Chapter 4 #2
Emma took a deep drink of her mead and let out a sigh as she stared at the pot of stew Sigga stirred over the kitchen fire while humming a Nordic folk tune as she worked.
In her mind, Emma saw only the tall, fair-haired knight.
She had not expected kindness from a Norman.
Perhaps he felt guilt for the children slain?
Had her father been one of those he had slain that day?
Might it have been her father’s blood on the knight’s mail?
Sigga paused in her singing to dish out the stew.
Emma spoke her thought aloud. “I am glad my father was not here.”
“Aye,” agreed Sigga, her dark eyes shadowed by her head cloth, “’twould nay have been pleasant.”
“But where is he? Many men from York have been killed and he has not returned.”
“He will be fine, Mistress. Maerleswein is a strong man, good with a sword and a wise leader of men.”
Emma stared at the shelves that held earthen vessels and baskets of herbs Sigga used in cooking, but she was thinking of her father. “Yea, and a leader of the rebellion, too,” she said. “He would have been in the front of the fighting.”
Sigga glanced up from the bowls of stew set before her. “Have no worry, Mistress, you will see him ere long.”
Emma drew comfort from Sigga’s words and idly looked around for Artur, not having seen him since the Normans left some time ago. In the morning, he was often with his wife.
Sigga’s gaze met hers. “Artur has gone to the Minster to see how the old archbishop fares.”
“I had not thought to worry about a man of God. Might the Normans seek to harm him or the church?”
“They will be taking vengeance wherever they can find it,” said Sigga. “The Minster is large and will draw their attention. And some of the rebels may seek sanctuary there. We are fortunate to be so far from the center of town.”
Emma shuddered at the possibility of harm coming to the church and the archbishop. While there were other churches in the city, to the people, the Minster was the most significant, the focus of their daily lives and their hopes for the next life.
Sigga offered her a bowl of the steaming stew. “Here, ’twill do you good. ’Tis cool enough to eat now.”
Emma accepted the dish, warming her hands around it as she sat on a stool. Her strength was spent and the aroma of beef, thyme and coriander roused her hunger. It was the first food she had eaten all day.
“I can take some broth to Ottar and a bowl of stew for Finna while you eat,” offered Sigga. “How is the lad?”
Emma had remained by Ottar’s side until the boy roused.
“He is awake but says little. No doubt his head pains him. Mayhap you can take him some willow bark tea with the broth. I will wait to question him until he is stronger.” She took a spoonful of the rich meaty stew into her mouth. “’Tis good, Sigga.”
The servant smiled her thanks as she went about fixing the tea. “All the boy talked about yesterday was wanting to see Maerleswein and his men.”
“I suspected it was so,” Emma murmured. “He must have followed my father to the battle outside the city walls. The lad admires him so. We will have to keep the twins from the streets. The Norman knights are everywhere now. I fear they are not done with their vengeance for the slaying of the noble.”
“Aye, I will watch the children more closely.”
Catching Sigga’s eye, Emma remarked, “I saw the flag of their king and his army of knights with him.” She shuddered at the memory of so many mail-clad mounted knights headed toward the city. “More Normans,” she complained. “Mayhap thousands.”
“Would they were all like the one who brought Ottar home,” Sigga said thoughtfully. “A handsome one, he was, and kind.”
“They are all Normans, Sigga. I would have none in our city and none in my home.”
* * *
From the trestle table where he sat with Alain eating the evening meal, Geoff gazed beyond the crackling hearth fire and the ascending smoke to where Malet sat at the head table with his wife, Helise, and their two young sons.
The hall was crowded with knights eating a dinner of roasted lamb.
The low rumble of male voices in conversation filled the large space.
Helise’s face, normally serene, was lined with worry. Geoff did not wonder at her concern, given what must have transpired between William and her husband. Mayhap Malet would not long hold the position of Sheriff of Yorkshire.
Alain shifted in his seat, his eyes following the object of Geoff’s interest. “William appeared none too happy when he took his seat at the dais and now he glares at Malet between sips of wine.”
Geoff looked at his friend. “You speak uncommonly much this night.” The knight the Red Wolf had dubbed “the Bear” for his size was known for speaking in grunts and growls more often than words.
“I speak when I have something to say.”
“Which is not often,” Geoff teased. “But I do not doubt the truth of your words. ’Tis certain Malet earned a stern rebuke, though being a friend of the king, I expect it was delivered in private.”
“Likely while we were seeing the injured lad home.”
“Yea, likely so.” Suddenly the vision of the beautiful York widow ministering to the boy returned to Geoff’s mind.
Despite her hostility, he was anxious about her living alone with only children and servants while the streets of York swarmed with knights, men-at-arms and mercenaries looking for trouble, looking for women to ease their battle lust.
Returning his attention to his meal, he stabbed a large piece of meat and brought it to his trencher. She would not have listened to him had he tried to counsel her.
The Bear slid him a mischievous glance. “From what I observed, that woman you aided did not like you much.”
Geoff tossed a piece of bread at Alain’s chest. “She liked me well enough for a Norman, you dolt.”
“She could use your protection were you to give it,” said Alain, more seriously. “With William’s army combing the streets, there will not be a woman left untouched in York.”
Geoff let out a breath. “Leave it be, Alain. I want no woman and Emma of York would have no Norman.” Though I would give her my protection whether she asked for it or not.
“None of the English women want Norman husbands,” argued Alain, “but Serena accepted the Red Wolf and my own Aethel was finally persuaded to wed with me. In time, there will be many such matches.”
“The York widow would be near impossible to win.”
“That which comes with much effort is more highly prized,” Alain declared thoughtfully.
“You begin to sound like Maugris, my friend.”
“I have learned a few truths since coming to England.”
“Oh?”
“It does nay take Maugris to see the only wives for French knights are English unless the women come from France, like Helise Malet.”
Geoff cast a glance at the woman sitting beside her husband. “’Twould be a rare knight who brought a wife with him.” He laughed at what came to his mind. “We brought only horses and squires.”
Geoff drank his wine in silence after that, watching the king and his companions on the dais. It appeared that William had recovered from his dour mood. He was now in jovial spirits laughing with his friends.
“I heard talk of William building a second castle,” said Alain, his eyes on the king.
“Yea, William spoke of it as we rode toward the city. I imagine the good people of York who were not killed in the fighting or escaped into the woods will be pressed into the work.”
“’Tis his way,” observed Alain.
“Did you happen to notice who is sitting at the dais with the king?”
Alain glanced at the table at the front of the hall. “Aye, I recognize the older one, William FitzOsbern, the Earl of Hereford. He is the companion of the king who came with him to Talisand last year. But I do not know the other.”
“The younger one is Gilbert de Ghent. I encountered the Fleming as I was going to my chamber when I returned from the widow’s. He told me he’s being sent by the king to Durham with a group of his Flemish mercenaries to chase down the rebels fleeing north.”
“No good can come of that,” observed Alain. “Like wraiths, the rebels can hide in the woods. ’Tis what they always do.”
“No matter. William is intent on chasing them down.”
* * *
It was night when the knock came at the front door. The sound was faint and Emma, who had been sorting through some tapestries in her chamber by candlelight, was not even certain she had heard it until Magnus scrambled from the floor beside her and went to scratch at her chamber door.
“All right. I am coming.” She threw on her robe and opened the door of her chamber. Magnus raced down the stairs and scratched at the front door.
This time the knock was a mere thump and then a sound like something falling against the door.
Emma took one look at Magnus and realized whoever was on the other side of the door was someone he knew. He whined and did not growl, so the late hour visitor could not be a Norman soldier.
She unlatched the door and a sobbing Inga fell into her arms.
“Inga!”
The girl trembled as she clutched her cloak tightly to her body.
Emma wrapped her arms around her. “What is it, Inga? What has happened?”
One look at Inga’s face told her questions would have to come later. The girl’s eyes were wide with fear, her cheeks tear-stained. She was incapable of speech.
Still holding Inga, Emma shut the door, making sure it was locked. Wrapping an arm around the girl’s waist, Emma helped her to the stairs. “Come, I will take you to my chamber.”
Together, they stumbled up the steps, Emma helping the young woman whose strength appeared to be at an end.
As they neared the top, Inga tripped and nearly fell.
Emma gripped her more securely and together they managed to reach her chamber.
Magnus followed closely behind. He had known Inga since he was a whelp. She was family.
Emma helped the girl to the bed, gently laying her upon it. Inga mumbled, “He returned… oh, Emma, he came back.”
“Who returned, Inga? Who?”