The Firedrake (27 page)

He caught her right wrist and twisted it behind her back. The branches swiped at them. He bent down, bending her with him. He reined the horse in suddenly.

Her face was bright with pain. He eased her arm a little. Her eyes stared scornfully at him.

“Ugly little bitch,” he said.

She spat at him and struck awkwardly with her free hand. He wrenched her right arm. She gasped and bit her lip and the tears streamed from her eyes.

He felt blood on her hand. She had cut her hand on the edge of his helmet. He struck her on the side of the face. She slacked against him. He held her across the saddle and rode into the woods. He rode away from where his men would gather. The trees were thick. He held her easily, waiting for her to wake up. He found a hollow where two hills came steeply together, where the trees grew far apart and the grass was tall. He dismounted, dropped his reins, and put her down.

She wore a man’s clothes and a loose heavy cloak. The bones of her face were broad and heavy like a man’s. She was ugly. He laid her head on his knee and shook her. “Wake up.”

She came awake like a baby cat. Now she fought like a woman, squealing and scratching. He held her by the shoulders and shook her wildly. Her hair flew loose around them. She stopped fighting. Her breath whistled through her teeth.

“Be quiet,” he said. “I’ll hit you again.”

“Then hit me.”

He raised his fist.

She looked at his fist, in the heavy glove studded with brass. She looked back at him. “No,” she said.

He laughed. It was getting light; he could see her face arid the eyes blazing. She was not afraid of him. The eyes were full of that. They were wide-spaced, intelligent eyes.

He lowered his fist and sat down. He took off his helmet and tossed it aside. He looked at the horse, browsing in the high seeding grass.

“I hate you, Norman,” she said.

“I’m not a Norman.”

“You are.”

“Irish. I fight for the Duke of Normandy.”

“Why?”

“He pays me.”

“He pays you. He pays you.”

He looked at her. He laughed. “I dreamed of you.”

“How could you?”

“I did.”

He looked at her. Her teeth were crooked and her nose was long. But her eyes blazed in her face like the fire through the trees. He wanted this woman; as if he had never had a woman before, he wanted her.

“Do you live in that village?”

“No. I live in the castle.”

“Castle, You call that a castle. What were you doing in the village?”

“There was a sick man there.”

“You Saxons. You have hearts like mud.”

“Who else would have tended him?”

“Do you serve the lord?”

“I am his daughter.”

“And you tend these… sheep?”

“Who else? I’m ugly—no man will marry me for love, and I’ll die old and without children, and I have to do something.”

“What’s your name?”

“Does a man ask the name of a woman he intends to rape?”

“This man might.”

He looked back at the horse. She said, “You want me to run away, don’t you?”

“It would… make things easier.”

He pulled off his boots and wiped the dirt from the spurs. He put the boots down neatly.

“Does your wife take your boots off for you?”

“Sometimes.”

He laughed at her. She frowned. “I won’t run.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“Did you dream that I was ugly?”

“I dreamed you were a witch. Tell me your name.”

“Why?”

“That I might woo you with kind words.”

“What is your name?”

“Laeghaire.”

“Laeghaire.”

He turned. He looked at the sky. It was almost light. He took off his gloves and went to find his helmet. He found the helmet and put the gloves in it and rested the helmet against a tree bole. He unbuckled his sword belt and tossed it by the helmet. He undid the mail shirt and pulled it and the surcoat over his head.

As soon as he had it over his head she was running. She ran straight for the heavy brush. He saw that she would have to swerve and he ran to cut her off. She veered, and he caught her in two steps, and they fell together and rolled and came to rest, interlocked in each other’s arms, facing each other. She stared at him and her eyes flashed dully, like fire on armor. He straightened her hair under his fingers. Suddenly her hands flew up and locked behind his head and she drew his head down, awkwardly, and kissed him, and he kissed her. He reached up and undid her fingers and moved her hands down to hold him by the waist. He kissed her eyes, holding her face between his hands. Her hands moved clumsily at his waist. He undid the laces of the man’s shirt she wore and drew it over her head. She shivered in the cool. He held her close to him. He felt her flesh under his hands and bent to kiss her and stripped her naked while he kissed her. Her knees parted. He moved over her. The tears sprang from her eyes but she never cried out.

He was tired and she exhausted him. He took her back to the horse and Jay down with her, wrapped up in his cloak. She was silent. He dozed. Now and then he woke, when her hands on his body trembled. The day passed slowly over him. He woke up in the late afternoon and took her again. After that they lay silently together.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said.

“I’m not afraid.”

He put his hand on her cheek and turned her face toward his. He kissed her. Her cheeks were red and rough from his beard.

Toward dark the horse suddenly raised his head and snorted. Laeghaire sat up. “Get dressed,” he said. “Hurry.” He went and put on his clothes and stood by the tree where his sword leaned, stamping his feet into his boots.

He heard a dim shout and went to the horse and held its muzzle. She came to him.

“That’s my father.”

“I know.”

She looked away. She was very close to him. He put his arm around her and drew her against him.

“Will they know?”

“Will you tell them?”

“I—”

“Be quiet. Listen to me. I have never wanted a woman before the way I want you.”

She turned her head to look at him. He stepped away, picked up his helmet and sword belt, and mounted. He put on the gloves and the helmet. He reined the horse away and spurred him up the opposite hill. He never looked back. The shouts grew fainter and fainter.

He found his men by noon. They woke up and watched him ride in. He was very tired. His face felt tight. He tethered the horse and rolled himself into his cloak and slept.

He had not slept very long before the shouting woke him up. He whirled up, throwing away his cloak, and saw the men running toward him. His Normans were grabbing up their swords and jumping to make a ring around the camp. The horses trampled and snorted by the little stream. The fires jumped and boomed. Laeghaire snatched up his sword and ran to join the ring. He shouted to the Normans to brace. The Saxons called out to one another and yelled war cries. They collided with the Norman ring. The fighting was wild. Laeghaire spread his feet and whipped his sword around him.

He would never be uprooted. The blade smashed against flesh and bone and stuck and he hauled it free with a twist of his wrists. A body fell against his hip and he struck at it, but it was already dead. He whirled to avoid an ax. The great edge sheared through the air around his head. He saw bright eyes, a small curled mouth in a tangle of beard; he brought his sword around in a lifting arc and saw the eyes glaze and the mouth dampen. That man fell, and he was leaping away from another sword before the corpse struck the earth. Now they were falling back, those Saxons. He hacked at them, howled at them to stand and fight; they began to run, turning their backs and running, and he ran after them. He was suddenly aware that his Normans were on all sides, and he shouted for them to run down these coward Saxons.

They chased them through the trees until there were no more Saxons before them. Laeghaire stopped and his men stopped. Laeghaire waved his arm. “Let’s go back. They’re gone.”

They went back and cleared the camp of the dead and wounded. There were many dead Saxons and several wounded. Laeghaire stood by watching while they were tended and bound. He thought that he would let them go. He poked idly at the torn ground with the tip of his sword. One of them might be her father or brother.

The swelling voices of his men, triumphant, were all around him. He dug up the earth. He heard, abruptly, “God’s Sacred Heart, they call him right. He is a devil.”

And another voice: “Shut up, you fool. He’s right over there.”

Laeghaire straightened. “I heard, and I’m a little sick of the epithet.” He sheathed his sword and went off to sleep again.

The next night they came on a great field of corn, unharvested. Laeghaire sent men to see if there were sentries, and they waited; they made torches and lit them. The riders came back and said that there was a village and a great walled manor not far away, but no people in sight.

They galloped into the overripe corn and hardly had to lean from their saddles to set it on fire. They rode in a single long line, jumping the ditches that marked off each individual strip from its neighbor. The fire caught on and built behind them. The corn burned like tinder. It flared and howled and the wind came stronger and harried it after the Normans. They bolted from the field and Laeghaire turned and saw the flames reaching halfway to the sky, huge and curling and snapping sparks into the air. Like men, like warriors, the flames moved, like men with great supple arms, galloping over the field. His own men were little black shadows racing before it. He fought the black horse with one hand and watched the flames. The horse half reared. A family of field mice ran squeaking under the striking hoofs.

“Let’s go.”

They turned, wheeling all at once like dancers, laughing and shouting. He knew they laughed and shouted, but the flames’ roaring drowned out all the noise, and even drowned its own noise, and the noise was like a vast silence. They raced away, whooping. The farther they rode from the fire, the more their voices came back. They galloped close to the village and the manor house, and flung their torches into the empty village square.

That night he had them set Byrth free. Byrth walked straight out of the camp, headed north. Laeghaire followed him carefully. Outside the camp, Byrth turned to the east and began to jog. He jogged across an open stretch of meadow. The moonlight flooded the meadow. Byrth ran with his shoulders raised and his head down, like an ox. Laeghaire stood in the dark trees, watching. It was cold. He waited until Byrth was out of sight. He sat down and wriggled his fingers inside his gloves.

Murrough, be thought, and was very sad. He stripped the bark from a drooping twig and shredded the bark. His hair fell into his eyes. He took off his right glove and fisted his hand and tucked it into his armpit, to warm his fingers. The glove, empty, collapsed and lay on his knee like a crushed hand. The studs were chipped and scratched.

The wind blew down the tall dry grass in the meadow; here he was protected against the wind. He watched the wind make rippling in the grass. The grass moved and a stag came from the trees, slowly, his head raised and his big ears wide. His antlers were shiny in the moonlight. He was trying to get to the water, to the stream that Laeghaire’s men were camped by. They must have camped right over this stag’s usual trail. He stood a long time, sniffing the wind and listening. He started across the meadow, his eyes wide. He was intent on the trees Laeghaire sat among, the trees that shielded the Norman camp. After him came two does. They moved uneasily across the meadow, quick, beautifully awkward with their long legs and their long slim necks and small heads. They disappeared into the trees on the other side. Laeghaire took his hand from his armpit and put on the glove. The shreds of the bark lay in a heap by his feet, and the peeled twig was bright as a badge.

Rolf took the horse. Hilde smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re back,” she said. She put her hand on his arm. He kissed her.

“What did you do?” she said.

He thought of the woman. “Nothing. We just raided. Burned a few villages and fields.” If he looked at her, she would know. He went into the hut. Rolf brought in his shield. Hilde told him what had happened while he was gone. Her voice was uncertain. She knows anyhow.

“Is William here?”

“Yes,” she said. “Laeghaire, is anything wrong?”

“No.” He took her by the shoulders and kissed her. She sighed. That made it all right for her. He went outside again, and she came up right behind him.

“He said you were to come and see him when you came,” she said. She put her hand flat on his back, and he felt with his back her five fingers spread out. She pushed him gently. “Will you be back soon?”

“Yes.” She was not angry with him. He turned and smiled at her. He went on foot down the shore, near the water, watching the breakers come in. The waves were softened by the harbor’s shape. He found William’s place. The guard in front of it saluted him. He went in and saw Guy sitting cross-legged on the floor.