Chapter 9
It was early in June when Geoff sat in the great hall, breaking his fast, wondering which of the many tasks FitzOsbern had given him he should undertake first. He had wanted to go to Emma since that conversation with Mathieu, but with demands on his time from both Malet and FitzOsbern and the needs of his men, he had been unable to return to her in a sennight.
But she was constantly in his thoughts. He longed to hold her, to kiss her.
He knew she was well from his conversations with Helise Malet who had told him how pleased she was with Emma’s help with the new castle’s garden.
Helise, who ate next to him, leaned close and whispered, “I like Emma very much, Sir Geoffroi. She is ever so clever. She knows more than I do about growing things. With her advice, I have chosen well the plants for Gilbert’s garden.”
Her comments about Emma pleased him and he was delighted to realize Emma had made a friend. “The men will be happy to have the bounty from that garden.”
“Aye, and the castle’s cook will be pleased. Emma is such an unusual young woman, Sir Geoffroi. Did she lose her husband in the fighting? I dared not ask.”
He did not know which battle Malet’s wife spoke of, for there had been many since William had come to England.
Mayhap she had in mind the battle in York that had taken place the year before.
It had not lasted long, but even so, Northumbrians had died before the city surrendered to William.
“Nay, she has been a widow longer than that.” In truth, he did not know much of her husband.
If he had died at the hands of Norman knights in earlier battles, Geoff would not be the one to remind her, but knowing Emma she would have told him had that been the case.
It was an hour later when he and Alain had just finished their morning sword practice that shouts echoed through the bailey.
“Attack! The rebels attack!”
Geoff wiped the sweat from his bare chest and hurriedly donned his tunic and hauberk, calling for Mathieu, who was already racing to his side.
“See to our warhorses. We ride with FitzOsbern!”
The squire bolted for the stables.
“Another rising?” asked Alain as he, too, hurriedly donned his clothes and mail, preparing for battle.
“Aye, and not unexpected. With William’s army fighting Harold of Wessex’s sons in the South, we have less than half the men we once did. They would seize the advantage if they could.”
“Sir Geoffroi!” FitzOsbern pulled his horse up short before the two knights, coming to a stop in a cloud of dust. “Do you ride with me?”
Between the practice yard and the stables, Geoff saw Mathieu coming with their horses, the helms and shields tied to the saddles. “Aye, we do.”
Striding to his destrier, Geoff mounted, shoved his helm on his head, took up his shield and let out a huff. Will York never be at peace?
Moments later, his lance firmly gripped in his right hand, he gave the signal to his waiting men and followed FitzOsbern out the gate.
Between the castle and Skeldergate, the shield-maker’s street, a large crowd of Northumbrians was already engaged in fighting the first mounted knights to confront them. In such close quarters, the battle was intense, men’s shouts and the clash of metal sounding loud in his ears.
Geoff entered the fray, piercing one rebel with his lance only to turn and engage another.
Soon he turned to his sword, his blade slashing into the unmailed chest of a bearded Northumbrian, cutting a long red swath.
Another swing of the steel and he sliced through the skin of the rebel’s bared neck.
Blood from Geoff’s victim shot into the air. And blood ran in the streets as the brutal fighting continued and both rebels and knights fell.
The battle was fought in quarters too close for the Norman crossbows to do any good. Bodkin arrows shot from the tower’s arrow loops might as easily hit a Norman as well as a Northumbrian. Geoff fought on, keenly aware this battle would have to be won without such help.
In a matter of minutes, hundreds of knights from both castles streamed into the fight, hacking at the rebels and backing them to Coppergate where they fled into the city.
Sensing danger at his back, Geoff turned to see a rebel running toward him with a raised sword.
A knife sailed through the air to lodge in the man’s neck, the sickening sound of metal meeting soft flesh echoing in Geoff’s ears.
Glancing over his shoulder, he glimpsed Alain on his great gray warhorse, smiling beneath his helm.
Turning his horse, Geoff tipped his head in thanks to the powerful knight and surveyed the remaining rebel forces still fighting. “’Tis nearly over.”
“Aye,” agreed Alain as they headed into what remained of the battle.
Another hour of brutal work gave them the victory, but it had come at a cost. Scores of knights lay dead. Regrettably, some of the slain had been those who rode with him from Talisand, their bodies mingling with those of the slain rebels.
Geoff thought of Emma and the wedge such a battle would drive between them, particularly if any of her kinsmen had been among the rebels.
Would she see his hands as stained by their blood?
Would she rise like the Valkyrie he had named her to seek revenge?
He needed peace between her people and his for there to be peace between the two of them.
He longed to see her, to see if he still found favor in her eyes, but his duties required his presence in the castle.
* * *
Emma studied the tapestry she was working on.
The gold and yellow threads formed a brilliantly colored background for the black horse in the center.
Keeping her hands busy took her mind from the battle that had been fought a sennight ago between the Normans and the men from Durham who had emerged from the woods where they had been waiting for a chance to reengage.
The fighting, Artur had told her, had not lasted long. FitzOsbern and the mounted knights had quickly beaten back the rebels. The word of the defeat had been carried through the city and the loss keenly felt. The people had hoped for another result.
Knights had died as well as men from Durham.
While the battle raged, she had worried for Sir Geoffroi.
She was glad when Mathieu, the faithful messenger, brought her word that he and Sir Alain lived.
She was conflicted in her loyalties, wanting Sir Geoffroi to live yet also wanting the Northumbrians to be victorious. It could not be.
Rising, she walked to the window and pulled back the animal hide covering to stare out.
Two of the women who lived on her street waved to her.
She waved back. On the surface, the city appeared to be almost normal again.
Though she could not see them from her window, she knew the shops and market were open and the people busy at their pursuits.
In the fields, churls and villeins once again tended the new crops.
Yet there remained an undercurrent in York, an unease that hung in the air, as if the city were holding its breath, waiting for worse to come.
Emma, of all people, knew well what was coming and, whereas once she would have welcomed her father’s plans for an uprising, now those plans only brought her dread.
Someone she loved was bound to be hurt, even killed.
Should she warn Sir Geoffroi of the plans for a major rising?
Of the Danes whose help they sought? Surely to do so would be a betrayal of her father.
How could she choose between them? Nay, she could not.
She wanted to see York free of the Normans, but she wanted it to happen without bloodshed. An impossible dream.
Helise had insisted Emma pay her a visit to see the garden they had planted and she was determined not to disappoint Malet’s wife. With the sun high in the sky, she grabbed her light cloak off the peg and headed toward the tower castle where they had agreed to meet in the bailey.
Magnus loped at her side. It would be the first time she had taken him to the castle but her errand today was not secret so there was no reason to leave him behind.
As she traveled down Coppergate, she bid good day to the merchants she knew.
Feigr was busy at his forge when she stopped to greet him. Magnus waited patiently by her side.
“Making new swords?” she inquired. Though that was his primary business, he also made fine knives and an occasional seax.
“’Tis an axe blade I forge today for one of the men who prefers that weapon. How is Inga?”
“She fares well. The twins love her, you know.”
His face took on a wistful look as if he were seeing something far away. “Like her mother she is. Good with children. I am glad she is with you.”
“Do not worry about her, Feigr.”
“I am in your debt for the kindness you have shown her.”
“Inga is my friend. I could not do otherwise.”
She bid him goodbye but did not mention her destination. He would not have approved. And she did not ask him for whom he forged the new weapon. She did not want to know.
Quickening her pace, she passed the other shops. Sigga would be at the market and Inga with the twins, but she did not want to be away too long.
Helise would welcome her, but given the recent hostilities the Normans would be on their guard for anyone from York entering either of the castles.