Chapter 10 #3
They argued for some time, but in the end, Malet decided to send the king word they could hold out for a year, as he believed. Geoff thought it unlikely. He would have asked the king for more men at once.
In keeping with his idea, Gilbert was dispatched by FitzOsbern to see to the firing of the homes near the castles.
“You do intend to warn the residents of York who live in those houses?” Geoff asked Fitz.
“For all we know they may succor rebels,” insisted FitzOsbern. The Earl of Hereford’s reputation was that of a harsh overlord, so the suggestion did not surprise Geoff. If it were left up to FitzOsbern, the people would have no warning at all.
“Fitz, there are women and children in those homes,” argued Geoff. “They should at least be allowed to leave with what they can carry.”
“Very well,” FitzOsbern conceded. “We have time yet. You take a group of knights to warn the people in those homes, Sir Geoffroi.” To Gilbert, he said, “We will give them five days to get out before you set the torch.”
Geoff did not relish the task of telling people they were about to lose their homes, but he would see it done. Better he risked his men to warn the citizens of York who were threatened than allow innocents to die in the flames.
* * *
Maerleswein rapped on his daughter’s door, anxious to tell her of all that would take place. Already he tasted victory on his tongue, knowing thousands of Northumbrians would join the Danes when they arrived at the mouth of the Humber.
The door opened and Emma stood there, smiling, but he sensed an underlying tension that spoke of worry. In her eyes he saw something else, mayhap fear.
“Father,” she said, as he entered, “from whence do you come?”
He kissed her on the forehead. “The Humber most directly, where my army assembles. ’Tis where Swein’s ships will meet us and soon, but before that I was in Scotland with Cospatric and Edgar.”
She beckoned him to sit. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“’Tis a warm day. Some ale would be welcome.”
She fetched the drink herself and when she had returned and he sat on the bench, she pulled up the stool she always sat upon.
He took a drink of his ale and wiped his mouth.
“I have heard the Danes are coming,” she said, “plundering their way north.”
“I expect they are; you know they love their plunder, Emma. But how did you learn of this?”
“The Normans know, Father. Their king sent them word.”
“Did you hear this from the Norman knight you spoke of?”
“Yea, he meant to warn me. He knows nothing of you.”
“As I would have it. If they knew you were the daughter of the thegn who once ruled the North for King Harold, and now leads the uprising, they would as soon see you dead.”
“Some of them, mayhap.” She looked down at her hands entwined in her lap.
When he recalled her friendship with the French knight, his forehead creased with concern. He brushed it off, knowing the man would soon be dead. Glancing about the room, he suddenly realized how quiet it was. “Where is your brood, your hound, your servants?”
“Artur took Thyra to the blacksmith to have a loose shoe tightened. Sigga went with him to shop in the market—we want to have as much food on hand as we can—and the twins are in the garden with Inga and Magnus, tending the new plants. Why?”
“’Twould be best if you stayed close to home for the next fortnight.
Thank God the house is far from the center of town.
The Danes and our allies know to stay away from this street but with thousands of men, I cannot guarantee they will abide by their orders.
I will post guards on every side and come to you when I can. ”
A shadow crossed her face.
“Do you worry still?” he asked.
“For you and my family, yes.” Then looking up at him, “And for my friends in the city. Even for the Normans who have shown me kindness.”
“Friends among the Normans?”
“You know the ones I have spoken of… the ones who brought Ottar home, who rescued Feigr and Magnus. I owe them much, Father.”
“No matter, the Normans must go. We would again see an English king in the North.”
Emma sighed and looked away. “I wish they would leave without all the killing.”
“’Twill never happen, Emma. William wants Yorkshire as he wants all of England. To think we can stop him without a fight is to want something that can never be.”
“Aye, I know it well,” she said.
Seeing her sad face, he thought to cheer her. “Cospatric asks after you, Daughter.”
She turned her beautiful eyes on him, the eyes of her mother. But her expression was not one of gladness as he had hoped. “The earl is a nice man,” she said with no great enthusiasm. “Please give him my best.”
“I am certain you will see more of Cospatric once York is again ours. We stopped at his estate at Bamburgh on our way sailing south from Scotland. ’Tis a grand place.”
“Would you like to see the twins?” she asked, changing the subject. “They miss you.”
He heaved his large frame off the bench. “Aye, let me at the little mischief makers.” He would have to speak of Cospatric another time.
* * *
Emma was happy her father was home, at least for a time, but she was restless and unable to gain any peace for her anxiety over the battle that grew ever closer, like a great, roaring beast stalking its prey.
Who would live and who would die? Should she and her little family flee or should she trust her father to guard them? He had many Northumbrians at his command. Surely they would protect her and the children, but what of Sir Geoffroi? And her friend, Helise Malet, and her sons?
When her father suggested they visit the old archbishop together, she leaped at the chance. Mayhap he would have words of wisdom to share.
“Can we go, too?” Ottar asked.
Inga looked up from where she sat on the bench at the end of the garden, the children and hound at her feet. “You and Finna can stay with me, Ottar,” she said, seeing Emma’s shake of her head when the boy wanted to go. “I do not think Emma will take Magnus either.”
“Nay,” said Emma’s father, “the beast stays. We go to the Minster on business. I doubt the archbishop would want the hound sniffing around his sacred relics.”
“You can go with me to Mass, Ottar,” said Finna. “’Tis not as if you never go to the Minster.”
“Oh, all right,” the boy reluctantly agreed. “I would rather hear another tale anyway.”
Emma tousled his hair with her fingers. Then thinking of how young, how vulnerable they still were, she took them into her arms and held them close. “I will be back soon and then we can make some more berry tarts.”
The twins exchanged eager glances and, placated by the promise of tarts, settled down to listen to Inga as she began a tale of a Danish warrior of long ago.
Emma and her father walked to the Minster. They were far enough from the castles where the knights congregated that she felt confident her father was safe from recognition by any, save for his friends.
The sun was bright in the cloudless sky and the day so warm she needed no cloak.
Since they went to see the archbishop, she wore a gown of dark green linen finely woven and a belt of cloth embroidered with golden thread.
Halden had traded for much fine cloth and she had a store of gowns saved for special days and feasts.
People passed them on the streets, going about their business. Some recognized her father and bid him welcome. He was well liked in York.
“’Tis odd to think that these streets, filled with people plying their trades and shopping for their families, will soon have to deal with thousands of Danes,” said Emma.
“The people will see them as coming to their aid. The Northumbrians and the men of York will join the Danes to defeat the Normans. The people will rejoice at the victory the Danes will allow them.”
When they were nearly to the Minster, it occurred to her to ask, “Why do you want to see the archbishop? Do you seek Ealdred’s blessing?”
“Nay, though I would have it if he offers. My purpose in coming is quite different. Cospatric will meet us at the Minster. We want the archbishop to agree to crown Edgar king, if not of England, then at least of Northumbria.”
Emma knew the archbishop well enough that she did not think he would agree. After all, it had been he who had crowned the Norman king three years before. And it had been the archbishop who had warned against further rebellion.
They ascended the steps of the great cathedral and Cospatric pulled away from the shadows to greet them.
“My lady,” he said taking her hand and bowing over her fingers, “I was hoping Maerleswein would persuade you to come.”
She recognized the noble countenance and the handsome face of the Earl of Bamburgh.
She had not seen him since winter but she had long known him.
“Earl Cospatric, how good to see you.” Was that interest she detected in his brown eyes?
There was certainly something new in his gaze.
She believed Cospatric to be a fine man, but she had given her affection to a certain French knight.
Once her heart was given, she would not change.
They strolled into the cathedral. Cospatric’s guards waited at the door.
“Do you share my father’s confidence for the outcome of the uprising?” she asked the earl.
“The outcome is not in doubt, my lady. The Danes sail with their hundreds of ships and, not only them, but others have joined our cause from Poland, Frisia and Saxony, even Lithuania—men-at-arms, ready to fight.”
“I have long wanted the Normans and their castles gone from York,” she said, “but I shudder to think what it may cost us to see it done.”
Before he could answer, the archbishop’s assistant approached. “His Lordship is expecting you. Please follow me.”
Her father raised a brow to Cospatric.
“I made certain he was available to see us,” explained the earl.
The monk led them to a room behind the nave near the great library. He opened the door and bid them enter.
In a carved chair set to one side, the archbishop sat clothed in a fine, white linen tunic belted at the waist. His countenance was drawn and pale. His body slumped against one side of the chair. He did not look well.
Her father introduced Cospatric, though he was known to the archbishop.
When her turn came, Emma greeted him as “My Lord Archbishop” as was her custom, yet he had never insisted anyone call him more than “Father”.
With a frail hand he bade them sit. Then he waited, studying their faces.
“Do you know why we have come?” asked her father.
“I know that Danish ships sail toward York. FitzOsbern has told me.”
“Yea, ’tis true. And soon we will meet Edgar.”
“So, the AEtheling returns from Scotland,” the archbishop said with a sigh. “I do not think it wise.”
“But he is the rightful king of England,” protested Cospatric. “We would have you crown him as such.”
“I once thought to do so,” said the archbishop, sinking deeper into his chair. His face was lined with sorrow. “But no more. I crowned William and now he is king. And king he will remain.”
“Even of the North?” her father asked, his brows drawing together in a frown.
“Yes, even here. The time has come for peace, Maerleswein. Do not fight what you cannot change. It will only lead to many deaths.”
“We must fight,” her father insisted.
“Many rise with us, Good Father,” Cospatric said, his expression hopeful. “Not just the Danes and others from Europe. All over England there are those who want an end to the Normans. People whose lands have been seized, who cannot pay his egregious taxes, people who refuse to become his serfs.”
The archbishop looked troubled as he let out a deep sigh. “I feared it was so.”
A long silence hung in the air. Emma thought the archbishop might fall asleep he appeared so weak, so weary.
At last, her father spoke. “So you will not name Edgar king, even if we are victorious, as we are certain to be?”
The archbishop let out a sorrowful breath. “Nay, I will not.”
The two men rose and she with them. What more could they say? Her father and Cospatric said their goodbyes and turned on their heels to leave, disappointment clear on their faces.
She told them she would join them shortly and remained with Ealdred. She had thought to seek his advice but seeing how frail and pale he was, she did not want to trouble him. “You do not look well, My Lord. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Nay, my daughter,” said the old man, patting her hand with his ancient, bony fingers. “I am old and it is time for me to leave this life for the next. I do not wish to see what will follow this day. But I will pray for you.”
She gave him a small smile before taking her leave. “God bless you, Father, for the good you have done.”
“And you my daughter,” came the feeble reply.
Before she left the cathedral, Emma stopped at the altar and said a prayer for the man who had faithfully served God for so long.