The Wolf and the Dove (28 page)

The sun was rising over France as the four urged their mounts up the steep roads away from Hastings. Ragnor rode again in the van, his mood little improved from the day before. His rancor made him kick his steed into a lope, and the animal, being well rested and fed, ground the miles beneath his drumming hooves. This time they took the inland road to avoid the chance that a band of raiders might lurk along the route, awaiting their return.

They passed the day in silence, riding hard, and set a meager camp to meet their needs throughout the night. The weather was mild and they rested well and were up again at dawn and on their way. The sun had mounted high above and thrust bright fingers through a thickening layer of clouds when they topped a rise and saw far out before them a goodly band of riders. They quickly took to shadow and waited for some hint of the arms this band displayed. They watched as the men before them drew together in conference then after a while divided in three. Now a shaft of sunlight crept across the group and there before them Ragnor saw the colors he knew were Wulfgar’s. The other three beside him would have made themselves known but Ragnor halted them. A plan took form in his mind. He bade the two archers ride on to William with news of his coming and of the letters he bore, saying also that he and Vachel had paused to bring word of Wulfgar. When they had gone Ragnor turned to his cousin and spoke with a smile on his
lips.

“Let us see if we cannot assure that yonder soldier has a busy afternoon.”

Vachel returned a puzzled frown to Ragnor’s words and to his relief the knight continued.

“There is a Saxon shire just ahead as yet unbowed and still leaning toward an English king.” He laughed. “I know they will not cherish a Norman knight, for when last I passed the place they chased me far afield,” He paused pointing toward the men below where two of the divisions rode off to either side and the third, headed by Wulfgar’s banner, dallied along. “See there,” he bade his cousin. “As I know Wulfgar he sends the others out in force to block the roads beyond the town then he will approach and demand its surrender. If the English flee they will be trapped in the open. If they attack Wulfgar they will be struck from behind by the others.”

Now he grinned at Vachel like a great gray fox teaching his cub the hunt.

“But let us change the plan. If we approach the town within its sight and seem to dally along we may draw out some stout-hearted folk eager to gain themselves a bounty of two Norman knights. Then we would lead them into Wulfgar’s band before he clears the glade.”

Ragnor laughed in glee at the thought of Wulfgar’s scheme gone awry, but Vachel seemed in doubt.

“My hatred of the English overrides the contempt I feel for the bastard,” Vachel returned. “I would not see our own misused by these Saxons.”

“It can do no harm.” Ragnor shrugged. “Wulfgar will surely slay the fools. ‘Twill only teach him what it means to be attacked by these Saxon swine and how easy it is to kill them. Let him meet the scythe and staff and set his blade to their stubborn skulls, then he may know that we did but defend ourselves at Darkenwald and acted in the best manner there.”

Vachel finally ceded to the prank and the two made haste to ride around Wulfgar. As Ragnor planned, when they came close and seemed to watch upon the town, some score came out with spear and staff and bow and seeing the Normans’ retreat, pursued them across the open fields. Ragnor and Vachel seemed to wander as if unsure of the way to flee, leading the townfolk on until they drew them along the road into the heavy forest beyond the fields. Once there they rode swiftly ahead, leaving a trail for the pursuit to follow. On rounding a bend, they left the path and posted to a nearby hill to watch what followed. They saw the townfolk round the bend and pause to listen. Hearing Wulfgar’s approach, the English took to the brush and trees that grew close beside the way.

Ragnor gazed ponderingly toward the road and spoke as if he now doubted his own wisdom with this game.

“It seems this goes astray, Vachel. They set a trap for Wulfgar, but I am torn. I fear for the safety of our own two yeomen. Will you ride to them, Vachel, and guard them on their way while I go to Wulfgar and warn him of the trap?”

Vachel shrugged away his reluctance to see a few Normans slain by Saxon hand and leaned forward in his saddle peering toward the bend in the road.

“Will you, cousin? That would seem foolish to me.” He turned to face Ragnor and they both chuckled in mutual glee. “Let me bide here until they have taken Wulfgar from his saddle, then I will leave to do your bidding.”

Ragnor nodded and they moved to a deeper glade to watch the unfolding scene below.

Wulfgar’s small force rode along the path that wound its way through the trees, drawing them nearer to Kevonshire. Gowain and Beaufonte had been sent on ahead to take their positions around the town, and Sir Milbourne rode at Wulfgar’s flank with the three yeomen following. As usual, Sanhurst brought up the rear, keeping his distance from Wulfgar. He seemed to hold the Norman in fearsome awe and was reluctant to come within a staff’s length of him, though he had been supplied with short sword and spear to guard the knight’s back.

They crossed a small glade and re-entered the deep shade, watchful yet relaxed as they rode. A doe fled their path and quails leapt from the wayside with a flutter of wings. The Hun seemed to grow nervous and pranced and worried at his bit, yet Wulfgar thought the horse only sensed the excitement of the coming fray. Then, approaching a curve in the path, the beast snorted and skidded to a halt. Wulfgar knew the manner and stood in the saddle clawing for his sword as he shouted a warning to those behind him. In the next instant the road was filled with shouting Saxons swinging whatever weapon they could bring to bear. The Hun’s hooves lashed out and Wulfgar struck with his sword before a blow from behind stretched him out across the neck of his steed. He knew he was falling. His sword slipped from his fingers. The world turned gray and it seemed with a feather soft bump he hit the ground. The gray world darkened until only a single point of light was left, then it too went out.

It was some time later when Wulfgar peered upward and realized that the achingly bright ray that pierced his brain was only a patch of blue sky with black pine branches etched garishly across it. Painfully he raised himself on an elbow and gazed about. His head throbbed and he saw his helmet laying beside him and frowned at the dent across the back. As he raised a hand to cautiously feel the lump on his pate he saw a stout staff of English oak nearby with the heavier end shattered from its length and knew the cause of his acute discomfort. About the road lay scattered the bodies of several townspeople and he spied the leather jerkins of three of his men but of Milbourne he could see no sign.

“Have no fear, Wulfgar. I suspect you’ll yet live this day out.”

The voice came from behind him and though he recognized it in an instant, he rolled heavily over and rested on his elbows as he fought to steady his reeling head and focus his gaze upon Ragnor, who half-reclined on a fallen log with a bloodied sword thrust into the dirt beside him. He laughed in silent glee at Wulfgar’s efforts and wondered at Aislinn’s thoughts if she could but see the brave bastard now.

“ ’Tis a poor place to take repose, Wulfgar,” he grinned and swept his hand indicating the littered lane, “here in the midst of the road where many would do you ill. Indeed, within the last hour I have set to flight a band of hearty Saxons who’d have taken your ears to prove their fortune at finding a Norman resting so.”

Wulfgar shook his head to clear his befuddled brain and half moaned. “Of all those I would have named to save my life, Ragnor, I doubted mightily it would be you.”

Ragnor shrugged. “I but lent an extra arm. Milbourne was quite sorely pressed, yet when I came the Saxons took flight thinking I was no doubt one of many coming.”

“And Milbourne?” Wulfgar questioned.

“He has gone to fetch your men with that peasant you set to guard you. It seemed the Saxon could not reach you in time, at least that is what he said.”

Wulfgar rose to one knee and still smarting from the blow, rested there for the world to right itself. He squinted painfully at the other man, considering this action he had not expected. “I have bought you shame yet you won the day and saved my life. Some poor bargain, I trow, Ragnor.”

“Alas, Wulfgar.” Ragnor waved a hand, brushing off the proffered apology. “In truth both Milbourne and myself thought you dead until we dragged the English away and perceived your breath still stirred the dust.” He smiled slowly. “Can you rise?”

“Yea,” Wulfgar muttered and stood belatedly wiping at the sweaty grime that covered his face.

Ragnor laughed again. “English oak has done for you what well-honed steel could not. Ho, to see you fallen to a peasant’s staff. ‘Twas worth the battle.”

The dark knight also rose and taking up his blade wiped it clean on a peasant’s cloak then pointed to the roadside.

“Your horse stands yonder at the brook.”

Ragnor watched the other go and his face grew dark as he looked at his blade. He had been too hasty to kill the Saxon swine. “Ah,” he murmured to himself, “to ponder on opportunities lost to fate.”

He slammed the sword into its scabbard and turned to mount his own steed. Wulfgar came again to the road leading the Hun and bent to see that he bore no lasting harm from the pitchfork’s welts.

“I bear letters to William from Hastings and I soon must fly,” Ragnor said, his voice emotionless and flat. “Pardon that I do not stay and see you well.”

Wulfgar retrieved his helm and swung into the Hun’s high saddle. He returned the dark knight’s gaze and wondered if Ragnor also thought of another whose healing hands were much more agreeable.

“I, too, must ride on soon but for now yonder burh has earned its right to burn. As soon as it warms the evening air I shall move my men to the next crossroads and there make camp. I bid you thanks, Ragnor.” He drew his sword and saluted him with it, then leaning over flipped his lance up to where he could seize it. He shook the dirt from his pennant. “My men come yonder and I would join them.”

He saluted Ragnor again with the lance and under the lightest touch of spurs the Hun spun on his heels and charged away. Ragnor watched Wulfgar’s back until it disappeared, then reined his horse about in disgust and went his way.

Wulfgar rode to meet his men and saw that only part of them returned with Milbourne. The knight raised his hand and drew up as his captain neared.

“Are you well, Sir Wulfgar,” he questioned and at his leader’s nod he continued with his report. “When the townsmen quit our play, they carried back word of a great Norman force approaching and set the whole town to its heels. They gathered possessions and fled. But Sir Gowain and his men held the road some furlongs away and have turned them back. If we hasten we may halt them yet in the field beyond.”

Wulfgar gave his curt assent and then turned to Sanhurst who lagged back in some shame. He frowned at the young man. “Since you are no benefit guarding my back, stay and bury the dead. When you are done, join us ahead and then you may serve as my lackey.” He raised a brow. “Let us hope you meet more success with that.”

Wulfgar raised his arm and his force set off to do their labors. He led the way with Milbourne keeping pace at his side. The dented helm would no longer fit comfortably upon his bruised head and as Wulfgar hoped to avoid a pitched battle, he rode with it set before him over the high pommel of his saddle and shrugged away Milbourne’s worry. They rode apace through the village square and as they passed the last cottage saw before them some two score and more Saxons of an assorted age, sex and kin. The townfolk saw the force before them and knew of more behind. Then, with fatalistic courage, they formed a tightknit group straddling the road. Mothers pressed their children to the center giving them what protection their own bodies would offer while the men seized whatever weapon was at hand and set themselves in an outer circle for one last battle.

Wulfgar dropped his lance to the ready but halted short of the people while his men circled until they formed a ring all with points lowered and ready to charge. The cold wind blew and the doomed Saxons waited. A long moment passed in silence then Wulfgar raised his helm to full view and his voice rang out harshly as he noted a rustle of amazement at his English words.

“Who plied his staff so strongly against my brow?” He waited until the sheriff moved to face him.

“He fell beside you in the wood,” the man replied. “And for all I know still abides there.”

“ ’Tis a pity,” Wulfgar half sighed. “He was a stout soldier and worth more than a sudden death.”

The sheriff shuffled his feet nervously in the dust but ventured no further comment. Wulfgar raised his lance and set the helm to its place before him but the other lances stayed down, ever threatening.

The Hun pranced, nervous with the tension and Wulfgar spoke a calming word to him and surveyed the huddled mass on the road with steel cold eyes. When his voice sounded again it crackled with authority and none listening could question it.

“You are wards of William, by right of arms, King of England, whether you admit it or not. You may waste your blood here in the dust if you like or you may spend your strength rebuilding your town.”

At these words the sheriff raised his brow and cast an inquiring glance at the still-intact buildings of the shire.

“The choice is simple and will be quickly levied,” Wulfgar continued. “Of that you have my word. But I must urge haste as my men grow anxious and would see their labor done.”

He withdrew a pace and dipped his lance so the sheriff could almost see the point transfixing his own chest. Slowly the man let his sword fall to the ground and dropped his belted seax beside it, turning his hands palm upward and open to show his surrender. The other men followed his action and dropped pitchforks, axes, and scythes until they all stood disarmed.

Wulfgar nodded to his men and the lances rose as one. He spoke once more to the townspeople.