Chapter 16
Since her well-escorted journey to Baddersley, Madeleine had never ventured beyond the paths of the nearby woods, and had never left the castle alone.
Now she was planning to ride off through strange and hostile country in search of a poorly identified place which was infested by Norman-hating traitors.
She opened a box and removed Aimery’s maps of the estate.
Ah. By the old road, John must have meant the Roman road called Ermine Street which passed not far north of Baddersley.
But there was no marking for Halver Wood or Gormanby.
Well, it was surely possible to ride a couple of hours and then ask for further directions.
Alone? Asking English people for help finding Hereward? It seemed impossible, yet she must do something, and speedily.
She deliberately put aside future problems and considered the immediate—how to get out of Baddersley with a horse and without guards.
After discarding any number of fanciful plans she simply ordered her horse saddled and fitted with panniers, and told John she was going to collect some special roots for her medicine chest.
As she rode across the bailey, Geoffrey hurried forward. “Do you require an escort, my lady?”
“No need,” she said, grateful it was he and not Hugh who had been informed of her enterprise. “I am only going to the other side of the village, Geoffrey, and the horse will carry my load back for me.”
She could see he wasn’t happy with the situation but lacked the confidence to insist. She rode out at a trot before he found it.
Beyond the village she took the north path which led, according to the map, to Ermine Street. Very shortly she was out of sight of Baddersley and all alone in the light woodland. She must be mad.
She remembered that not so long ago the people hereabouts had been malevolent toward her.
That had faded since the king’s visit and her marriage, but had they really changed?
She shrugged. She had resolved to do this thing, and she would not falter.
She eased Aimery’s knife in its sheath and urged her horse through the trees, trembling at every rustle in the undergrowth.
Soon she came to the road and sighed with relief to be in a more public spot.
The heavy old stones were still in place and could occasionally be seen through the cover of dirt and weeds.
They formed a solid base in all weathers—a marvel to everyone, who all wished the way of making such a surface was still known.
The road was busy with ox-carts, riders, and foot traffic. A few travelers were soldiers, but most were clearly traders of one kind or another, which suggested that there was no warlike trouble in the area. Madeleine hoped to be taken for a trader herself with her panniers.
She set off north at a brisk pace, trying to gauge “a half-morning’s ride” in John’s terms. She was tempted to ask one of the drivers of the slow-moving carts whether he had seen Aimery and his men going past, but the less attention called to herself and him the better.
She did, however, stop after a while and ask a man if he knew a place called Gormanby.
He shook his head and regarded her speculatively.
Madeleine rode on. She cursed her southern looks, inherited from her mother. Her darker skin and brown eyes marked her out among this fair-skinned race, and she was sure her careful English had a foreign tone.
However, she had to take the chance and ask for help again or she’d end up riding Ermine Street all the way to Lincoln.
When she came to a small monastery which served as an inn for travelers, she waved away the offer of food and asked after Gormanby.
“Yes, my child,” the monk said readily. “But you have passed the track. Go back a little way, and by some cherry trees and an oak you will see a path go west. It is not far.”
Madeleine mounted again and turned back with relief. Both she and the horse were weary, but the end was in sight.
She soon found the oak and cherry trees, and a path next to them.
She turned onto it eagerly, but she couldn’t help noticing that the woodland here was heavier than around Baddersley.
It was more difficult to see into and more likely to hold danger both from man and beast. The tall trees grew close to the narrow path, which was only just wide enough for a cart to pass along.
In fact, the ruts from such carts were deeply ground into the earth.
Above, the leaves met to form a heavy green roof, cutting off the sun and making the place dark and chill.
Uneasiness crept into Madeleine, and she would willingly have taken any excuse to turn back, but she pushed on. She had another concern now. Even if there was no personal danger, how was she to find anyone in this forest? She might have to wait for Hereward to find her.
When a man ran out from the woods and neatly pulled her off the horse, she was startled but not vastly surprised. She hadn’t, however, expected a sharp knife at her throat.
“Well, Lady Madeleine. Have business hereabouts, do you?”
Madeleine gasped. It was the Saxon, the one who had been with Aimery. He was grinning, but his eyes were hard, and she knew he would slit her throat without hesitation if he decided it was meet.
“I need to contact Aimery,” she whispered.
“Aimery? Lady,” he said with a leer, “I would have thought he’d contacted you enough for one day.”
This man had watched! Madeleine’s face flamed, and she glared at him, knife or not. “I wish to speak with him. Or Hereward.”
The grin was wiped away, and the knife pricked. Madeleine cried out and tried to jerk back, but his hold was like iron. She felt blood trickle down her skin.
“What do you know of Hereward, Norman bitch?”
“He is here,” she choked out. “It is known. Word has been sent to the king.”
“And you’ve come to warn him? A likely tale.”
“I’ve come to warn Aimery.”
“Now, that’s more likely. You’d not want him to lose the bits you like best, would you?” He dragged her into the woods. She fought, but he swung the knife up to her face and she stopped. He only dragged her as far as his horse.
He pulled a rope from his pack, formed a noose, and slipped it over her head. Was he going to strangle her?
But he mounted up and told her to walk. When they returned to her horse, he told her to mount.
“I’m going to take you to Hereward,” he said. “He’ll know what to do with you. Try to escape and you’ll throttle.”
With the heavy, coarse rope lying on her shoulders and fretting at her skin, Madeleine needed no further warning. They rode along the track for a little way before turning off into the dark woods. If this was the treatment meted out by the man, what could she expect from the master?
She told herself Hereward was Aimery’s uncle, and an English nobleman, but she wasn’t reassured.
He was an outlaw rebel and surely hated all Normans.
He’d find it very convenient to slit her throat.
Then Aimery would have possession of Baddersley without the burden of her presence or the threat of her telling someone about Golden Hart.
Despite everything, though, she couldn’t believe Aimery would condone her death.
She began to say very earnest prayers that Aimery was with Hereward. Even though that would confirm his treason, and he’d be furious with her for following him and discovering his treachery, he’d protect her.
They turned off the well-worn path onto tracks which were scarcely visible. The dense wood seemed peaceful and empty of all but birds and insects, but then suddenly a man was before them. He said nothing, just took in her companion and nodded, then melted back into the undergrowth.
A little later, she saw her captor raise a hand. She looked around, then up to see another watcher in a tree.
It was a well-guarded camp. Hereward was no fool.
Then they were entering the camp of Hereward the Wake.
It was not in a clearing but merely a gathering among the trunks of great old trees.
Odo may have overestimated the size of the force, but it was still substantial.
There were two tents, at least thirty rugged armed men, and a number of others who appeared to be servants. There were no women.
There was no Aimery.
Madeleine’s mouth dried as she became the focus of hard eyes in ruddy, bearded faces. A lone Norman woman among men who hated Normans. What mad impulse had brought her here?
A few wore mail, but most wore only leather armor; they all, however, had weapons to hand—spear, bow, sword, ax. They all wore gold. Not as much or as splendid as Aimery’s, but gold all the same—signs of a great ring-friend.
A man moved out of the group and came forward. He wore no armor at all, only a finely worked tunic over braies. A sword hung at his belt in a magnificent scabbard of gold and jewels, and his bracelets and arm bands were the finest she had ever seen.
Madeleine knew she faced Hereward of Mercia.
He bore a distinct resemblance to Aimery.
He had a beard and moustache, and his long blond hair was silvered at the temples, his eyes a clear blue, but in the bones of his face and body she saw how Aimery would look twenty years hence.
There was a power to this man. His movements were quick and light, and energy shone in him like a beacon.
“Gyrth,” he said, looking at her captor, “have you found an unwilling bride?”
Gyrth swung off his horse and knelt. “Nay, Lord, except it be Aimery’s bride.” With a smirk he added, “And him the unwilling one, according to Baddersley gossip.”
“And you bring her here haltered?” Hereward’s fist connected with his man’s jaw, laying him flat out. He ignored Gyrth and turned to help Madeleine off her horse, then gently eased the rope over her head.
“My deepest apologies, Lady Madeleine. Niece. You will be treated with nothing but honor here.” He drew her over to a cloak on the ground at the base of an oak and urged her to sit, then turned to his men.