Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
For some reason he could not explain, instead of returning to his chamber after the evening meal, Geoff lingered to observe the knights and men-at-arms gathered in the hall. Leaning against the rear wall, not far from his chamber, he crossed his arms over his chest, and watched the men dicing, drinking and telling stories of their encounters with the rebels that day.
They were a rough lot, some having newly joined William’s army, among them Flemish mercenaries who came for the plunder and the freedom to pillage. They were the most dangerous of William’s men for they cared not what destruction they left behind them. Surely they had been the ones responsible for the boys who had been killed.
A cloaked figure moved in and out of the shadows, drawing Geoff’s attention. Though the hood mostly covered her head, he could see it was a woman. By her apparel, a serving wench, but she carried herself like a lady. As he studied her more carefully, there was something familiar about her. It was the way she walked with confidence, her head up, her shoulders back. The young widow… Emma ! The only thing missing was the hound. Why had she come to the castle where so much danger threatened a woman alone?
In the flickering light of the torches, she gazed anxiously around the hall, searching the faces of the men as if looking for someone. Suddenly her eyes fixed upon one of the mercenaries and she froze. Like the Valkyrie he had first imagined her, she glared at the knight as her hand moved slowly beneath her cloak to her hip. In the same manner she had reached for her knife that morning when he’d come upon her in the clearing.
Geoff knew the mercenary she was staring at, a man he heartily disliked, a braggart whose mouth was never silent. Sir Eude de Fourneaux.
It took him but a moment to realize her intent.
Striding toward her, Geoff grabbed her arm beneath her cloak. Their eyes met and at once he discerned her intent. “Do not, lady. Else he would see you dead.”
“I did not come for him, though I would kill him if I could. I came to seek your help if your offer is still good.”
Before he could assure her it was, the man whom she had stalked focused his attention on them.
“What vision is this, Sir Geoffroi? We could happily use another wench this night. One to sheathe my most worthy sword.” Eude’s words were slurred with the drink he had consumed, but his meaning was clear enough.
Eude’s friends laughed and shouted for Geoff to remove Emma’s cloak. “Let us see the prize you have there!”
Without taking his eyes from Emma, Geoff said, “I saw her first, Eude.”
“You could share,” came the lazy retort.
In her eyes, Geoff saw both fear and determination. She would not shy from murder, but with the knights’ attention drawn to her, she knew she was in grievous danger. Conversations broke off as men at the tables paused to observe the confrontation.
Into the silence, he said in a commanding voice, “I never share.”
The mercenary rose, a few of his companions with him. Geoff reached for Emma, pulling her against his chest. She was slender and her resistance fleeting against his knight’s strength. “If you would be spared their lust, do not fight me,” he whispered.
He claimed her mouth as an act of possession, a demonstration to the assembled knights that she was his. But when their lips touched, it was he who was claimed. Her mouth was soft and inviting, the taste of her as sweet as summer wine. The attraction he had felt for her before now surged in his veins. Urging her lips open, his tongue found the warmth within. She responded. In the honey of her kiss, his rising passion was echoed in his loins. Alone in their own world, the kiss continued.
Hearing the jeers behind him, he broke the embrace, though it cost him to do so. Breathing heavily, he stared into her beautiful blue-green eyes.
She shifted her passion-filled gaze to the floor.
Turning to the knights, who had slowed their approach, he announced, “As you see, the lady is mine, I have claimed her.”
“Leave off, Eude,” urged one of the man’s friends. “’Tis Sir Geoffroi you challenge, a favorite of the king. He is the right arm of the Red Wolf and his sword is just as deadly.”
At his words, Eude and his companions lost interest in their mission and returned to their table.
“There are plenty of wenches in the city,” Eude blustered.
At Geoff’s side, Emma stiffened.
He waited until he was certain the other knights would not pursue them, then escorted her to his chamber, his arm tight around her shoulder.
Once inside his chamber, he dropped his arm, walked to the table near the brazier and poured her a goblet of wine. “Here,” he said, handing it to her.
With unsteady hands, she took it and drank, her chest rising and falling with apparent emotion. She had been more nervous than he had initially thought. Mayhap more afraid. Or was she also moved by the kiss they had shared?
No matter the cause, her presence worried him. Such a beautiful woman should not be out alone, much less in a castle full of men with too few whores to share. He took in her clothing, that of a servant and ill fitting. “What could you have been thinking to come to the castle? And how did you gain admittance?”
Holding the goblet between her hands, she stepped to the brazier as if seeking its heat. “I came as a servant. The guards gave me a bit of trouble but apparently the need for serving wenches is great. I answered their questions and they admitted me.”
His brows drew together at the ridiculous notion. “No one would see you as a servant, even in those clothes.”
“Your guards are not so discerning as you,” she said dismissively. “And mayhap not so sober.”
“Where is that great beast that usually follows at your heels?”
“I left him at home. I feared he might be speared by one of your French swords.”
“And so he might have been. As might you.” It concerned him that she had been so foolish. “Why did you come? ”
“To seek your help in saving the life of a man taken prisoner. But when I saw the knight called Eude, I could think of nothing else but to kill him for what he has done.” When he raised his brows, she explained, “He raped my friend, Inga, the daughter of Feigr, the sword-maker. When her father tried to protect her, Eude’s companions beat him and took him prisoner. I assumed they brought him here. I would free him and see Eude dead.”
“And your life would be lost in the process had you been successful with the mercenary.”
“My anger has cooled but only just,” she said, setting down the goblet and turning to pace. “The man deserves to die!”
“Aye, likely he does. I would not put rape past him. I like him not.”
She paused in her pacing to gaze at him. “Inga was young, untouched,” she explained, her distress showing on her face. “Feigr’s only child and much loved.”
“What would you have me do?”
Her beautiful, tear-filled eyes fixed on him, desperation in their depths. “Find Feigr, save him, protect him, as I will now protect Inga.”
Seeing her tears, he could deny her nothing. “All right. But you must stay here until I locate him.”
“My family will worry. Ottar is still recovering and now I have Inga to see to.”
“I will send my squire to tell them you are safe. Latch the door after I leave. When I return, listen for three knocks. I myself will take you home.”
He went first to Mathieu to dispatch him to Emma’s house, to tell her servants she was safe. Once that was done, he went looking for the sword-maker. He found him with the other prisoners who had been taken that day, now sequestered in a building in the outer bailey.
***
Emma paced in Sir Geoffroi’s small chamber, keenly aware she was confined inside the Norman castle where the French knights gathered like wasps around a hive.
The smell of metal, leather and horses filled the room, a masculine smell she recognized as belonging to the blond knight from when he had carried her home from the clearing earlier in the day. The candles set about the chamber made it seem somehow intimate and, because it was the abode of a Norman knight, more threatening. Could she trust him to find Feigr and bring him to safety? Did she have a choice? She could not very well leave on her own now that the creature Eude knew she was here. To approach him had been a mistake. She would not have succeeded in killing him. Sir Geoffroi was right to scold her. Surely if she had killed Eude, the other knights would have killed her. But the mad impulse had seized her when she recognized the monster who had raped her friend.
She touched her fingers to her lips, still swollen with Sir Geoffroi’s kiss. Since his reason for kissing her had been to protect her, she did not resent it. But she had not expected to like it so well. His mouth had been gentle on hers and his tongue… Oh God . The memory of his seductive tongue exploring her mouth made her tremble even now. Had it only been for show? Mayhap he had kissed many women. The thought did not please her.
When he had taken her into his arms, she had felt protected, not threatened. It disturbed her that she should find a Norman so desirable. She did not like that her reaction to him seemed to steal away the hatred that gave her the strength to fight. She did not like the way her body still craved his touch.
Her pacing stopped. Would he help her to take vengeance on the one called Sir Eude? She suspected the answer was no. But if she could leave with Feigr, if he were still alive, then she would have accomplished her purpose in coming. The rest she could see to another time.
Some minutes later, three knocks sounded at the door. She unlatched it and pulled it open.
Sir Geoffroi strode into the chamber.
Closing the door behind him, she asked, “Where is Feigr?”
“You did not expect me to bring a rebel prisoner to the hall where the king himself dines?”
“No, I suppose not,” she said, disappointed. “But did you find him?”
“Yea. Alain is guarding him now. We will collect him when we leave the tower. He is too weak to ride alone.”
She inhaled sharply. “Will he live?”
“I cannot say what injuries lie beneath his skin. He has been badly beaten and his body is all cuts and scrapes. He might have a broken arm as well, for he cradles it close to his chest. I have asked the king’s physic to see what can be done. ”
“Poor Feigr. He was only trying to protect his daughter. Inga will be despondent.”
“William does not countenance rape but even he cannot control so many knights and men-at-arms. Some are mercenaries with no care for anything save what they can gain. ’Tis a bad time to try to protect a young woman in York.”
She could tell by his expression he included her in his statement. As she considered what had happened after the battle the full scope of the truth came to her. Inga was likely not the only woman raped by the Normans this day. She shuddered. “When do we leave?”
“Now if you like, but we may have to wait for the physic to complete his work.”
She drew her cloak around her, eager to leave and wanting to assure herself Feigr would be well.
“Keep your hood pulled over your head, stay close to me and do not look at the men.”
Emma was only too happy to oblige. She had seen the lust in the knights’ eyes when they had discovered her in the hall. Never did she want to draw their leers again. They were like the hungry wolves that hid in the forest.
When they reached the part of the bailey where prisoners were housed, the knight with the scarred face, the one called Sir Alain, waited for them with horses. Torches illuminated the bailey and the face of the huge knight. He no longer appeared so formidable to her, his scar now merely part of a familiar face.
“The physic is near finished,” he informed Sir Geoffroi. “The arm was broken, but not the flesh. The physic has set the bone.”
With anxious eyes, Emma looked up at the huge knight. “What does the healer say about Feigr? Will he recover?”
“If it is God’s will, lady. Only time will reveal the outcome.” His voice was surprisingly kind. “Some of the sword-maker’s wounds are inside, but the physic was encouraging. You should know he does not usually see prisoners, but Sir Geoffroi asked on your behalf and, given the circumstances, he did not refuse.”
Emma turned her gaze to the blond knight. “You have come to my aid once again. Why, I cannot imagine.”
“Can you not?” he whispered. His blue eyes teased but she detected a seriousness there that belied the laughter in his eyes .
“If your interest is in me, sir knight, it is misplaced.”
He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, sending a shiver coursing through her, making her breasts tingle. “We will see, my lady.”
She turned her eyes from his intense regard and pulled back her hand. “No matter, I am in your debt once again. Thank you.”
“I will always come to your aid,” he said.
The connection with the French knight embarrassed her. She had sought his help so she could hardly fail to thank him, but there was more between them than his kindness and her gratitude. There was that kiss she could not forget and the unmistakable attraction that grew with his nearness. She was more conscious of his presence than other men.
She waited until the Norman physic was done and the knights had collected Feigr. They rode across the bridge over the castle’s moat, she in front of Sir Geoffroi on his chestnut stallion and Feigr with Sir Alain on his huge gray horse. Mathieu, the squire, had returned from his messenger duty to ride with them.
Sir Geoffroi’s mailed chest was hard at her back and his powerful arms braced her as he held the reins of his horse. His head was so close to hers she could feel his breath on her temple. She had not been this close to a man, save her father, since her husband, Halden. Remembering Sir Geoffroi’s kiss, her heart quickened its pace. Halden had loved her but had not kissed her like that.
A moan from Feigr drew her attention to where he slumped against the chest of the huge knight. The sword-maker’s eyes were closed and his bandaged arm rested in a sling across his chest. Only the arm of the knight kept Inga’s father from falling.
Before they had left the castle, she had explained to Feigr that Sir Geoffroi and his companions had aided her and were taking him to her home. But his eyes had been glazed from the pain-dulling potion the physic had given him and she could not be certain he had understood her words.
She was grateful for the blond knight’s help. Whether his motives were pure she did not question. For now, she needed him and so did Feigr. She would take him at his word and hope he did not betray her.
As they rode through the city, an eerie silence pervaded the town. The only sound was that from the horses crushing snow and ice beneath their hooves. Above them the stars appeared like sparkling jewels scattered over a midnight blue cloth. In its center was a pale half-moon.
There were no townspeople on the streets, no laughter from taverns, no light from cottages. The men of York who had not been killed had escaped into the woods or were in hiding, their homes closed to all. She did not dare think of the women.
Now that the tension she had held inside for so long had subsided, exhaustion overtook her. The wind blowing off the ice made her shiver despite Sigga’s cloak. Sir Geoffroi must have felt it for he drew her back against his chest and wrapped the edges of his cloak tightly around her. It was a caring gesture, one she had not expected from the enemy. She gave in to her desire to be sheltered in his arms and rested her head on his shoulder. What makes him so different than the others?
The street was dark when they arrived at her home. No light came from behind the window coverings of her neighbors’ dwellings.
Artur admitted them and Magnus came to nuzzle her hand. “Sorry, old boy, but it was safer for you here.”
Standing next to her husband, Sigga raised her brows. “Safer for him mayhap, but we were worried when we saw you had left the hound behind. The squire, Mathieu, brought us word you were well and with his master.”
“I could not take Magnus where I was going,” she said, as Sir Geoffroi followed her inside.
Sigga looked from Sir Geoffroi to Emma and raised her brows with what Emma knew to be a fellow woman’s insight. Sigga and Artur might be servants but they were her family, too.
Sir Alain carried Feigr into the house. She was impressed with the huge knight’s strength for Feigr was not a small man. Her two servants raised their candles high and stared wide-eyed as Sir Alain passed them.
Emma directed him up the stairs and to the chamber her father used. The knight laid the sword-maker on the bed and stood back.
Artur and Sigga then went to work, first lighting candles and stirring the fire in the brazier, then stripping the soiled and bloodstained clothes from Feigr, carefully lifting his bandaged arm. He moaned when they touched it.
“His arm was broken,” she said to Artur, “but Sir Geoffroi asked the physic at the castle to tend him. He set the bone and gave Feigr a sleeping potion.”
Magnus strolled into the room and sat at her side, his dark eyes watching the servants.
Neither of the Norman knights commented on the few things her father had left behind in the room he usually occupied, but they had to wonder at the extra shield, a pair of boots and a few pieces of his gold jewelry he had left on the shelf. The light from the candles made the gold glisten. Of course, there were more of his things they could not see in the chest at the foot of the bed.
Emma turned to Sir Geoffroi. “I must see how Inga fares. You need not stay.” She knew her servants would be uncomfortable with the Normans in their home. Emma was not at ease with their presence either, though she was coming to realize Sir Geoffroi presented no threat.
“I will remain until I am assured all is well,” he remarked and sent his fellow knight, Sir Alain, to wait below with the squire.
Emma slowly walked to her chamber and opened the door, keenly aware Sir Geoffroi followed close behind her. A warm light from the coals in the brazier allowed her to see Inga still slept. She paused for a moment and then closed the door.
“When she wakes,” she said to Sir Geoffroi, “it will comfort her to know her father is near and his wounds have been tended. Once again, I am in your debt. You have carried those I love to safety.”
“As I told you, my lady, you may call upon me anytime.”
In the dim light of the passage, his blue eyes appeared like pools of dark water, his lips curved in a seductive smile. Against her will, she was drawn to him, attracted to his courage and his kindness, no matter he was a Norman. When he smiled, as he did now, his chiseled jaw softened, along with the look in his eyes. Underneath his smile, she sensed there lay a man of unfailing strength and an iron resolve.
Her husband, Halden, had been a free-spirited adventurer who loved the sea. Sir Geoffroi was a steady river whose waters ran deep.
“I hope I will not need to ask you for aid in future,” she told him. Pulling her thoughts away from his eyes and his lips, she walked toward the twins’ chamber. Weariness settled into her bones, but she had to look in on them before she retired.
“Do you know if the sword-maker was among those fighting today?” he asked.
“I doubt it. Feigr may be a supplier of swords but as far as I know, he has yet to raise one against anyone, let alone a French knight. He is an artist, devoted to his craft and to his daughter. But after what happened to Inga, he may have a new use for his swords.” Even to her own ears the words sounded like an accusation. She was frustrated she had not been able to sink her blade into the flesh of the man responsible.
The knight was silent for a moment, then his gaze met hers. “I am sorry for what happened to your friend. Any of the Red Wolf’s knights would feel the same, but then Talisand is a very different place.”
“Talisand?” She could not recall hearing the name before.
“My home, two days’ ride west of here. ’Tis a very pleasant shire where both English and Normans live together in peace.”
“I cannot imagine it.”
“Given the violence you have witnessed, I can well understand.”
Reaching the twins’ chamber, she silently opened the door and peeked in, Sir Geoffroi looking over her shoulder. Magnus, who had followed them, padded in and sniffed at the children. Both slept, the white bandage around Ottar’s head clearly visible in the light of the glowing coals in the brazier. She tiptoed into the room and kissed each child. Retreating quietly to the open door where the knight stood, she waited for Magnus to join her and then pulled the door closed.
Sir Geoffroi scratched Magnus’ ears in a gesture that was oddly reminiscent of her father’s affection for the hound.
“’Tis good the children sleep,” she whispered.
“How is the lad?”
“He seems to be well. I have chided him for following after the men. I do not think he will be so foolish again. Not after he endured his sister’s tears. They are twins, you know.”
“Nay, I did not know but I did observe they were about the same age.”
The light in the narrow space in which they stood was dim and the knight was very close, his shoulders nearly spanning the corridor. When he dropped his gaze to her lips, without thinking she opened her mouth to expel a breath. Heat flowed between them. He wanted to kiss her, she could feel it. For a long moment, neither said a word.
“You are very beautiful, Emma. Be careful.” Then he clenched his jaw and turned, walking toward the stairs. She was amazed when Magnus followed him.
She did not move at first, but watched him walk away and felt a pain in her heart she had not felt in years. A remembered parting. The memory of saying goodbye to Halden the last day she would ever see him as he blithely stepped onto his ship and sailed away. Would she see Sir Geoffroi again? Did she want to? He was a Norman, after all, one who had killed some of her countrymen this very day. Yet he was an enemy who had shown her kindness. No other man had caused her to want again something she had once lost.
She and Halden had been young when they came to realize their love for each other. They had wanted to marry then, but her father had bid them wait. And they had. They were wed but a year when Halden died. A trader whose other loves were his ships and the sea, it had been those other loves that had taken him from her. When his ship was lost in a storm, she had been so distraught, she lost their babe she had only recently become aware was growing within her. Halden was her only love and she had thought not to wed again. With Ottar and Finna, she believed her life full. Now she had to wonder.
She followed the knight to the stairs. As she had once missed Halden, she would miss Sir Geoffroi and the sound of his knight’s spurs in her home. The realization was troubling. She hardly knew him.
Suddenly curious to know what his king would do in York, she asked, “What will happen now?”
He paused and looked over his shoulder. “William would have another castle.”
A sigh of frustration escaped her lips. She hated the wooden edifice that stood above the river at the south end of the city, a symbol of the hated Norman king. “A castle the people of York will no doubt be forced to build.”
He ignored her statement and paused at the top of the stairs. “Stay away from town for the next few days, Emma. William’s army will be seeking revenge for the death of FitzRichard and until they are gone, no woman will be safe.”
She thought of her friend lying hurt and defiled in the bed where she herself would sleep this night. “Your advice is well-taken.”
“In war, not many innocents are spared,” he said with a glance in her direction as he descended the stairs to where his men waited, the sound of his spurs on the steps ringing in her ears.
She watched them leave, wondering if she would see the blond knight again.
The Normans had just departed when a knock sounded. She unlatched the door, thinking it might be Sir Geoffroi returned but, instead, her father suddenly loomed before her, looking exasperated.
He crossed the threshold with a long stride. “I thought they would never leave! I saw their horses and have been huddling in the freezing cold, waiting. Why were the French knights here? Did they threaten you?”
She kissed her father on the cheek. “Nay, they did not. ’Tis late and you look tired.” Letting her eyes rove over his tunic, stained with Norman blood, she added, “You will want to wash. Why not do that while I fetch you some mead and find you somewhere to sleep. Feigr is in your bed. Then I will tell you what has happened. Tomorrow you must tell me what you have seen. I’ve been worried.”
***
“Did you notice the things scattered about the chamber where I laid the sword-maker?” asked Alain when they had returned to the castle. Geoff had called for wine that he, Alain and Mathieu now shared.
The hall was nearly vacant, only a few knights and men-at-arms lingered over their wine, having finished their evening meal. The celebration of the day’s victory was largely over.
Geoff turned his goblet in his hands, the rich ruby color of the wine reminding him of the tunic she had worn.
“Yea, I saw them. ’Twould appear the servant, Artur, is not the only man living there.”
“Has the woman mentioned a husband?” Alain asked.
Geoff took a drink of his wine and set down his goblet, his gaze meeting Alain’s. “She told me she is three years widowed. But now I am forced to consider she harbors a man in her home, mayhap one of the rebels.”
“A lover?” questioned Alain.
Geoff felt a scowl building on his face.
“Or a brother,” suggested Mathieu. “He occupies a separate bedchamber, does he not?”
A brother! Geoff remembered what he’d seen in the room and his frown returned. Emma now shared a bed with Inga, mayhap to bring the girl comfort. “Whoever he is, he is a large man.”
“How do you know that?” asked Alain.
“The shoes he left behind were as long as mine.”
“What do you know of her?” asked Alain.
“In truth,” admitted Geoff, “very little. By her appearance, I would judge she is in some part Danish. Emma of Normandy, you will recall, married the Dane who became King of England.”
“Aye,” said Alain. “And this Emma must be a woman of some wealth to have such a fine home. ’Tis twice the size of any cottage and with many bedchambers.”
“And there is a stable, but ’tis not large,” added Mathieu.
“She is also a caring sort,” observed Geoff. “The children who live with her are not hers. She has obviously taken them in. And the girl, Inga, and the sword-maker are now under her care as well. ’Tis a house of the recovering and she the one who graciously cares for them out of her charity. Not many would help strangers with such open hands.”
“The lad I carried back from the forest, is he one of the children?” asked Alain.
Geoff pictured in his mind Ottar and his twin. “Yea, and you have yet to see his sister. She is a shy little angel.”
“Would William be angry if he knew we had helped the lady?” asked Mathieu.
“Aye, if she houses a rebel,” said Geoff. And if the king knew his knight would willingly help her no matter she did.
***
“What of the uprising, Father?” Emma sat on a stool at his feet by the hearth fire, her chin resting on her upturned hands, her elbows on her knees. They had just finished breaking their fast. Finna was with her brother, who was still recovering, and Inga was with Feigr. They had not been able to speak over the meal, but now they were alone and Emma was eager to hear his version of the events of the day before. “Tell me what happened.”
He sat back, running his hand through his long hair, bleached by the sun. He wore a fresh tunic of dark green, belted with fine leather to which was affixed his seax, a longer one than her own. In his hand was a goblet of mead.
“We were not ready,” he said with a sigh. “The retreat that followed the first encounter was disorderly, an embarrassment. Many were killed.” He took a drink of the honey wine.
She reached out a hand and touched his arm. “I am saddened for their families.” She remembered the bodies she had seen in the clearing and shuddered. Mayhap some who were killed in the fighting had been those she knew. “Have we lost so soon?”
“Nay, Daughter, ’tis not over.” He took another drink .
“What will you do?”
“Today Cospatric and I leave on my ship, anchored in the Humber, for King Swein’s court. We will urge him to send the ships we asked for. Edgar has agreed to join us. From there, we will go to Scotland to see King Malcolm and gather new recruits to our cause.”
“So there will be more trouble in York.” She spoke with mixed feelings, knowing more battles would mean more dead, yet wanting desperately to see her people shake off the Normans, for they had all been made serfs with the coming of the Conqueror.
“If we are to gain our freedom, Daughter, how can it be otherwise?”
Seeing his goblet was empty, she got up and poured him some more. “I suppose you are right,” Emma admitted, worried for him and the people she cared for. “How long will you be gone?” She sat again on the stool.
He fingered his beard. “I cannot say. Mayhap for the summer. Look for me when the grain grows ripe.”
Her spirits fell. “So long?”
“It will require time to sail to Denmark and then to Scotland. And more time to bring order to our purpose. We cannot risk another defeat. We must draw our allies to us.”
“You mean the Danes?” Though he had been an English high sheriff and a wealthy thegn, Emma knew they traced their lineage to the Danish kings so it was not surprising her father would seek his allies among them.
“Yea, the Danes. We must have King Swein’s ships and men. And there will be others who will join us. Even now Edgar prepares messages he will send all over England, urging rebellion.” At her concerned look, he hastily added, “The Danes will come, Emma. You will see. Swein believes he was promised the throne of England. York was once the capital of the Danish lands. He will not give that up so easily.”
Her gaze drifted to the flames in the hearth. “Kings and their promises! Too easily given, too easily withdrawn. It seems Edward the Confessor promised many the throne of England, including the Norman Bastard who vexes York. At least he claims it was promised to him.”
“Aye, well there are many opinions on that. Besides, York is special to the Danes. The other Yorkshire thegns and I are fortifying sites on the Humber to be ready to receive them.”
His face exuded confidence now, no longer was he the discouraged man he had been for some time .
“Father, how much more can the people endure?” She was thinking of Feigr and Inga when she asked, but also of Ottar’s young body on the snow-covered ground and the other dead she had seen. “So many have been wounded, so many gone from this life.”
“They will have to endure more if we are to have our freedom. The Normans have ravaged York, Emma. Even the Minster has been made the object of scorn for they violated sanctuary to take some of our men. A church, by God! You told me yourself what Inga and her father have suffered. I have heard worse tales of the Normans’ brutality. We cannot allow such outrage to continue.”
She dropped her gaze in resignation. He was right, she knew it.
“Yesterday,” her father continued, “after the Normans defiled the Minster, the archbishop still urged us to submit. It was a pathetic and wasted entreaty. None of the men who were there would agree. Ask Artur. He was among them.”
“I believe you, given what I have seen… Ottar, Inga and Feigr.” How could they submit to those who would hurt innocents?
“They will be avenged, Daughter. Do not lose hope.”
Emma rose. “If you must leave today, at least I can see you have clean clothes and a hearty meal to take with you.”