Chapter 10
The crisp edge to the wind Alex encountered as he stepped into the bailey reminded him autumn would soon be upon them. Already the winter wheat and rye had been harvested in the fields beyond the village and his father’s villeins would soon turn to the crops of peas and beans.
The bailey was crowded with villagers who had come to see him and his men off, knowing they might be going to war against the Scots. Jamie and some of the house knights stood near the gate.
He walked to where Azor waited, saddled and ready, his squire holding the reins. The stallion’s intelligent eyes bore an alert expression as he raised his head and pricked his ears toward his master. Alex tightened the girth. “I know you are anxious to leave, boy.”
Azor was not the only impatient one. Alex, too, wanted the business with the Scots behind him and he hoped if William Rufus’ dealings with Malcolm were successful, the king would be in a mood to grant him his desire.
Alex and Merewyn had said their goodbyes the night before, the last moments still clear in his mind.
“I know you must go,” she had said with stiff resolve. “ ’Tis your duty.” But the tears she fought to hide had spoken more loudly.
Kissing her forehead, he had assured her he would return.
He had not told her of his intention to speak to the king.
He had plans, too, if William Rufus did not agree to the match, but he would not have her worry over them now.
He did not like to think he might not return but every warrior had to consider the possibility.
The letter he had left for his parents, hidden in his chamber, would be discovered if he died and Merewyn would be provided for with the accord due her.
Azor snorted, bringing Alex’s attention back to his stallion. He accepted the reins from his squire, who went about securing Alex’s shield and helm to the saddle.
Rory rode up beaming his pleasure. “See what your lady mother has given me!”
Alex tilted his head back to see the long, narrow banner affixed to a wooden pole Rory carried.
Stretched the length of the crimson silk was a rampant black wolf, its bright red tongue thrust out from its open jaws.
Alex smiled. His father had seen to this.
“My mother might have made it but this is a gift from my father and, with it, he gives me his blessing.”
“Aye, your mother said as much.” The wind blew Rory’s red hair across his forehead. “And, if you are willing, I would be your bannerman, as Sir Alain carries the banner for the Red Wolf. What say you?”
“So be it! I can think of no better knight to have at my side or at my back.”
Maugris ambled up to Alex and tipped his silver head back to take in the tall banner. “Ah the wolf rampant rises,” he said in his mysterious way of speaking. “Soon ’twill fly above the red hart. I have seen it.”
Alex and Rory stared at the wise one, who promptly turned and meandered away.
“I do wonder if Maugris knows the meaning of his visions,” said Alex.
“ ’Tis that prophecy again,” said Rory, watching the old seer disappear into the crowd.
“Aye, and I know no more now than the last time he spoke of it, save a wolf rampant flies on my banner.”
“Whenever he speaks like that,” said Rory, “it brings up bumps on my skin. ’Tis eerie the way he sees things.”
“Aye.” But Alex had no more time to think on it. His men were mounting their horses. “If we are to arrive in Durham before the king, we had best be going. ’Tis at least two days’ ride even with favorable weather.”
Alex slipped his foot in the stirrup, launched himself into the saddle and walked the black stallion to the head of the column. Rory, holding the banner in the leather sheath affixed to his saddle, rode behind him. Alex’s squire, leading the destrier, rode with the other men.
Beneath him, Azor was restless, but Alex could not leave until he bid his parents goodbye and glimpsed the face of the woman he would miss the most.
His parents stood together at the door of the hall, along with his friends’ fathers, Sir Geoffroi and Sir Maurin and their wives, Lady Emma and the redheaded Cassie.
Jamie had come from the gate to stand next to Lora.
As captain of the house knights, however reluctant he was to remain behind, his priority was to guard the demesne.
Alex raised his hand to acknowledge his parents.
Not far away, Merewyn stood in the shadows of the manor, her cheeks glistening with tears. It tore at him to see her so. He wanted with all his heart to call her to him for a last kiss, but he could not allow the others to think she was more than a friend. Not for her sake. Not yet.
With his shouted command, the score of men followed him out the gate.
* * *
Merewyn hastily looked down at her feet, brushing away the tears, unwilling for any to see the pain she kept hidden in her heart.
When she looked up, Alex was already through the palisade gate.
Would she ever see him again? She vowed to remember always the way he sat so erect upon his great stallion, his long raven hair flowing over his mail-clad shoulders and the long sword sheathed at his hip.
There was no banter, no teasing, with his men this time, only the somber faces of knights going to war, determined to face the king’s enemies without fear.
Behind Alex, Rory carried proudly the new banner, proclaiming to all the Black Wolf now rode in his own right. No longer merely the son of a legend, Alex was becoming a legend himself.
She choked back the tears.
Every step he took away from Talisand was a step away from her.
How long might he be gone? Would it be months, as Jamie expected? Would he survive the coming battle? In that instant, cold fear lashed at her insides. Losing him to death would be far worse than losing him to a wife chosen by the king. At least with the latter, he would still live.
He had to survive. A legend could not die before his time.
Comforted with the thought, her mind raced to what would happen when the fight with the Scots was over.
Would the king Alex so loyally served betroth him to Lady Adèle?
The Norman woman had been so sure she would wed Alex.
Mayhap it would be so. Merewyn could not bear to see again the smug smile on the woman’s face were that to happen.
Nay, she must be gone before that day arrived.
She turned and slipped into the manor to change her clothes.
In her chamber, she donned the archer’s tunic, hosen and leather jerkin that cloaked her femininity.
Her bow spoke a word of rebuke for her past sins.
She ignored it. Picking up the bow and quiver, she set her course for the stables.
This time, she would practice her shooting with Ceinder.
As she would in her new home—in Wales.
* * *
Night was falling as Alex stared into the fire his squire had built and thought of Merewyn’s tears. Once this campaign was over, he vowed never to see Merewyn cry again. He would fill her life with laughter and her belly with their sons and daughters.
Above him the sky was as dark as his mood. The night air was cold, making the fire welcome. He held out his palms to warm them in the heat of the flames. Thus far, they had been spared rain, for which he was grateful. Rain made a knight’s travel miserable.
He and his friends had caught three hares now roasting on a spit stretched over the fire between two forked branches thrust into the ground. His stomach rumbled at the smell of the meat. “Are the men settled in?” he asked Rory who sank onto the log beside him.
“Aye, and cooking their own suppers. Your squire and mine are seeing to the horses.”
Guy approached with a leather flask he thrust at Alex.
“Here, warm your bones with some of Normandy’s wine.
” Alex accepted it gratefully and took a drink before passing it to Rory.
The red wine was welcome after a hard day of guiding his men across vast open spaces, then picking his way through rocky outcroppings and sparse vegetation.
“Tomorrow should see us in Durham,” he told his companions, “well before the king is expected to arrive.”
“ ’Tis best we arrive afore him,” said Rory. “William waits for no man.”
* * *
Alex held his fist in the air to halt his men as they emerged from the woods a short distance from Durham. The countryside spread out before him, golden fields dotted with scattered woodlands. But that was not what had sent a chill crawling up his spine.
“What is it, Alex?” asked Rory coming alongside him on his right at the same time Guy appeared on his left.
“Something is amiss,” he said. “See the fields of ripe flax in the distance?”
“Aye, what of it?” asked Guy.
“They lie half-harvested yet there are no villeins, no carts nor any cattle to be seen. ’Tis as if the whole city has drawn into itself, hiding behind Durham’s walls.”
“Could word have reached them of William’s army marching north?” asked Rory.
“Possibly,” Alex said, considering what might have happened. “Or, it could be the Scots frightened the people into abandoning their fields and hiding their cattle.”
“I was always taught the Northumbrians like neither the Scots nor the Normans,” said Guy.
“Your mother, Lady Emma, would know,” Alex said, casting a glance at the younger knight. “In York, she saw the worst of the Conqueror’s wrath and after, Malcolm was known to raid even before this.”
“Aye,” said Rory, “we will find no welcome here.”
Turning Azor, Alex faced his other men and gestured to the woods.
“We will camp here for the night. Be vigilant on your watches for we do not know who yet roams the woods or if all the Scots have departed.” He then made assignments as to who would hunt and forage and who would take the first watch.
The squires would gather wood and build the fires.
Alex reserved for himself the work of spying out the land to see what might be learned.