Chapter 14 #2
As had been his plan, sometime later they joined the rest of the men on Coppergate. Other than a few villeins who had taken shelter in some of the homes, they found nothing of note. There were no warriors and no rebels.
“You did not kill the people you found, did you?” he asked the others.
“Nay,” replied one of the knights. “Done enough killing of serfs.”
“Bien. I too would have spared them. Now for the woods.”
To better enable them to cover the surrounding countryside, Geoff divided the twelve men into two groups and chose for himself the woods to the west of the city.
“We will meet back at the castle before the evening meal.”
The one appointed to lead the other group waved as his group of six rode off toward the east.
Geoff turned Athos toward the woods.
* * *
“Her fever still rages,” Sigga informed the worried Martha, standing at the entrance to the chamber where Emma lay at the back of the cave.
Candles lit the dark space but added little warmth.
Magnus lay close to the pallet his head on his paws.
“This wet cloth does little to cool her even with the chill in the air.” She reached out to bathe her mistress’ face once again, despairing of hope.
As soon as she laid the cloth on Emma’s forehead, it became hot to the touch.
“She is out of her mind most of the time. Once she awakened but she was so confused I do not think she recognized me. She takes no nourishment. Martha, I am scared.”
“At least she no longer spews up her stomach,” encouraged Martha.
“That is because her stomach is empty, poor mistress. I made her some ginger tea but even that she would not touch.” Looking up at the villein who had come to inquire after Emma, Sigga chided, “You should not be here, Martha. You cannot become ill; Inga will need you for the babe. ’Twill be here any day.
If you were to come down with the sickness that has befallen our mistress, it would leave only me and I do not have your skills. ”
Martha hesitated, her worried gaze fixed on Emma. “Ye think we might lose her?”
“I refuse to consider it. She will recover. She must.”
Three days had passed since Emma had fallen ill.
Sigga was gravely worried. She had friends who had died of such fever.
Emma had lost weight for lack of food. And she was weak.
They had moved her to a chamber deep in the cave to isolate her from the children and Inga.
Only Sigga had spent any time inside the chamber where Emma lay too fevered at times to know where she was.
Emma moaned in her sleep, mumbling, “Geoffroi, Geoffr—”
Sigga dipped the cloth in the bowl of cold water, wrung it out and placed it on Emma’s forehead. “It will be all right, Mistress.” I know you miss him.
“Who is it she calls for?” asked Martha.
“Sir Geoffroi.”
“A… a French knight?” Martha stammered, disbelieving.
After all they had lived through, the question did not surprise Sigga.
“Aye, but one to whom we owe much.” One whom her mistress loved.
Sigga had observed the inner light that had shown from Emma’s face whenever she was with the Norman.
After each of her trips to pick flowers last summer, her eyes had sparkled with some secret knowledge; her face had glowed with happiness.
Sigga had known from the beginning that it was not the flowers that drew Emma to the meadow.
It was the French knight. Sigga was certain the two loved each other.
Sadness overcame her as she thought of the pair.
Her mistress had found love only to lose it.
“You should go, Martha,” Sigga urged the woman.
“All right,” Martha said at last. “I will leave… for Inga’s sake.”
“’Tis best. Will you ask Artur to take Ottar to gather some pine needles and herbs?
Some garlic root, chickweed and St. John’s Wort?
Even in winter they can be found buried under leaves beneath the snow.
Ottar has picked those herbs with me before.
He knows where to find them. I must have them to make a tea for the fever.
She cannot go on like this. If I can get her to take the tea, it may help. ”
“Aye,” said Martha, her brows drawn together as she gazed down at Emma. “I will send Artur and Ottar with the guards. Jack can stay with us.”
What neither acknowledged was that if the Normans found them no man could save them. But they kept to the belief they were well protected. Life was easier that way.
As the villein departed, Sigga lit another candle and set it on the rock ledge to replace the one that had burned to a stub.
Although her mistress’ fever raged, Sigga kept the fur cover ready because when Emma was not burning up, she was shivering with chills.
Remembering the last time, Sigga shuddered.
She could not bear the thought she might lose the mistress she loved.
* * *
The sound of clashing swords rang through the forest startling Geoff. A side-glance at Alain told him his fellow knight was equally bewildered. They were far from the practice yard and, to his knowledge, he and his men were the only ones dispatched to search out rebels around York.
With a shouted, “Follow me!” Geoff spurred his horse into the woods toward the direction of the tumult. Alain, the three other knights and Mathieu followed closely behind.
Geoff emerged from the trees into a snow-dusted clearing.
A scream rent the air. A child’s scream.
Drawing rein, he quickly slipped from his horse and stepped into the bleak space of winter-shrouded ground.
Patches of snow lingered in the shadows under the surrounding trees.
In front of him lay the bodies of two men, bloody upon the ground, Northumbrian rebels by their beards and weapons.
He caught a sudden movement and jerked his head to one side.
Two Norman knights stood, their swords drawn and dripping blood.
Clutched in the hand of one was a tearful, squirming Ottar. Shaking the boy, the knight pressed his sword to Ottar’s neck. The other Norman had a horrified Artur pinned to the ground with a sword pointed at his heart.
“Hold!” Geoff demanded, drawing his sword, his eyes narrowing on the knights.
At his side he heard Alain yank his sword from its scabbard. Behind them the sliding steel of other knights rang in the clearing.
The two Normans paused. They would not have expected their fellow knights to draw swords on them, but Geoff was not in the mood to explain.
“What goes here?” Geoff roared as he stomped toward them.
Ottar whimpered, his young body hanging limp beneath the knight’s grasp. The boy’s eyes darted to Geoff and in them he saw recognition.
“Let the boy and his servant go!” Geoff commanded.
The Norman looked down at Ottar and moved the sword back from his neck but did not release him. “Why should I not kill this rebel spawn when the king has ordered all their deaths?”
The voice of the knight was familiar to Geoff, but since the knight wore a helm, Geoff could not be certain. “Who are you?” he asked in a gruff voice.
With his sword poised once again above Ottar’s throat, the Norman said, “Sir Eude—not that my name is any concern of yours.”
Eude. Geoff had never liked the knight who had raped Inga and now he threatened the boy Emma loved.
His thoughts scattered. If Ottar was here, Emma must be near.
But how had Eude come to be here? The day of the Danes’ attack no Norman had been spared, save for those taken prisoner. And Eude was not one of them.
Before he could pursue his questions, Eude asked, “Which of William’s knights are you?”
“Geoffroi de Tournai.”
Eude fell silent, as if pondering the name. “Ah, Sir Geoffroi. I recall you.”
“How did you survive the Danes’ slaughter, Eude?”
“The rebels are not the only ones who can hide in the woods. Murdac and I escaped into the forest and have only just rejoined William’s army.”
“Then you and your friend are cowards, Eude. For none ran, save you.” Geoff had fought men like this one before, braggarts who were sure of their ability against a lesser foe.
A Northumbrian rebel, ill-trained and ill-equipped, he might easily defeat.
But a Dane’s powerful arm, wielding a deadly axe with skill, Eude would not have wanted to face.
Only a coward would prey on a defenseless girl like Inga.
“Yet you live,” said Eude, his tone sarcastic.
“I was prepared to die but instead I was taken prisoner. My men and I did not run from the field. You are worse than a coward, Eude, for you defile innocents. Did you know that one of York’s maidens now carries your bastard?”
“I care not how many bastards I drop in England. ’Tis the way of the conquered to submit. I doubt she is the only one. As I recall, you had your own York wench, one you refused to share.”
“I would not take a woman against her will,” said Geoff. He felt a twinge of regret for the show he had put on that night, but he had done it to spare Emma the lust of the others. “You are unworthy to be a knight.”
Eude sneered. “Stand aside while we dispatch these rebels.”
Geoff held his stance, his drawn sword speaking loudly.
“Nay you will not slay them and I will not stand aside.” Anger welled in his chest. This knight had brought much dishonor on the king.
Mayhap such a one had even spurred the people of York to rebel.
It was going to give Geoff great satisfaction to finally deal with Eude.
“You would defend our enemies?” Eude asked, incredulous.
“They are not my enemies. They are innocents.”
Even with his helm hiding half his face, Geoff saw Eude’s scowl. “Then you have turned traitor,” he spit out.
Geoff raised his chin, his shoulders squared. “I adhere to the code to which I was sworn—to protect the innocent—while you would defile and slay them. For that, you will meet my sword.”
Eude and his friend, Murdac, turned from their intended victims.