Chapter 3
She floated above the forest, the sounds of battle ringing in her ears.
In a clearing below her, men fought, their swords clashing then sliding against each other, the sound of metal against metal loud in her ears.
Grunts and moans filled the air as sword points encountered unmailed chests and necks and sank into vulnerable flesh.
Flashes of red streaked across her vision.
Blood. So much blood. Bright crimson against white snow.
Flashes of light laced with blue sliced through the air.
When the bright light was gone and the sounds died away, all that remained were corpses carelessly strewn about the clearing.
Wind stirred in the surrounding trees, sounding like souls ascending to Heaven.
Loud shouts roused Emma from her dream. She woke startled, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to clear her mind. For a moment, she stared at the roof, listening, as she forced her heart to calm and the terrifying images faded. But the shouts did not.
Fully awake, she sat up and gazed about her chamber.
Light seeped around the edges of the hide that covered the window, telling her it was morning although the sun rose later in the winter months.
The air was chilled, the coals in the brazier, having been banked, gave little warmth.
Throwing off the cover, she reached for her fur-lined robe and slipped on her leather shoes.
As she stood, Magnus roused from the floor at the foot of her bed and came to greet her, his tail wagging, his large eyes gazing at her expectantly.
She pulled on her robe, looking down at the hound. “Do not look at me as if I know what is causing the clamor outside. I do not.”
Hurriedly, she left her bedchamber and descended the stairs with Magnus close on her heels. The hearth fire was already a steady blaze. Near the door, her father was strapping on his sword belt.
“What is it, Father? What is happening?”
“It sounds like the thegns mean to start the uprising without me. My men, along with those of Cospatric and Edgar, are camped outside the city, but from the sounds of it, the men of York have had enough of the Normans. Or mayhap the men from Durham have arrived.” He shrugged.
“Either way, it has begun. I would have waited for the Danes, but it was not to be.” He gave her a kiss on her forehead and unlatched the door.
He stepped through the doorway. The din was louder but she could not see any men in the street.
“I will be back as soon as I can,” he assured her.
With that, he was gone.
Emma let Magnus out and waited for him to return, shivering as she stood in the open doorway, listening to the shouting coming from the center of town.
She drew her robe more tightly around her, relieved when the hound quickly returned.
She shut the door behind him and paced before the hearth fire, considering what to do.
She was anxious to see for herself what was happening in the city.
But there were Ottar and Finna to worry about. She would check on the children first.
She ascended the stairs to her chamber, hurriedly donning a linen shift, blue woolen gown, warm stockings and her soft leather half boots.
With Magnus by her side, she hastened to the twins’ chamber.
Soundlessly, she pulled open the door. In one bed Finna slept with her little fist curled under her chin.
Emma’s eyes shifted to the next bed. The cover was tossed aside, the bed empty.
She quickly scanned the room but Ottar was not there.
Her father had said nothing about the boy when he left.
Mayhap he woke hungry and went to the kitchen for bread and honey.
She rushed downstairs, passing the hearth and the large table, as she headed toward the kitchen.
Ottar was nowhere in sight. Worry was beginning to creep into her thoughts when she knocked on the servants’ bedchamber door on the other side of the kitchen.
How they had slept through the tumult in the streets, she did not know.
The door creaked open and Artur’s bleary-eyed face appeared, his brown hair tousled. “M’lady?”
“Do you not hear it, Artur? There is a great uproar in the city. My father has gone to see the cause of it for himself. He believes an uprising has begun. Do you know where Ottar is?”
His face took on a puzzled expression.
“No, I can see you do not. I wonder if he may have followed my father into the streets.”
Now more awake, Artur mumbled, “You know he is always wanting to be with the men, my lady.”
“This is not a day for him to be out there alone, especially if my father has no idea Ottar may be trailing him.”
“Should I go in search of him?” asked Artur.
“Nay. I will go myself but you must keep Finna safe while I am gone.”
His forehead creased with worry as he came fully awake. “My lady, no! If there is trouble in the city, the streets will not be safe for a… a… gentlewoman such as you.”
“Then the streets are not safe for a child. I cannot sit around wondering where Ottar might be.”
She was gratified to see the look of resignation on his face.
“You will take Magnus with you?” he asked.
“I will. Do not worry.” Knowing that he would, she added, “I will stay away from the fray.”
“Come, Magnus,” she commanded the hound as she walked to the front door and reached for her cloak. “We must find Ottar.”
The sky was a pale blue when she stepped into the street coated with fresh snow and headed toward the source of the rising noise.
Several streets from her house, Emma encountered large numbers of York men, carrying spears and swords, moving from all parts of the city in one direction: toward the Norman castle.
Hugging the buildings, she moved in the same direction, near enough to the crowd to observe, but not so close as to become embroiled in any fighting.
All the while, she desperately searched for Ottar, but did not see him among the men.
Following the crowd, she drew near to the mass of rioters waving their weapons in front of the Norman edifice.
A shout rose above the din. “Kill the castellan!”
In the distance, ahead of the crowd, a mounted Norman, richly attired, tried to control his panicked horse.
A small group of mounted knights surrounded him, attempting to force the crowd away from the noble.
The press of the mob caused the knights’ horses to rear.
One knight drew his sword to slash at a man on the ground, but as he did, another man ran the knight through with a spear.
When the knight fell, his throat was slit, blood spattering the crowd.
Emma was stunned by how suddenly death had come to the Norman.
The mass of shouting men engulfed the other Normans. She heard the knights’ cries as they were pulled from their horses, followed by mockery from the rebels as they hacked at the bodies, taking their vengeance.
The richly attired Norman was the last to be pulled from his horse as the bloodthirsty crowd closed in on him. She did not see his end. Hearing his cries had been enough.
Emma turned away, shocked at the violence, her stomach sickened by the sight of so much blood.
She understood the anger that had led to the scene she had witnessed.
But she could not love it and hoped with all her heart Ottar had not seen the slaying of the noble and the knights.
She shuddered to think of the Normans’ revenge that would surely come in its wake.
* * *
Geoff stood in the great hall of the castle as chaos ensued following the killing of the castellan.
Knights reached for weapons. Captains roared orders to their men-at-arms. Geoff looked for Malet.
Spotting the sheriff across the room, he headed in that direction when Alain came to tell him the men were prepared for battle and awaited him in the bailey.
“I will join you as soon as I can,” he assured Alain and continued his path toward the table where Malet sat with some of his knights.
“Fool!” Malet exclaimed, pounding his fist on the table, causing tankards of ale to dance, their contents splashing onto the wood. “Whatever compelled FitzRichard to leave the castle at first light? He was aware of the angry mood of the people yesterday. What could he have been thinking?”
“He paid for his rash move with his life,” admonished Geoff.
“No need to find fault with him now.” Roused from his bed by the shouts outside the castle, Geoff had witnessed the slaughter himself.
None, save the foolish castellan and his personal guard of knights, had ventured out of the gates.
Why they had done so no one knew. If FitzRichard had set forth with hundreds of knights instead of a few, the loss could have been avoided.
In the aftermath of FitzRichard’s slaying, men prepared for battle as servants hurriedly set about lighting candles on the table where Geoff and a small group of knights now gathered with Malet in the great hall.
“I want the gates kept shut until the king arrives!” Malet ordered. The sheriff’s senior knight moved to obey. Malet raised a hand. “Wait!”
The knight paused and turned toward Malet with a questioning look.
“Send two men out the postern gate to ride south and warn the king of the rebels’ action,” ordered the sheriff.
“Yea, my lord.” The knight bowed and departed.
“William cannot be far,” Geoff assured Malet. “We received word he was marching north before I left Talisand.”
“Nay, not far,” Malet murmured as he anxiously chewed his bottom lip. “Knowing William as I do, he will be most displeased when he arrives for I have failed to keep the peace.”
“’Tis not clear any could,” said Geoff. “The Northumbrians will not easily accept a king they do not see as theirs.”
“You know the king as well as I. He will make them accept him no matter the lengths he must go to in order to see it done.”
Maugris’ words echoed in Geoff’s mind. William is a great king, but terrible in his wrath.
* * *