Chapter 2 #2
The citizens of York, who had been milling about outside the castle moat, stopped and watched.
The men with their long hair and full beards looked askance at the newly arriving knights.
As Geoff’s procession passed by, the people began to mutter amongst themselves, their voices rising in anger and their expressions dour.
Geoff drew his brows together, puzzling over the people’s reaction to their arrival. He would have thought by now they would be used to Normans in their city. Mayhap they had heard of Robert de Comines’ ravaging of Durham. Whatever it was, this reception did not bode well.
Just as he was about to cross the bridge, his eye was drawn to a cloaked figure moving swiftly through the crowd and a huge dark gray dog striding apace.
The gown showing beneath the cloak told him it was a woman.
A sudden gust of wind threw back her hood to reveal flaxen hair and a nearly perfect face marred only by a scowl directed at him and his knights.
The image of a Valkyrie arose in his mind, a handmaiden of the Norse god Odin tasked with choosing which warriors would live and which would die.
’Twas a tale he had once heard around the hearth fire.
Captivated by the strength the woman exuded, he paused to watch her and the hound before turning away to proceed into the bailey crowded with knights and men-at-arms.
Buildings he did not recall from the year before were scattered around the periphery of the palisade fence of wooden stakes that surrounded the large bailey.
No doubt the new buildings served the hundreds of knights and men-at-arms now garrisoned here.
There would be workshops, an armory, a blacksmith and stables and possibly a chapel.
He hoped it had a good kitchen and a good cook.
He dismounted, pulling off his gloves to stroke Athos’ neck.
The chestnut stallion nickered and tossed its head.
“You did well, my boy.” At Mathieu’s approach, Geoff handed the stallion’s reins to the squire.
“Mathieu, see that Athos gets some extra oats while I find the castellan to let him know we have arrived.”
“Yea, sir,” said Mathieu and, with Geoff’s two horses and Mathieu’s own in tow, the squire headed toward what appeared to be stables at the far edge of the bailey.
Turning to Alain, who was sliding from his great horse, Geoff said, “Best see the men are settled.” He glanced at the sky.
“Gloaming is not far off. The men may be relegated to pallets in the castle’s hall or they may be accommodated in shelters in the bailey.
Whichever the case, I will meet you in the castle.
I go to seek out the castellan, FitzRichard. ”
Alain nodded and set off about the task, his stride slower than normal.
The large knight was weary. All of them were tired and hungry after three days on the road eating cold fare and enduring the freezing rain that had turned to snow as they traveled east. They would welcome dry clothing, hot food and a fire.
Geoff walked through the melting snow toward the stairs leading up to the castle that sat atop the motte, the mound of dirt nearly thirty feet tall.
Snorting horses, knights in conversation and others brandishing swords in a practice yard set to one side of the bailey made for a noisy place.
The bailey was like a small town and, after the quiet of the countryside, loud with the clash of arms and the hoarse voices of men.
“Ho! Sir Geoffroi!” The shout came from behind him just as he reached the base of the stairs.
Geoff turned to see William Malet striding toward him and was struck again by the man’s fair appearance.
Older than Geoff by more than a decade, Malet was half-Saxon and related to the former King Harold by marriage.
Still, the man had fought with William at Hastings and was now in a position of trust. More importantly to Geoff, the Red Wolf counted him a friend.
“Judging by your appearance,” remarked Malet, “I would say you traveled the same roads I did.”
Geoff laughed. Admittedly his condition was foul and Malet fared no better. “Aye, I am surprised you recognized me under all this mud.”
Malet’s seeking gaze reached behind Geoff. “Where is the Earl of Talisand?”
“Recovering from a fall and a bad gash in his leg. He was most disappointed not to be able to rise to William’s summons.”
“We could use his sword arm for what I fear may be coming.”
“So I hear.”
Malet paused and looked toward the open gate. “I assume you noticed the discontent of the locals as you entered the city.”
Geoff remembered the hostile looks the men of York had given them. “I did. Angrier faces I have not seen before.”
“The situation is worse than when I left,” advised Malet. “York is like a kettle of stew left too long on the fire.” At Geoff’s raised brows, the sheriff added, “There will be time to speak of it over the evening meal. In the meantime, we could both use a bath if one can be found in this throng.”
“From whence did you come?” Geoff inquired.
“I was in the south of Yorkshire and most recently in my lands in Holderness, east of York. I have returned to see about matters in York. Helise and my two sons are with me. But I am thinking mayhap I should have left them in Holderness. I have concerns about FitzRichard’s ability to control William’s men garrisoned here.
The city is rife with discontent. And now this trouble in Durham… ”
“I did not know about FitzRichard but I observed for myself the unhappy state of the people. While I was still at Talisand, a messenger came with news of the slaying of Earl Robert.”
“A conversation best shared over good French wine. Walk with me. The servants are local serfs and continually overtaxed as you might suppose, but since we will be housed in the tower, as soon as we find our chambers, we’ll have our baths.”
Geoff followed Malet up the stairs that led from the bailey to the top of the motte, his spurs jangling on the steps. At the top, a great square tower rose three stories into the air, providing a strategic view of the surrounding countryside and the forest beyond.
Once inside the tower, FitzRichard came to greet them in the main hall. “Welcome, Sir Geoffroi. ’Tis glad I am to see you. Has Malet told you the news?”
“Yea, and unwelcome news it is.”
“We can talk after you are settled in your chambers. You and Malet are housed on this level.” To Malet he said, “Your lady wife awaits you.” Then taking a long perusal of them, he added, “By the look of you, a bath is in order. I shall see each of you has one, but best to be quick. Supper will soon be served.”
Geoff and Malet thanked FitzRichard for his hospitality and followed the summoned servants who showed them to their chambers.
Geoff was relieved to shut the door on the confusion of the main hall. He unbuckled his sword belt, laid the scabbard on the small table and slumped onto the bench by the brazier that warmed the chamber. He unfastened his spurs and pulled off his short leather boots, shaking off the mud.
A knock sounded and he rose and opened the door to see two servants carrying a large copper tub, followed by lads carrying buckets, steam rising from the water. A bath was a rare privilege and he would not fail to avail himself of it after days of slogging through mud.
When the servants had gone, he stripped off his clothes and sank into the hot water, leaning his head against the metal edge. He closed his eyes with a sigh. As he did, the faces of the people of York returned to his mind, one beautiful woman’s in particular.
Angry faces all.