Rose of Hope (43 page)

“I said it, I did!” One old hearth companion yelled the words to a fellow companion-in-misery over the shriek of the wind. The gusts whipped the flames of the pit into wild gyrations and blew sparks from one side of the tower to the other. “Did I not? Only yester morn, I said there was too much of a chill in the air for good. The birds flocked in a frenzy of feeding, they did. ’Twas an omen of bad weather a-coming. But did anyone listen? Nay! I said it, and I was right.”

“Aye, old man,” one of Sir Aalot’s knights growled, “you said it, and said it till we are all weary of hearing it. It can do no good to keep saying it, now can it, when there is naught one can do about it?”

One of Fallard’s knights tried to wrap his cloak more tightly about himself as he stepped to the all too open window embrasure to look outside, but the wind frustrated his efforts, whipping the edges of his cloak from fingertips nigh frozen even though encased in fur-lined leather gloves.

“Bah!” He groaned, unable to see further than his extended hand, which he thrust back inside his cloak. “Neither man nor beast is fool enough to be out in this, save us. The end of this night’s duty will be more welcome than any I have seen since that blizzard we had ere Midwinter’s Day yester year last. There had better be warm ale, hot food and hotter fires waiting for us in the barracks. My nose has got so cold ’twill be a miracle if it breaks not off to fall on the floor.”

Inside the hall, conditions were little better. Ethelmar, who awoke shivering beneath the single fur that had been sufficiently warm cover the night before, realized immediately what had happened. He was old enough to remember ’twas not the first time winter had sneaked back when least expected, when by all proper rules of nature it should have gone for good.

Mumbling over the stiffness of his aged bones, he delved in the chest at the foot of his narrow alcove for his heaviest woolen clothing and slid unhappily out of his pallet. He pulled on braies, shirt, tunic, thick hose and boots with fingers that seemed to creak in the icy air almost as loudly as the heavy doors under the flailing wind. Bundling a cloak over it all, he roused the shivering slaves from their pallets and set them to work coaxing the embers in the fire pits into roaring flames. Some he sent with kindling and buckets of coal to the individual guest bowers to re-stoke the braziers. They had to get heat into the hall, and quickly. The temperature was so low ’twas dangerous.

In the kitchen, slightly warmer than the rest of the hall because the fires were kept burning low all night in preparation for the morn’s cooking, Alewyn and Alyce were also awake and rousing their lads and maids. When the lords and their ladies woke, the lords—and some of the ladies—would be bellowing for hot food and drink and would take not kindly to having to wait.

Ethelmar stood amid the three fire pits, his feet on the furs with their shielding warmth. He was giving orders to several stout, fur-wrapped young men to go to the village to check on things there, especially the older folks and solitary widows, when his warmly-dressed lord appeared from the kitchen.

Ethelmar’s jaw dropped. “Thegn D’Auvrecher!”

He had no notion the lord had even left his bower. What did he do in the kitchen? On cold morns, Thegn Renouf had never left his pallet ere the hall was warmed, and even Thegn Kenrick had rarely ventured out in cold such as this until after break of day.

“What do you do, my lord, rising so early and in this chill? Return you to the comfort of your bed until we have the hall warmed up a bit more.”

“Nay, Ethelmar,” Fallard replied, though he grimaced as he drew his thick cloak of black fur more closely over his shoulders. “’Tis nigh daylight and I want to see for myself what conditions this storm has wrought. There may needs be changes made to the day’s plans, and there may be those who are in need of our aid.”

“Aye, my lord, I have only this moment sent lads to take stock in the village. But ’tis a morn to rival the cold of a witch’s eye, and I fear even for the sentries on the wall.”

“Good man!” Fallard approved as Ethelmar hurried to help him with the doors. “I will want somewhat hot when I return,” he added through clenched teeth as the force of the gale slammed into his face.

The doors slammed shut behind him. Ethelmar shivered again and hurried to the kitchen.

***

Saint’s bones, but it was cold! Fallard maneuvered down the icy steps and trudged through the storm toward the stairs leading to the north guard tower. He hoped he could
find
the stairs. Though ’twas not far nigh to sun’s rising, ’twas still dark in the courtyard. But he saw little sense in carrying a torch, for out in the open, the wind would never allow it to stay lit. He glanced up and was relieved to see through the folds of his hood the faint glow of lights within the tower. They looked like blurry, crazily gyrating fireflies through the driving ice and snow flurries, but provided him the guide he needed.

Faith! Nourmaundie was never like this. In all the twelvemonths he had lived in this land, he had never quite grown accustomed to the difference in climate. Here in the south ’twas not so bad, though more damp and wetter than home, but he had once gone on a covert winter foray in Northumbria for William and by the time he returned, he had been certain he would never thaw again. This morn, felt like that.

He gripped tightly with gloved fingers the wooden railing along the wall, needing its support as his boots slithered on the thick sheet of ice that covered the steps. Despite his care, he slipped once and went down, grunting as his knees made unpleasantly forceful impact with the stone. Grit would need to be spread over everything once the storm was over, or half his troops would be laid up with broken bones.

His unannounced and headlong advent into the guard tower, bundled head to foot in the black, ice-blanketed fur cloak, had the guards leaping from their huddled positions around the fire, trying with cold-stiffened fingers to pull their swords and prepare for assault. They stared at him in shocked disbelief.

Fiercely dancing light from the pit reflected off scores of tiny icicles clinging to the hairs of his cloak. He suspected he appeared to the startled sentries, some of whom had been raised from childhood on tales of ice demons, as darkness on fire. He might have been an ice-apparition for the way they ogled him.

If ‘twere not so cursed cold, he would have laughed at their expressions. ’Twould seem none but his own man was accustomed to their captain visiting them under such conditions. Good. Though his knights already knew his habit, from this moment the rest of the men would also know there was no condition under which he might not appear. ’Twould be a lesson well learned. Soldiers who expected the unexpected were men far less easily surprised by an enemy. Because of it, they lived longer.

“Captain!” His own knight, grinning at the amaze of the others, saluted him and called him over, offering Fallard his stool. A horn tankard, its rough sides warm from the hot liquid within, was thrust into his grateful hands.

“My thanks, Hugue. Everyone still resides among the living, then?” He spoke loudly, though he knew the question to be rhetorical. These were men accustomed to hardship, who took care of their own, and if anyone making a foray out onto the walls had returned not in good time, he would have been sought for until found. Still, Fallard wanted to hear for himself the answer.

“Aye, Captain.” Another man, one of the hearth companions, answered. “But I mind not admitting to gladness our shift is nigh over. ’Twould be good did more wood be brought up for the fires ere break of day. ’Twill be needed.”

“I thought as much. I will order it so.” Fallard might have spoken more with them, but the noise level was too high for ease in conversation so he sat, huddled with the rest as close to the pit as he could get until he finished his ale.

“’Tis my thought to check the stables,” he said as he stood. “Hugue, choose a man to accompany you to the chapel. I want to know Father Gregory is hale. On your return, check the cottages between here and there. Also, send two others to rouse the garrison at the east tower. We may need them do we find trouble. The rest of you, stay alert. The ice is dangerous underfoot. Pass the word to stay together. No one goes anywhere alone until the storm is over.”

Trifine and Jehan met him at the foot of the stairs, also unsurprised to find him up and about ahead of them.

“The troops in the knight’s quarters are roused, Captain,” Jehan shouted. “They help in the hall. What else needs be done?”

Fallard headed for the stables, both men following. He glanced back and yelled, “Aught that will see me back in my warm bed and my wife’s arms at the soonest possible moment.”

Faith, but he hated the necessity of leaving Ysane’s side. She needed him. The abuse she had endured the past three twelvemonths had left its mark. Despite the sweet trust with which she honored him, it had taken the best part of the night—and more gentleness and patience on his part than he had known he had—to overcome her resistance. At one point, he had reiterated his offer to wait until she could better accept his touch, but she had insisted with tears they continue. ’Twas not her fault, but it had tried him sorely. He fervently hoped they would have an easier time of it from this point on, now she
knew
he would not hurt or humiliate her.

Trifine’s bark of commiserating laughter at his words sounded over the gale. He turned to glare at his First. He had not meant his words to be amusing, but Jehan’s grin was also wide. He suddenly saw the humor and threw back his head to howl at nature’s jest.

Jehan grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the stable door. “Mirth is best enjoyed inside! ’Tis warmer there. But what a way to end one’s first night with one’s new bride. Though you both waived the ‘hiding’, ’twould have been kinder of nature to wait a day or two ere dragging you so early from the womanly warmth in your beds.”

His less than sympathetic guffaws were louder than the wind, earning him annoyed but good-natured cuffs from his comrades.

Feeling his way along the stable wall, Fallard reached the double doors at the entrance. He lifted the latch to open one side but had to fight the wind. Jehan was the last inside. The door slammed shut behind him with a mighty crack that should have splintered it. They halted, for ’twas darker inside than ’twas without. At least the thick walls blocked the fearsome force of the wind. ’Twas much quieter too, though the chill remained intense. They stepped deeper into the building, searching for those on duty. Around them, the horses, some already spooked by the storm, shifted and stamped uneasily.

“Ho, the stables!” Trifine called, when no one came to meet them.

A small shape loomed out of the shadows in front of them and all three tensed, but the figure resolved into a stableboy carrying a low-burning torch. The youngster squawked in fear at sight of their massive figures, made frighteningly bizarre and far larger by the furs that bundled them and the shadows formed by his torch. He turned to run. Fallard caught a fold of the heavy blanket the boy had wrapped around himself and pulled, hauling the youngster into his arms.

“Hold! Have no fear, ’tis only your lord, come to see to your safety.”

“My…my thegn?”

Fallard’s brows scrunched together. The incredulous disbelief at his presence was further proof the previous master of the burh had exhibited little interest in the welfare of his people and had rarely, if ever come among them except to torment.

“Come, give me your name, lad.” He wrapped a gloved hand around the boy’s scruff and dragged him, gently enough, towards the back of the stables. Beyond the stalls on either side, the reflected light from a fire could now be seen. From further along the row came a loud, nickering snort. The corners of his eyes crinkled. Tonnerre had heard his voice and called a greeting. He would see to the animal as soon as he finished his business with the stablemaster.

“I am called Geat, my thegn.” His captive suddenly found words to inform him.

“Well then, Geat,” he said, keeping the tenor of his voice conversational, “go and wake your master and tell him I want to look around.”

He released the boy, who threw an uncertain glance at them as he scampered behind a chest high partition that angled out from the back wall, the firelight emanating from behind it.

The three waiting men listened to a muffled commotion that held undertones of urgency, followed by several unidentifiable thumps.

“My thegn D’Auvrecher, good morn, good morn!” The short, squat figure of the stablemaster spoke in a sleep-fogged voice as he rounded the end of the wall. “How may I be of service?”

At first sight, Cross-Eyed Tuck appeared an unlikely horseman. A small, bandy-legged man, he was endowed with huge, bulging brown eyes that displayed a disconcerting tendency to cross themselves uncontrollably at inopportune moments, causing him to blink like a madman. He managed to project a constant air of incompetent befuddlement, but the mien was deceptive. Fallard had learned since his subduing of the burh that the stablemaster could ride, handle and care for horses with an uncanny knack other men could envy, but never match.

He had heard it said by those closest to Tuck he could ‘faerie’ horses, whisper enchantments to them so they would docilely do whatever he required, or follow him anywhere. The wildest stallions transformed into tame kittens beneath his weight. The most skittish mares became fearless as destriers at his touch. The most intractable all but bowed in obeisance to his commands.

Some thought him bewitched, and feared him. None understood him. Fallard cared not if he stood on his head and gibbered, so long as the horses were in good hands, and Tuck’s were the best.

“Good morn to you, Tuck! Aware are you there is a blizzard blowing?”

“A what, my lord? A blizzard, you say? Wait but a moment, if you please.”

As the three men leaned as one to peer around the corner of the stalls in overt curiosity, he ran to the doors, carefully inched open the right portal and stuck his head out, appeared to sniff a time or two, then returned.