Chapter 2
It was late afternoon when Renaud and his knights crested the last hill, and he raised his hand halting the column of men. Reining in his horse, he looked west and paused to consider the sight before him.
The sun was still shining for the days had grown longer with spring.
Renaud gazed over the wide valley, green from the rain.
Colorful wild flowers and clusters of birch trees dotted the sloping land where white, wooly ewes and their lambs grazed.
Ahead in the distance he could see a large manor house next to what appeared to be a great hall, all surrounded by a palisade of wooden poles sharpened to a point.
Behind the manor ran the River Lune, the name he recalled when he was first told of Talisand.
A village lay to the north, the cottages with their thatched roofs appearing golden in the afternoon sun.
From where he sat astride Belasco, dense woods to the north of the village extended as far as the eye could see.
It was more than he had expected, the peace so real it was tangible, and a world away from the harsh sounds of London and the destruction in the south.
He could still see the faces of the Saxon dead in the battles he had fought.
As much as he wanted to forget, even in this peaceful place, they haunted him.
With a deep sigh, he focused on the river.
The wide blue riband of water flowed behind the demesne, acting like a moat to protect the manor and its outbuildings.
Idly stroking the pelt of the wolf that lay over his hauberk, a fierce pride rose in his chest as he realized these were now his lands by William’s decree.
“There lies the prize William has given me. There lies Talisand.”
“Yea, you have done well, Ren,” agreed Geoff, “and now you are an earl besides.”
Renaud smiled at his friend then turned to his other side to see the pale blue eyes of Maugris.
The wise one stared back from where he sat astride his palfrey, his silver hair blowing across his wrinkled forehead. He nodded. “Yea, my lord, there you will find your prize.”
“Glad I am, Ren, that we will arrive in ample time for the evening repast,” Geoff said as he shifted in his saddle.
It had been a long day, one of many with meager rations, and Renaud knew his men were eager to arrive at their destination. “I see you are ever mindful of your next meal, Geoff. For you, Talisand is merely another place to dine.” He laughed aloud.
Geoff grinned sheepishly.
“Oh, and it might be best not to call me by your pet name, at least not in the presence of the new vassals, or they will think the stories of the Red Wolf are mere legend and will disregard my commands.”
“As you will, my lord,” Geoff acknowledged, emphasizing the manner of address that was new.
The wind rose and Renaud heard his banner flapping behind him.
A grunt from Sir Alain de Roux, the knight who bore his standard, caused Renaud to turn in his saddle.
The wind had rendered the scarlet wolf on the midnight blue field a snarling beast. The burly knight struggled to gain control of the waving banner.
Renaud chuckled. “Sir Alain, will you wrestle that wolf ’til gloaming?”
The knight, whose size and coloring always reminded Renaud of a large brown bear, just smiled. A man of few words, Sir Alain was steady and reliable, trusted to watch the Red Wolf’s back.
With one last tug at the cloth, the knight reined in the standard.
Renaud looked beyond the huge knight to the rest of the company.
Some men were new. The lands of Talisand were rumored to be rich.
For that reason, as well as his success in battle, many had been eager to accompany him when he had left London.
Behind his squire, Mathieu, and his five knights, rode the men-at-arms and retainers, along with the craftsmen they’d brought with them to begin work on the castle William expected to be finished before summer’s end.
Carts carried the tents and supplies they had brought with them, including casks of wine.
Spotting Sir Hugue, Renaud was reminded of the few mercenaries who had joined them.
He would have to keep a close watch on the men he knew less well.
They, too, had come seeking a place in William’s England and in the den of his wolf.
“Bon.” Renaud faced forward and raised his hand. “Pour Talisand!”
At the clenching of his knees, Renaud’s stallion moved forward. The column followed, moving en masse.
Renaud’s mind filled with the faces of the jealous barons and knights at William’s court who had whispered the Red Wolf was the king’s pet, a knight so favored his requests were never denied.
In their jealousy, they had failed to see the reason for the king’s favor.
Renaud never acted without first consulting William in private.
Then, too, he knew well the mind of his sire.
There was only one thing that could have moved Renaud from William’s side—his dream of having his own lands.
As a younger son of a Norman nobleman, Renaud had known he would have to fight for any lands he would claim as his own.
And fight he had, both in Normandy and England, for there had been rebellions in the south after Hastings.
Aware that Renaud’s devotion ran deep, but also knowing of his knight’s dream, William had finally sent Renaud away with orders to take and hold Talisand, to raise a castle that would be a guard against the king’s enemies to the north and a symbol to the English of his domination.
William’s last words came to his mind. “Take as your wife the heiress of Talisand and raise up sons to serve my heirs.”
“What have you heard of the Lady Serena?” Renaud asked Geoff as they drew nearer to the manor, and the bleating sheep scattered before their powerful horses.
Geoff seemed to ponder the question. “When you were granted Talisand, I heard the men at court whispering the Red Wolf had done well, that the lady is rumored to be fair of face with hair as pale as the moon. Though at seventeen summers, she will be older than most girls at her marriage. Earl Morcar, who went with William to Normandy last year, spoke of her as if describing a vision.”
“It would matter naught to me if the lady’s face was as plain as the side of a stable,” Renaud replied. “William has commanded she be my wife and so she shall be. Have you heard aught else?”
“Nay, though I assume as the daughter of a thegn, she can manage a household.”
“It is good we tarried so long in London,” said Renaud thoughtfully. “Like the king, we have learned some of the barbarous English tongue. The serfs will not be familiar with our Norman French. This far north, I would not expect any of them to speak the language of William’s court.”
“She is supposed to be quite good with a bow,” Maugris interjected under his breath, just loud enough for Renaud to hear. “’Tis unusual.”
Renaud raised a brow at the old one’s words. “And how would you know that, wise one?”
A small smile twitched at the corner of Maugris’ mouth. “I have ways of knowing many things, my lord.”
Renaud smiled. “Yea, you do, and your counsel is always welcome. Mayhap you can help me understand these people, Maugris. I expect they will be hostile to the idea of a Norman overlord, though I have little patience to give them. Still, we must find a way to make them work for us.”
“That is one reason I have come, my lord. Your older brothers have your father’s counsel, and you will have mine. As I once served your father, now I serve you. I do not expect to return to Normandy. My fate lies with the Red Wolf and his cubs.”
“I am glad of it, Maugris. I would miss your old face were you to have stayed behind at my father’s donjon, though I am glad your countenance is no longer green as it was on the crossing.”
“I do not favor the sea, my lord, or boats upon it, as you know.” The old man’s face bore a grin telling Renaud that the unpleasant voyage and his mal de mer were now consigned to memory.
Having crossed the large swath of pasture, they arrived at the palisade.
Renaud was unsurprised to see a crowd of villagers lined up on either side of the open gate, curious to get a look at their new lord.
The faces of the young children, particularly the boys, were agog at the knights, enthralled with the hauberks they wore, the lances they carried and the powerful horses they rode.
But the faces of the men, as Renaud had expected, wore scowls and hostile grimaces.
Obviously the stories of the Normans, and the tale of the one called the Red Wolf, had traveled far.
Renaud and his men passed through the open gate and dismounted in the yard in front of the manor. Mathieu gathered Belasco’s reins while still leading the powerful black destrier Renaud reserved for battle, and led the two horses toward the stable.
“See if you can find the one responsible for the running of the manor,” Renaud said to Geoff.
“Surely they must have a seneschal. I know you will naturally want to determine when we might have a meal.” Glancing down at the mud that had spattered his leggings, he added, “I’d like to bathe before I meet the Lady Serena. ”
“Yea, my lord,” Geoff said respectfully in the English tongue, darting a glance at the watching villagers as he walked toward the door of the manor.