Fire Dance (14 page)

Then she saw the crack in the yellow-grey horn. Relief flooded her. Now there could be no argument of replacing it.

"Nelda," she called, "Hurry and find the lord another cup. This one will not do. It has a crack."

Nelda's eyes too showed the effect of her mad move. Then, with the look of the all-suffering servant, Nelda nodded.

"The maple maser, Nelda. Surely it would do."

Nelda would fix it all for her. And she'd best escape to some dark corner for a while. He would be safe a little longer, for all that she had made herself look the perfect simpleton. And if she couldn't manage to steal the cloak, she could at least pray for warmer weather so he wouldn't wear it as much.

Except that God did not hear her prayers.

* * *

The lord's chamber centered around a table of dark oak that was nearly as large as its curtained bed. On that table Alain stretched out an old parchment, scraped bare, on which he traced out a crude drawing of the Eden Valley that led up to Carlisle and the Solway Firth. He drew a square to indicate his castle and wiggling lines to represent the becks and rivers. More squares went down as symbols of other manor holdings, and tiny circles for the smaller holdings.

"Think of it as the way God must view the world from the heavens," he said to his knights.

"God would see the fells, too," Hugh objected.

"And God would see the colors and shapes of things, too, but we cannot put all that down. It would only confuse us. But we all know the fells are in between the becks. I suppose we could mark where the peaks are, but that is not important. We want to know where we can go, and where our enemies might be."

Robert scowled. "It is a good idea, Alain. But it isn't right. If it takes a day by horseback to go from here to here," he said as he traced out a route with his finger, "then it should take more time to go from here to here." And he drew another route with his fingers. "But it does not, it takes less time."

Chrétien stopped to rub his fist over his chin. "But the first route is much harder, and the horses must go much slower. How can you tell, Alain, how far it is?"

"If we had the time, I suppose we might measure it someday. But that is not my purpose. I propose only to guess. Merely by making marks on the parchment, we can plan our moves in advance, and mayhap see flaws in them before they happen."

Alain removed small, flat stones of varying colors from a tiny leather pouch and tossed them onto the table.

"The white ones will represent Rufus and the army he brings. Ours are the red stones, and the black ones are Malcolm's. Grey, for Anwealda and those allied with him."

He placed red stones at each holding under his control. He placed Malcolm's black stones as a group to the northeast, representing Scotland, and Rufus' white ones near York.

"Now, where is Anwealda?"

"Up in the fells," said Gerard.

"Aye, but where?"

"It matters not if– aye, I see your meaning. From wherever he is, he can strike, pull back, and hide, and we cannot be there soon enough to stop him. Yet if you knew where he hides– "

"Aye, it is true," said Chrétien. "And if he can keep himself supplied with what he captures from us, he can continue his harassment. But if we can draw him into engagement more than once, we may be able to guess his location."

Alain nodded, pleased. "If you were Anwealda, where would you strike next?"

"Where we have already been," said Chrétien. "Where we think we are secure, but are not."

"Anwealda's own holding," Gerard added.

"And therefore, we will surprise them by reinforcing the men and supplies we left there yesterday," said Thomas.

Alain smiled, pleased they thought the same as he. "If we have outguessed him, we win again."

Gerard leaned forward and placed a finger on the map between two becks, and Alain guessed he was imagining the fells between them. "Aye," said Gerard. "You are right. We must try to outguess him by noting where he appears, where he comes from. Where he goes."

"But what next?" asked Wallis. "We cannot always outguess him."

"It is true," said Alain. "But Rufus is close. We must keep harrying Anwealda until Rufus arrives."

"You have heard news?"

"Aye. Rufus comes. But he is weeks away. We must secure our conquests now." Alain moved back to the map. "This land, Anwealda's, you will take and hold, Hugh. Dougal's for you, Robert. Chrétien, Cyneric's lands, when Rufus is done with this campaign."

"Alain, I have told you, I want no such fief."

"Chrétien– "

"You gave your word. I am content as I am."

"You cannot spend your life as a mercenary."

"It is of my choosing."

It was true. He had promised.

The Saxons, to a man, showed puzzled frowns. No doubt they wondered why the lord's second refused that which all men sought. But it was Chrétien's great pain, not his, and so it must be Chrétien who chose who should be told what, and when.

When he had first seen the possibility of settling onto the land instead of wandering about according to the king's whim, he had also begun to hope for the same for his dear friend. But Chrétien still stung from his terrible loss. He would rather face a thousand armed knights alone than run such a risk again. Someday, it might be different. But not now.

"Very well. There will be plenty of land for all."

"If I may suggest, lord," said Gerard.

"Do so."

"The holdings of Anwealda and Dougal are central to this campaign, for Rufus cannot capture Carlisle without going through the Vale of Eden. But Cyneric's is out of the way. It could serve to harbor rebels, but as it guards the Aire Gap, it is a threat now. Wallis could hold it with little effort, for his holding abuts it. Thus, you may keep your second where he is most useful to you, here, and decisions about fiefs could be made later when it is more apparent what land there is to be divided."

"I will think on it. But let us attend to today's affairs today. And tomorrow, Gerard, you will ride forth with Robert and Hugh to Anwealda's holding, and leave Hugh there with his men. You will harry the neighborhood for the knights, but see that the common folk are not terrorized."

"Tomorrow may be too late, Alain," said Robert. "Let us ride today."

"True. Aye. Then, leave when you are ready."

He watched the Saxon and Norman knights file out of the small chamber and listened to their clinking noises and boisterous banter as they hurried down the wooden stairs. They would be busy for the remainder of the day gathering the supplies and heading off to reinforce Anwealda's holding. And he would have a day to learn more about his own demesne.

He was disappointed, in a way. He had hoped they would be excited about his map. But they had merely thought it inaccurate. They all seemed to have clearer concepts in their heads than could ever be drawn on paper. The advantage of the illiterate mind, he supposed, was that it must commit so much more to memory.

He trundled down the stairs after them, out of the hall. In the lower bailey, villeins hauled out carts to supply the new outpost. More villeins struggled with the great stone blocks being winched upward to their place on the curtain wall, while masons waited to set them in their bed of fresh mortar. Wooden scaffolding creaked with their movements. It galled him to see such an enormous effort put into an unacceptable site. He would change it if he could. A simple mound and moat with wooden tower and palisade would be better than this.

The untenable holding to the north was of greater concern. He could build his new motte and bailey there. It could be done in a few weeks, and would provide greater security for Rufus. He resolved to discuss it with Chrétien.

Alain's interest in mottes and baileys was soon distracted by the sight ahead of him of Edyt's braid as it swung at its tip, an accent to her brisk pace. On one hip she carried a willow basket with a great pile of linens as she made for the beck that rushed beside the castle. As she passed the bath house, he came up behind her. Quietly.

"Edyt."

Her arms flung into the air so suddenly that she dropped her basket. Smothering a smirk, he watched benignly as she retrieved linens from the grass and hastily shoved them back atop those that had not spilled. He should feel guilty for his trick, he supposed.

"Aye, lord."

"I would talk with you."

"Aye, lord. I– I know the cup was precious to you, but it is cracked and I cannot fix it. If you wish to punish me,– "

For a reply, he took her arm in his hand and led her into the dark coolness of the little stone bath house. Inside, he turned her to face him, and tried not to laugh at the wideness of her brilliant blue eyes. He lifted the basket from her hands, placed it on the low bench, and folded his arms.

"Now, Edyt, what is it you are about?"

"I go to take linens to the hall, lord."

"I refer to that odd display this morning. What mischief is that, Edyt?"

"None, lord, it was not malice, but merely a slip. A bone, I think. I utterly mislike them on the floor, you know."

"A bone? Through your shoes?"

"They are but soft leather, lord."

"Aye, but would they not have protected you from a bone?"

"Well, there was something, I am sure."

"Indeed. But there was no bone, Edyt. I looked."

"Then, mayhap it was merely a cramp in my foot. You may punish me, lord. I did not mean to break your cup."

Alain's chuckle rumbled up from deep inside him. "I vow I am unaccustomed to having young maids assault my drinking cup, but I care naught about it, Edyt. But I would like to know your mischief."

Her lips parted, as if awaiting a word that would not come.

Rosemary. The coolness of the bathhouse held her scent, the soft but pungent, piney scent of rosemary that always lingered after her. Here it permeated everything, as if this small stone building were especially hers. And he had seen her come from it at the first light of dawn that first morning. Did she sleep here? Why here? Why not the hall?

The rosemary. Aye. It was a part of what had stirred him from his sleep the previous night. A mere whiff of it could bring intense arousal to his body.

Alain crowded her closer to the cool stones behind her.

"What were you doing in my chamber last night, Edyt?" His voice was a growl calculated to frighten a guilty maid free of her sins.

"I, lord? I was not– "

Now he knew it was her. The chamber had echoed of her, the scent, the feel, the essence. He had known it in both soul and body. Aye, in body. She drew him like a lodestone. Brought a violent ache, an awakening of his need. He stood close to her, and his hand touched the velvet smoothness of her hot cheek. So close to her, he drank in the aroma that was hers.

"It was you," he said. "The rosemary. It clings to your hair. What were you doing there, Edyt?"

"Nay, lord, it was not I. The rosemary is in the rushes. I use it often."

Rushes, indeed. She herself had told him Fyren never allowed rushes in the sleeping chambers for fear of fire. "You have not put rushes in my chamber, Edyt. But I smelled the rosemary there last night. What did you seek?"

"Naught, I tell you."