Chapter 18
Throughout the following day, a constant trickle of men sought the safety of Radulf’s army.
Some of them came alone and expressed a desire to fight with the husband of Lady Wilfreda, others brought their families and set up camp, huddling dry-eyed and weary beneath the azure banner of the King’s Sword.
As Radulf watched them come, and watched his wife go among them—with the bodyguard he had insisted upon—he understood at last that she had been right.
Her people loved and trusted her, far more than they had ever trusted Hew or Vorgen.
She had come north to give them hope of peace, and despite their instinctive distrust of the Norman conquerors, they believed in her enough to grasp at the opportunity she was giving them.
Hew was camped some five miles away. His army, mostly Kenton’s men with a few rebels thrown in, had ruthlessly pillaged the surrounding countryside, making themselves even more hated than before.
By joining Hew, Kenton’s soldiers were doing as they had been ordered, but many of them didn’t like it.
They had fought at Hastings with the Normans they now faced as enemies.
Deserters had already joined the trickle of Englishmen who were swelling Radulf’s army.
He was well satisfied.
Lord Henry, too, had had to admit his mistake where Lily was concerned.
Radulf had noticed, with amusement, his friend’s attempts to charm his wife as only Henry could.
He was even more amused to notice that, although she listened politely, Lily was not cajoled by his glib tongue.
Had he once thought Henry could charm her away from him? She was not such a fool.
It was midday as Radulf stood, listening to Henry and Jervois argue about tactics, his eyes scanning the smoky camp with its many souls, all dependent upon him.
He noticed his wife leave their tent. She paused a moment, breathing in the air, straightening her back as if preparing herself to face whatever obstacles might be set in her path.
Aye, she was a proud woman, and Radulf was proud of her and what she had done.
A man could ask no more than to live with such a woman at his side.
Her hair was bright and uncovered, like a young girl’s, her gown a simple one, so as not to intimidate the common folk, and she wore no jewelry apart from the red-eyed hawk upon her thumb.
He watched her stretch again, as if her back ached. Something in the movement, something in the way her hands were folded so protectively across her belly, struck a discordant note in Radulf.
Puzzled, he watched her descend once more into the heart of the camp. Stephen was trailing behind her, and the boy shot wistful glances at the soldiers as they checked and sharpened their weapons, shouting bravado to hide their fear.
Many of them would be dead tomorrow, but Stephen probably didn’t think of that, Radulf thought wryly. He was dreaming of the glory.
Radulf had already decided that the battle would take place tomorrow, soon after first light.
He would march his men in predawn darkness to the long, flat valley where Hew was encamped.
Then they would attack. If Hew was unprepared, so much the better, but Radulf did not fool himself into thinking it would be an easy victory. Kenton’s men were well trained; they were no rabble. No, it would be a hard fight, but one he had no intention of losing.
His gaze slipped back to Lily. She had reached Gudren and Olaf’s tent, and seemed to be hesitating there. Even as she made to move on, Gudren’s gray head popped out of the opening and her arms waved bossily, gesturing for Lily to enter.
With a regal nod of her head, Lily did so, vanishing from his sight.
“I am glad to see you, my pretty one.”
Gudren had not changed. She was as plump as ever, her face barely wrinkled, her pale eyes cunning.
“And you, mother.” Lily smiled, answering her in her own tongue.
Gudren sighed. “It does my heart good to hear the sound of Norway. I knew you were not who you said you were, lady. I told Olaf you were of Viking blood, but he scoffed and said I was getting old. Now see who is old!”
Lily smiled. “Olaf prepares for the battle?”
“He works all day and at night he sharpens his axe.”
Lily hesitated. “He believes in a great victory, like Radulf?”
Gudren watched her thoughtfully, as if considering her question. “Radulf has a spell upon him.
He cannot be defeated. That is what Olaf believes.”
“Yes, I have heard such things myself.”
“But you do not believe them,” Gudren answered for her. “You doubt, because you are afraid for him. We always fear losing what we love most, pretty one. But Radulf is strong and clever. He will not take risks with his life. You will see. He will return to you and your babe.”
When Lily stared at her, eyes wide, Gudren laughed in delight.
“You thought I would not know! Me, Gudren, who has borne five babies and helped to birth many, many more? You have a look, my pretty, a softness. I am never wrong.”
Lily swallowed, pressing her hands over the slight rounding of her belly. “No, mother, you are not wrong.”
“You have told him?”
“No.” Lily gave the other woman an appealing look. “I thought he had enough to worry about. Will you keep my secret, Gudren? Just for now.”
Gudren smiled and patted her hand. “Sometimes it is better to wait . . . to see how things turn out. I understand that. But Radulf will not be pleased when he learns you have kept this from him. He will see it as betrayal. And he has known much betrayal.”
Gudren was watching her expectantly, so Lily nodded. “I know about Anna,” she said quietly.
“He told me.”
Gudren beamed. “That is good! That means he begins to trust you, my pretty one. Do not put that trust at risk, even if it is . . . easier to do so.”
Lily closed her eyes against the smoky haze in the tent. “Yes, mother,” she agreed reluctantly, “but I fear he will send me to York. I need to be here.”
Gudren leaned forward. “Tell him, lady, before it is too late. Lay all that you are open to him. It is the only way.”
Lily felt an instinctive rejection. Let Radulf search with that knowing black gaze into every corner and crevice of her heart and mind? How could she bear for him to know all there was to know about her when, like Hew or Vorgen, he might use her weakness against her?
Lily had spent too many years keeping herself safe behind barriers. Radulf had already broached them at some points, and weakened them at others, but she had not opened those gates to him of her own free will. Not yet.
Lily looked up, doubts on her lips, but Gudren appeared to have gone to sleep.
There was much preparation for the morrow’s fighting. Lily glimpsed Radulf now and again, usually at a distance, overseeing some detail large or small. Gudren was wrong, Lily decided. Radulf had enough to do without his wife running after him, tugging at his arm, demanding attention.
She did not allow herself to question the relief that filled her at her decision.
But as darkness swept down over the camp, and silence fell, her doubts returned.
She heard an occasional raised voice, a woman weeping, a child laughing, but mostly there was silence and hushed voices.
Everyone was aware of the importance of the battle in the morning, and although Radulf had made certain there was enough ale for a drink or two, that was all he would allow.
Too many soldiers spent the night before a battle in a drunken stupor and then found it impossible to fight.
If there was drinking to be done, then it would be to celebrate their victory rather than preempt it.
All knew that many would die. Radulf’s force was still smaller than Hew’s, but that did not seem to give them pause. His men trusted Radulf to get as many of them as possible home to Crevitch.
Trust, thought Lily irritably. There was that word again. She paced about the tent, her mind agitated, her body tense. If only tomorrow were over!
And still Lily waited.
She knew he had much to do. She knew how his men looked to him.
But Lily wanted to speak with him, hold him, kiss him.
She wanted to give him a respite from his heavy burden as leader, she wanted him to be her Radulf, just for a short time, before he stole some well-deserved sleep.
There was an aching longing in her heart that would not be satisfied until he was there.
He came to her at last, but Jervois and Lord Henry followed. They talked as they ate the food and wine Stephen brought, plotting and planning, discussing the merits of this tactic and that, dredg-ing up other battles and skirmishes to prove their point.
Lily had sent Stephen to bed. Though the boy would have liked to remain listening to the men talk, he was asleep on his feet.
“We need to take the hills to the north of the valley.” Radulf chewed as he spoke. “Remember at Hastings, how Harold held the ridge and we had to fight uphill? We were fortunate to win the day.”
Jervois nodded, remembering. “We lost many good men.”
“And many good horses.” Henry stretched and yawned.
Radulf poured more wine, and gave Henry a fond glance. “You didn’t have a mark on you. I remember thinking that the blood and dirt must have rolled off you rather than spoil your new armor.”
Henry grimaced. “I pray the same happens tomorrow, Radulf. Get your Viking wife to cast her runes.” He stopped, suddenly aware of Lily’s still form in the shadows.
“I beg pardon, lady,” he said contritely, “but I did not speak in jest. If you can protect us with a spell, I, for one, would be grateful!”
Lily stepped forward, a slender figure in her blue wool gown, her silver braid spearing down her back. “I wish I knew one,” she replied coolly.
Radulf glanced from one to the other and gave a jaw-cracking yawn. “I can’t think anymore. Enough. We have done all we can tonight.”