The Red Wolf's Prize (15 page)

“Come, Ren,” Geoff urged. “A doctor of phisyk awaits in yon
tent to pull the arrow through. It must come out.”

Jamie was distraught, pacing alongside Renaud as he headed
toward the tent that had been allocated to the healers. “M’lord, I am so sorry.
’Tis all my fault.”

“Next time you will know, boy,” Geoff scolded. “You’d be
dead if it were not for your lord’s sacrificing himself.”

The page dropped his head. Renaud reached out with his
uninjured arm and placed his hand on the lad’s shoulder. “We’ve all had to
learn such lessons, son.”

Jamie looked up at him with adoring eyes. “Yea, sir.”

While Renaud suffered the ministrations of the king’s
physic, the city elders, seeing the walls collapsing, had shouted their
surrender. Over the objections of Geoff, who had brought him the news, when the
stitching was done and the wound bandaged, Renaud traveled the short distance
to the king’s tent. He had to do what he could to spare the English his sire’s
wrath.

Still smarting from the wound in his arm, Renaud entered the
tent just as the king was preparing to leave for the city gates.

“Sire, might I suggest a gracious act of mercy to the
English if they but concede to your demands?”

“We will consider it,” William said, looking doubtful.
“First we must see for ourselves what groveling the good citizens of Exeter may
offer to appease our anger.” They walked out together, the king’s retinue
following. All sounds of the battle had ceased. Renaud found the quiet after so
much noise unnerving.

Glancing at Renaud’s arm, the king observed, “Our sympathy
for your arm, Lord Talisand. We heard you saved your page a more grievous
wound.”

Renaud acknowledge the king’s words with a shrug. He was not
without some feelings of guilt for the actions of the untrained youth who had
followed his lord to battle.

The king’s entourage approached the city and the gates
opened to allow a procession through the wide opening. Included among the party
coming to greet them were beautiful young maidens dressed in colorful silk
gowns, their long hair flowing down their backs.  These were followed by the
elders of the city, and Bishop Leofric and his clergy, carrying sacred books
and holy ornaments.

Prostrating themselves at William’s feet, they begged for
mercy. “My Lord, we beg you to swear a holy oath on the Bible that you will not
harm the city and its people.”

With a glance toward Renaud, the king let out a deep breath
and relented. “Rise. Since you make such a grand display of your repentance, we
grant you the mercy you seek.” When the clergymen stood, William gave them a
stern look. “Every last man will swear fealty to us and you will pay the new
tribute we demand.”

The city fathers were quick to nod their heads in agreement.

“And henceforth you will have our royal presence within the
city,” announced William.

The city elders looked startled but wisely chose to say
nothing.

Later, Renaud discovered that Gytha had escaped through the
Water Gate, taking the River Exe to the sea. It was only when her safe escape
had been assured that the city’s leaders had surrendered. By the time the king
learned of this, he had already granted clemency and, to Renaud’s relief, did
not withdraw it.

William posted some of his soldiers at the city gates so his
army would not be tempted to plunder the hapless English. This pleased Renaud
for he did not wish to answer Serena’s questions as to what transpired after
the siege only to have to admit his fellow Normans had raped and pillaged.

The siege had lasted eighteen days from its beginning to
William’s victory, which came the day Renaud took the arrow. Smiling to himself
as he congratulated the king and walked back to his own tent, Renaud realized
it was no longer Normandy that held his heart, but Talisand, and he was anxious
to return to his English bride with the violet eyes.

The day after the surrender, William came to Renaud’s tent
where he was resting while his men prepared to leave. His wound had not
festered but was still tender and gave him much grief. It would be a while
before he could hold a shield with that arm. It could have been worse, he knew.
At least it was not his sword arm.

Still wearing his hauberk, the king inquired, “Is the heroic
wolf able to leave his den to help us select a site for our new castle we
intend to construct within the city’s walls?”

“Yea, Sire,” he said, rising. Jamie was at his side, for the
boy had not left him since Renaud had taken the arrow. “I will gladly serve you
in that task.”

With Sir Baldwin and Geoff accompanying them, William and
Renaud walked to the city gates, which now lay open but guarded.

They surveyed the possible locations for a castle. Finally,
William settled on the northeast corner of the Roman wall lying next to a steep
bank.

Renaud conferred with Sir Baldwin on an idea he had before
saying, “Sire, with a deep ditch between the northwestern and northeastern
walls and the addition of an internal rampart, you would have a square bailey
for the castle.”

“We think that a fine idea!” exclaimed the king, obviously
eager to see his castle constructed. Then looking to Sir Baldwin, “We leave you
in charge of razing the homes that stand in the way and building the castle,
sir knight. Enough of our army will stay behind to provide a garrison.
Henceforth, you shall be our castellan and High Sheriff of Devonshire.”

Sir Baldwin dipped his head and smiled, appearing pleased at
the honor bestowed upon him. “As you wish, My King.”

And so it was done. The king had his victory and Renaud had
lost not a man. Best of all, he would have good news for Serena: Jamie and the
men of Talisand were safe. Renaud would not share with her his certain belief
that in the future the king intended to give every Englishman’s land to a
Norman for William no longer trusted the fealty of those he had conquered.

Though the Talisand archers had remained true despite having
to fight on the side of their Norman lord, Renaud did not doubt their loyalty
was aided by the presence of English among the ranks of William’s army. As more
and more English fought on the side of the Norman king, the resistance would
grow weaker.

Because Renaud was still healing, William allowed him to
return to Talisand.

“We bid you leave to go,” said the king, “to see our castle
built at Talisand and to get an heir on that English maiden we have given you.
But know we shall call upon you again. You served us well.”

Renaud bowed before the king, grateful to be going.

The next morning, the column of Renaud’s men formed behind
him. Mounting his great gray stallion, he gave the signal to move forward and
turned his face to the north—and his thoughts to Lady Serena.

Would his bride be waiting for him? Twice she had deceived
him. He could not help but wonder if the magnificently gowned lady who had so
mesmerized him the day he had left was yet another of her disguises, mayhap the
most devious of all. He had not known Serena could speak the Norman tongue
until she had addressed his men. What other abilities had she hidden from him?
Was it possible the English maiden who hated all Normans had succumbed to his
kisses and would now bow to the king’s decree to become the wife of the Red
Wolf? Or, had she only been biding her time until he had gone so that she could
escape once again?

Serena sat at the high table barely listening to the
conversations around her as the evening wore on. Outside, the summer sun still
lingered in the sky, its last rays finding their way through the open shutters
to pool among the rushes.

Maugris, who had stayed behind when his master rode south,
now joined her for meals, he on her left and Sir Maurin on her right. Since he
had learned she spoke Norman French, Sir Maurin often slipped from English, of
which he knew only a little, into the language of his birth. But Maugris spoke
English nearly as well as Serena. And though his words might be few, what he
said was often worth hearing. Serena did not mind his company. The wise one was
a gentle soul and so unlike the Red Wolf’s knights with their rough warrior
ways, she had ceased to think of him as Norman at all. His tunics were now made
of the fine wool woven by Ingrith
and Annis, and the children of
Talisand looked upon him as a kind of grandfather, eager for the stories he
told around the hearth fire each night.

Her mind dulled to sounds of men eating and joking as her
thoughts drifted to the past. So many men were gone from the hall forever, good
men who had fought with her father, men who died defending the Saxon king. The
ones who remained were now compelled to construct a castle for their
conquerors, the timbered structure that was the symbol of the Norman
domination. She knew some of Talisand’s men resented being pressed into the
work, but others considered themselves fortunate to have a lord who was
powerful enough to protect their families from future attacks. They worried
only about their crops and feeding their children. She could hardly blame them.
To survive was in some way to succeed.

Looking around the hall, it was as if she could see the
ghosts of those whose laughter had once filled the large space: Sigmund, her
father, Oswine, the dark-haired young guard to whom she had once given her
heart and the men who had followed them to Hastings. She remembered Oswine
teasing her for the shorter bow Rhodri had made her. His voice, along with the
others, faded now, never to be heard again in the hall, but she would remember
their courage and their sacrifice for as long as she lived.

Those who had survived the coming of the Normans would never
forget, as she never would. It had changed their lives forever.

Sighing, she chided herself for dwelling on the past. She
took a deep breath and brought herself to the present and focused on the
evening meal.

The mutton stew set before her was hearty and the aroma of
the well-seasoned broth made her mouth water. She had not eaten since breaking
her fast and that had been only bread and cheese. From their murmurings in
Norman French, Serena discerned that Maggie had once again impressed the Red
Wolf’s men with her cooking. Having worked all day on the castle, they consumed
with relish the stew and hot bread fresh from the oven. More and more the
Normans drank the English ale now.

Sir Niel, her constant shadow, sat at one of the long tables
laughing with another knight. Although he appeared unaware of her, she knew if
she were to rise, the knight, whose hair failed to cover the jagged scar that
marred his handsome face, would do so as well.

Serena understood the lack of trust between her and the Red
Wolf that had led to the guard. How could they know she was resigned to her
fate when there were times she doubted it herself? The gesture she had made to
greet them in her fine gown and circlet of silver and gold had, even then, seemed
a betrayal of her father. It was why she had spoken of him when she addressed
the Red Wolf’s men. Why she had insisted the Normans pay the old thegn respect.

What would he say if he were alive to see her acceptance of
the Norman king’s bidding? What would Steinar say if he knew she would soon be
the Red Wolf’s wife?

Of Talisand’s men, tonight the hall was missing Theodric,
the captain of her father’s guard, now one of the Red Wolf’s men. Though
Theodric was married and lived in one of the manors, he often dined in the hall
if he spent the day at the manor. Leppe and Alec, who had guided their small
band into the woods the first time she had tried to escape, now served their
new lord as archers. Their sworn fealty required them to join the Red Wolf in battle
if he had need of them. Mayhap it was for the best. If they were to prosper,
they must show loyalty to the new lord.

And so must she.

The Red Wolf was a warrior unschooled in all that must be
done for the smooth running of Talisand’s lands. For her people’s sake, she
must help him and turn her attention to the harvest if they were to eat this
coming winter.

“My lady,” said Maugris, his forehead wrinkled in concern,
“you speak little this eve, yet your face tells me you ponder much. Is
something amiss?” His ancient eyes, fathomless pools of pale blue, lingered on
her, making her wonder what he might see that others did not.

“Sometimes, I think of how things were.”

“It is unwise, my child, to look too long behind you, else
you will miss the future that lies before you. Though the wounds of the past
are deep, let your heart find solace in the knowledge it has loved well.”

“I know you speak the truth, wise one, and I have told
myself the same. But if we are to speak of the future, I must tell you I am
worried about all that must be done to bring in the harvest and prepare the
cottages for winter now that we have fewer men. Your lord took some of the
strongest, while others have been compelled to build his castle.”

“When the time comes, the Red Wolf’s men will help, my lady.
You have only to ask. The lord will withhold naught you require.”

“The villagers will be relieved to hear it,” she said
gratefully, turning to face him. “I thank you.”

The rest of the evening meal passed with only brief comments
about the progress of the castle. On the south side of the manor, where nothing
had stood before save shelters for the sheep, there was now a huge mound of
earth and, on its flat top, a half constructed tower.

“Soon the castle will be finished,” said Sir Maurin cheerfully,
slipping into Norman French. “When the harvest is ripe, the men of Talisand
will be free to work the fields.”

“That is good for we will need them to bring in the wheat
and the other crops. And for the hunting and butchering that must be done before
winter.”

The senior knight the Red Wolf had left in charge was
consumed with plans for the castle. “Have you seen the drawings, my lady?”
asked Sir Maurin.

“Nay, but I have heard the hammers and seen the ditch
created from the huge mound of earth that supports the new timbered structure.”

“There will be a keep with a larger hall at its base and a
small chapel, as well as the lord’s solar and chambers for others. ’Twill be
larger than some built by William’s command but not so fine as the home of the
Red Wolf family in Normandy.”

Serena wondered about the home the Red Wolf had left in
order to seek his fortune in distant England. He had yet to speak of it. And
she wondered, too, how it would feel to be the lady of the new castle—to be the
wife of the unbending knight. Not wishing to dwell on the future rushing toward
her, she asked instead, “Why another chapel?”

“Knowing the Red Wolf,” Sir Maurin said with a smile, “he
would want one close for he is a man of faith. But ’twill also serve to satisfy
the penance decreed for Norman soldiers who took lives at Hastings.” At her
puzzled expression, he explained, “One year’s penance for each man the knight
killed or, if he does not know the number, then he must do a penance one day a
week for the rest of his life, or he may build a church.”

“I see.”
New churches must be rising all over England.
“The Red Wolf does not know how many Saxons he killed, does he?”

“Nay, my lady,” the knight said with a guilty expression.
“Few of us have a count.”

Serena was not surprised with so many dead at Hastings and
all over the south of England. The Norman king had been ruthless. And she
expected the Red Wolf was adding to his number even now at Exeter. She
shuddered at the thought of what the battlefield must look like.

Sir Maurin’s gaze followed Cassie as the comely redhead
helped to serve in the hall. Serena had observed the two of them walking near
the river, so enthralled with each other they appeared ignorant of any who
watched. She was happy for Cassie if that is what her handmaiden wanted. Sir
Maurin was a good man, even though he was a Norman. And how could she criticize
Cassie when she herself would soon be sharing the bed of a Norman knight?

Aethel approached the high table and began refilling the
goblets from the pitcher she carried. Thanking her for the ale, Serena drank
her fill, letting out a sigh. Was Aethel still enamored of the Red Wolf? There
was no love involved, of that Serena was certain. In fact, since Theodric had
wed another, Aethel seemed to care for no one, not even the old thegn whose bed
she had shared. But remembering the way she had waved at Sir Alain as he had
departed for Exeter, Serena thought one day Aethel might find a man to please
her, even a Norman knight.

Just not the Red Wolf.

* * *

The hall was quiet, the tables cleaned and moved against the
walls and the knights and men-at-arms asleep on their pallets when Aethel stood
in the shadows of the entry, waiting for the next step in her plan. The only
noises now were the men’s snoring where they slept. It was unusually warm, so
there had been no hearth fire that night, and the torches were long since
snuffed. A lone candle stood vigil in the manor’s entry.

Cassie came from the kitchen and climbed the stairs,
carrying a tankard of ale to Sir Niel, the knight who guarded Serena’s door.
The long summer days were upon them and, by evening, the air in the manor was
still. Aethel had known the drink would be welcomed and made certain each night
for a sennight a different serving woman had carried him the drink. But tonight
the tankard held more than the amber liquid that would quench the knight’s
thirst.

Aethel’s knowledge of herbs, learned from her grandmother,
made adding a sleeping potion a small matter. And she had done so without
Cassie being aware. Nor would the knight detect any difference in taste, just
as Serena had not in the ale Aethel had served her at the evening meal. The
potion would only bring sleep. Neither would be harmed.

Aethel listened to the conversation between the handmaiden
and the young knight.

“Good eve, Sir Niel,” Cassie said as she handed him the
tankard.

“Good eve to you, Cassandra. ‘Tis the end of a long day.” He
accepted the drink. “The ale is appreciated.”

“It is nay more than we did for the old lord and his men,
sir knight.”

Sir Niel finished the drink and Cassie took the empty
tankard and descended the stairs.

Still in the shadows, Aethel watched expectantly. Since the
Mercian seller of cloth had departed, she’d been waiting for his return. He had
told her Earl Morcar had sent him, and she doubted it not for she knew well
Morcar’s purpose. She had seen the look in the eyes of the tall blond Mercian
as he gazed upon Serena when he had last visited the old thegn. And then a few
days ago the message had come, telling her to be prepared for this night.

Aethel told herself she was helping Lady Serena find a
better fate than the Red Wolf. After all, there was so little trust between the
two of them a guard trailed her every move. And Serena had tried to escape more
than once. So Aethel had planned to help her lady escape again.

She slipped out of the manor, heading toward the postern
gate, secure in the belief Serena would be pleased to wed the handsome Mercian
earl. Knowing Serena wanted to leave soothed Aethel’s conscience for Sir Alain had
been right. She had been jealous. Even as a young girl, her own dark beauty had
never drawn the boys’ stares as had Serena’s flaxen hair and unusual violet
eyes. Aethel had wanted Theodric, yet his gaze always followed Serena. But the
thegn would never give his daughter to Theodric, allowing Aethel’s hopes for a
future with him to rise. It had all been for naught.

Knowing the thegn was lonely and had wanted her for a long
while, it seemed the easier path to become his leman than to take a lesser man
as husband. And, though there was no love in the coupling, for a while it had
been enough. Sigmund had been kind and Aethel came to care for him. But when
the thegn was killed, Aethel lost more than a man in her bed; she lost her
status among the people and the hope Sigmund would one day marry her. Thinking
to regain her position, she had sought the bed of the new Norman lord. But the
Red Wolf held himself apart from all the women at Talisand, save for one. One
who did not want him. One who hated Normans. One who would be pleased to leave.
For Aethel did not believe the grand display Serena had put on for the benefit
of her Norman captors.

Now Aethel would make two people happy, Lady Serena and
Morcar, who would claim her as his bride. What did it matter if she angered the
Red Wolf? He would never know it had been she who helped to rob him of his
bride. Yet even as she told herself all this, a thought rumbled around in her
head. Since the night Sir Alain had made his intentions known, she had watched
the brawny knight who carried the Red Wolf’s standard. That such a man would
want her as his wife gave her new hope.

But would he understand why she had aided Serena’s attempt
to flee his lord?

* * *

A short time later, Aethel arrived at the postern gate,
gratified to see the guard leaning against the palisade timbers softly snoring.
She did not have long to wait. In a matter of moments, a man approached dressed
as a knight, his cloak falling over his tunic and mail like a dark shadow. In
the dim light of the half-moon she did not recognize him at first but she knew
who had sent him for he was expected.