods from the cellars. We will seek out Edgar with the Northern Scots and pledge to him. Hurry, pet. Time grows short.” He whirled to face Aislinn. “Bring the lad! He will be as much a hostage as you, though I doubt Wulfgar finds him more than a hindrance.” Then he spoke sharply. “But I warn you, my dove, if you would see the babe live, do nothing to delay or mark the trail.”

She sneered an answer to his threat. “You will mark your own trail wherever you go. My babe will be no hindrance. Still, I could leave him here. There will be those who come.” She tried to speak casually. “Wulfgar thinks the babe is yours and does not value him highly though he will see him cared for.”

Ragnor looked at her narrowly. “Dear Gwyneth says otherwise, that he named the child his and dotes upon him of late. I think we will take him, too.”

“That bitch has seen to you well,” Aislinn hissed.

“Speak not harshly of her, my love. She has served me faithfully,” replied Ragnor.

“Yea,” Aislinn choked in rage. “But she has served no one else and I think not even herself.”

“She would have the world at her feet,” he laughed. “And who could deny that tender blossom anything?” The tone of his voice belied his words and now he straightened and became harsh. “Enough of this dawdling. Bring what you will, but quickly. I grow weary of chatter.”

Aislinn threw clothes in a bundle for Bryce and snatched up her fur-lined cloak to keep them warm.

“That’s all,” he commanded. “This will see you through.”

He followed her out of the chamber, pushing her past Kerwick as she would have knelt to him and led her out of the hall, giving her little time to pause beside Beaufonte.

Gwyneth was already mounted on Aislinn’s dapple-gray mare. She wore a fine gown, one she had finally purchased with the money Wulfgar had left for her and her father when he went with William. The small punch was led up for Aislinn, and Ragnor placed her upon it as she clutched the baby to her. Gwyneth eyed them suspiciously as Ragnor set her foot to the stirrup. His eyes raised to Aislinn’s.

“Remember well, dove, I’ll kill the babe if you give me cause.”

Aislinn swallowed and nodded then he swung up on his own steed. Gwyneth delayed the party for one more petty gambit. She seized the woolen cloak from her own shoulders and made Aislinn trade her fur-lined one for it. Ragnor casually sat the back of his horse and waited, amused at the exchange. Gwyneth took a place beside him and smiled.

“Am I not a fine figure now, my love?” she questioned coyly.

As they set off Ragnor laughed but bent his eye above Gwyneth’s head toward Aislinn.

Wulfgar scanned the hills again and it was as if he heard voices in the back of his mind. He canted his head to listen better and the words came clear. Ragnor! Aislinn! Bryce! Darkenwald! The names came together and of a sudden he knew where Ragnor was.

The Hun snorted in surprise as he jerked the reins, wheeling the steed about and he bellowed to Bolsgar.

“Stay here and see these men into the ground. They fought bravely. Milbourne, stay with him and hold ten here to dig. The rest who can ride, come with me.”

Sweyn, Gowam and fifteen or more mounted, some of them wounded, but all eager. They rode apace, giving their mounts no rest until they thundered into the courtyard and brought their horses to a halt before the hall. Wulfgar noted briefly that no shout rang from the tower to mark their approach and that Aislinn was not out to meet him. He dismissed the worst of his thoughts as he swung from the saddle and threw the reins to Sweyn. He ran into the hall and the scene that greeted him was far from his expectations.

Wulfgar’s blood ran cold as he surveyed the damage. The main hall was a shambles and the watchman lay slain at the door to the tower. Beaufonte was sprawled in a pool of blood, staring with sightless eyes at the ceiling. Propped on the stairs, where Haylan carefully tended a gash that ran down the side of his head from hairline to chin, was Kerwick. He still grasped in his hand the shattered butt of an ancient sword. A stranger lay near the head of the stairs with the other part of the blade buried in his gut. Miderd wrung her hands and Maida cowered in a dark corner.

“ ’Twas Gwyneth!” Haylan half screamed. “That bitch, Gwyneth, opened the door for them. And she has gone with them.” A sob of anger shook her. “They have taken the Lady Aislinn and Bryce.”

Wulfgar was calm, indeed quiet. But his skin grew pale and his eyes took on the hue of polished steel. Even Maida, where she crouched by the empty cradle, read death in them.

Haylan blubbered on, crying and sobbing. “They took the babe and I heard him say he would kill him if she gave them any trouble.”

Wulfgar’s voice was soft and almost gentle as he spoke. “Who, Haylan? Who was it who spoke?”

She stared at him for a moment in surprise, then answered. “ ’Twas the one who came with the king—Ragnor. He was with another knight and four men. Beaufonte killed a man before he was slain and the other stayed Kerwick’s sword. The rest took Aislinn and the boy and fled.”

Haylan turned away and bent to carefully fold a fresh cloth against Kerwick’s wound. All the while Maida rocked on her heels by the crib and made a low moaning sound as she rent her hair. Wulfgar came to stand beside Haylan and gazed down at his battered sheriff.

“Kerwick?”

The young man’s eyes opened and he grinned weakly. “I tried, my lord, but there were too many of them. I tried—”

“Rest easy, Kerwick,” Wulfgar murmured and dropped a hand upon his shoulder. “You have been twice flayed for my lady’s sake.”

Sweyn slammed through the door, his ax in his hand and a snarl on his face. “They killed the stable boy. A young lad and unarmed. They slit his throat.”

His eyes widened as he saw Beaufonte and he muttered a low curse that rolled from the depth of rage. Wulfgar’s jaw tightened as he gazed again at his slain knight, but he gave Sweyn no pause and rasped out orders in a growl.

“Feed and rub the Hun and your own.” And he added as an afterthought, “For the ride, no armor, no packs. We travel light.”

The Viking nodded and spun on his heels, departing as Wulfgar turned to Miderd.

“Go to the larder,” he bade her, “Cut long strips from the dried venison. Bring two small bags of meal and two skins of water.”

Before she could move he had gone up the stairs to his chamber. When a few moments later he returned, he wore no mail or helm but a soft cap of doeskin and a shirt of the same, overlaid with a rough jerkin of wolf fur held in place by a belt from which hung his broadsword and a well-honed dagger. Over his doeskin boots he wore leggings of wolf fur bound in place in the Viking manner. He passed Haylan and Kerwick, who now managed to sit and as he paused, his voice came low and harsh.

“This is a thing I have delayed too long and now it has struck me sore. Until I return, Kerwick, mind this hall. Bolsgar and my knights will give you aid.”

Miderd approached with the required items and he took them from her and with no other word hastened out. At the stables he divided the provisions with Sweyn and nodded his approval when he saw that the Norseman was dressed much as he and had included a goodly bag of grain for each horse. Then the two of them mounted and in a moment were out of sight.

Bolsgar had finished his labor and set the battlefield at peace. The graves were well marked and he left some twenty horses laden with plunder in the stables then hastened to the hall where he found Kerwick seated at the table, still pale and drawn. Haylan tied the last strips of a bandage about his head then sat beside him and held his hand.

The old Saxon listened to the tale Kerwick spun and his face grew dark with rage and shame.

“Gwyneth sprang from my loins and I must see this done,” he murmured, half to himself. “Wulfgar may give his sister pardon, but not I. I will follow and if he hesitates I shall lend assurance that her traitor’s days are done.”

He went sadly to his chamber and returned in a short moment. He chose only a bag of salt and a strong bow to add to his sword. In a moment he too had left Darkenwald.

Ragnor rode as if Satan dogged his heels and raged at each delay. Aislinn struggled with Bryce. To keep him still in her arms, yet guide the mare proved a test of her abilities. She complained bitterly when Ragnor whipped her horse into a brief gallop, but knew that in his rankling mood he would not spare her the blade if she gave him reason.

They pressed on, swinging wide of London and any Norman patrols, resting only a brief few hours at night to rise with the first light of dawn, choke down cold gruel and meat and ride on again. Though it gave her little respite, Aislinn was glad for the brevity of the rests. Ragnor’s eyes turned to her more and more and she knew his thoughts would have quickly found some ease if there had been time to spare. She could not escape his gaze at night though Gwyneth pressed close to him, and at dawn when she nursed the babe, he always found reason to be near.

Bryce slept in her arms for the most part, giving her some rest as they rode, but when he woke he squalled with renewed vigor at his enforced inactivity. Ragnor grew more savage with each passing hour and even Gwyneth, who had ridden silently these many miles, began to feel the bite of his tongue. Aislinn wondered at the man. He might succeed in reaching the northern hills and live out a hard life in the bleak barren lands, stealing from others for livelihood or join Atheling Edgar and his cause, but there would still be Wulfgar.

With his name in her mind, tears came to her eyes. She could only hope that he could somehow contrive to rescue or ransom them. Indeed, she could only hope that Bolsgar had reached him in time to warn him of the trap that lay in wait and that he still lived. She could not bear Ragnor’s boasting of the snares he had set for Wulfgar and knew a deep fear that he might have fallen.

The sun rose high and the road became dusty. Bryce woke and fed fitfully, then whined and mewled when his mother would not put him down for a romp.

Ragnor turned in his saddle and snarled, “Cease that bastard’s whining!”

Aislinn crooned and sang softly to her son, rocking him in her arms and he finally quieted and settled himself for another nap. They had left the lowlands of the rivers and entered the rolling, heath-strewn, midland hills. They passed the ruins of a small village, the cottages tumbled and roofless. As they trotted slowly through what had been the square, a withered crone sidled forth from the shadows. She had lost an eye and her right arm hung stunted and useless while in the left she held a crude wooden bowl which she thrust toward Ragnor.

“A copper, your lordship?” she said with a twisted smile. “A copper for a poor old—”

Ragnor kicked at her and with amazing agility for her ravaged frame she avoided him. Aislinn paused and the hag renewed her plea.

“A copper, a bauble, a morsel, your ladyship.”

In pity Aislinn tossed her the remains of a dried loaf of bread, realizing as she did so she might be giving away her own meal. Ragnor sneered at her charity and urged them onward. He halted suddenly at the edge of the square, drawing his sword and facing Aislinn.

“That brat delays us and I have no use for two hostages.”

Aislinn drew Bryce to her and spoke with the determination of a mother. “You gave your word, Ragnor. To kill him you must take me first and then you would have no hostage when Wulfgar comes.”

Her hand came from beneath the woolen cloak with the small dagger clutched desperately in it. The other men drew away agog and Ragnor cursed at his folly of not having taken the weapon from her sooner. Vachel rested his arms on the horn of his saddle and grinned.

“What say you, cousin? Will you let the proud vixen kill herself?”

Gwyneth of all knew Aislinn and seeing a chance, kicked her own steed forward to crash into Aislinn’s and snatched the dagger while the other grasped for support and clung fearfully to her son. Regaining control of the punch, Aislinn turned anger bright eyes toward Wulfgar’s sister.

“Traitor!” she hissed. “Always the traitor. Poor Gwyneth.”

Ragnor laughed and sheathed his sword. “Aah, my dove, will you never yield? I would slay whom I will and you can change it naught. But I have given my word and unless you force me to, I have no intention of harming the lad. I would but leave him with yonder hag and give her ample food and a few pence for her trouble.”

“Nay!” Aislinn gasped. “You cannot!”

“There are goats in yonder glade,” he argued. “And the old woman would have no shortage of milk. And if as you say Wulfgar, Sweyn, or others do follow, they will surely find the child and fetch him home.”

Aislinn found hope in the last statement and realized she bore a better chance to escape unburdened. Finally with a heavy sob and tears flowing down her face she yielded her son to Gwyneth who took the babe and carried him back to where the crone squatted in the dust clutching her crust of bread. Bryce raised a howl in a lusty voice for one so young and even from a distance Gwyneth seemed glad to lay him in the arm of the old crone. She could be seen to haggle and then she counted out coins, gave over a small skin of wine and a portion from their supplies. Mounting the dappled mare she returned in haste as the old woman raised wondering eyes after them.

Now the journey began in earnest. Ragnor pushed the band as he could not before. Soon their steeds began to wheeze and gasp for breath. They halted in a shaded spot and the saddles were drawn off the exhausted beasts and placed on fresh mounts that Ragnor had taken from Wulfgar’s stable.

As they rested, Ragnor and Gwyneth drew off to one side and could be seen laughing and talking as if they exchanged some jest. When the new steeds were finally readied and watered, Aislinn dragged herself again into the saddle and watched with saddened heart as her own dapple-gray was turned loose and trotted slowly away. Ragnor closed up beside her on his mount and with a strange smile on his lips, took the reins from her hands, shaking them over the destry’s head.

“I’ll lead a while, my dove, in case you would like to return.”

He led off slowly, letting Gwyneth and Vachel and the other men move a distance ahead. After some moments he laughed aloud and slowed until they rode side by side.

“It seems Gwyneth has done us both one better,” he chuckled. To Aislinn’s raised brow he explained, “She convinced the hag she would soon need someone to beg for her and that a young lad well trained would be worthy aid.”

Aislinn gasped, fear making a cold hollow in her stomach, but Ragnor continued.

“And before Gwyneth left she warned the hag of an evil Norman knight who might possibly come searching for the boy.”

He laughed aloud and before Aislinn could recover, spurred his horse to a gallop dragging hers with it. She clutched for support and as they neared the others he shouted back over his shoulder:

“Don’t think of jumping, Aislinn. You’d surely break a bone, and even not, I’d tie you across the saddle and that, my dove, might somewhat bruise your dignity.”

Aislinn held on in dejection and fear and with lowered eyes watched the flashing hooves beneath her churn mile after mile between her and Bryce.

That night she choked down a meal barely warmed before the fire was doused. She was lashed by her wrists to a tree, and drained by hopelessness, she soon sank into the full stupor of utter fatigue.

Wulfgar and Sweyn rode side by side. The two great destriers lightened of heavy chain and armor loped easily along. No word was spoken but in absolute necessity and then brief questions at village and farm, thus the trail was drawn and the pace never slackened. The close observer might have seen that the great ax never left the Norseman’s grip and that the hilt of the long broadsword was fondled constantly by the Norman knight.