Читать книгу Siege Of the Heart - Elise Cyr - Страница 6

2

Earlier that day

Alexandre d’Évreux commanded his men to a stop at the crest of a small hill. The rolling countryside stretched below them like a quilt, gray with age. Old snow dotted patches of tenant farms, and still more snow fell, hushing sound. A cluster of buildings along a quicksilver river marked the village of Ashdown. In the distance, on another hill, was the Dumont castle.

At last.

Hugh de Roche, his shield bearer, followed his gaze. “Good vantage in all directions, leagues of farmland…” He turned back to Alex. “You’re a lucky man.”

Alex grimaced. “Non. Nothing is for certain yet. And it will not be until we return to London with Lord Dumont and his family.”

“I do not understand William’s interest in them. Scores of English nobles have already traveled to Berkhamsted to bend their knee to him, strengthening his rule over this land. What is so important about this thane?” Hugh asked.

“William expected his support. Perhaps not at Hastings, but certainly once the battle was decided. He could be a powerful ally and make things easier with the English. At least that is what our king hopes,” Alex said.

Hugh’s brows drew together into a single sooty line. “What if they have gone into hiding?”

“Then we will wait in Ashdown until they can be found.” Alex grinned at the disappointment filling his shield bearer’s face. Only a few years separated them, but Hugh still had the patience of a child. “Come,” Alex said. “We should change into our mail before we make our approach.”

“There’s a likely spot.” Jerome de Combrey, another of his men, pointed to a clearing skirting the road ahead. Large enough for them to dismount and don the armor that had kept them safe at Hastings.

At Alex’s nod, the men urged their mounts toward the break in the trees. As they traveled the eerily quiet roads west from London to northern Gloucestershire, they had taken to wearing their lighter padded leather tunics in lieu of the heavier mail. Alex would be a fool to draw near an English castle without taking precautions—even if Lord Dumont was once a countryman.

Jerome’s frank gaze found Alex as Hugh brought them their mail. “Do you think William knew how extensive the Dumont holding would be?”

Alex looked back through the bare trees and glimpsed the castle once more. “I believe he did. He would reward me for my service, but since he is still unsure of the extent and nature of his holdings, he is unable to grant me the property outright.” Alex did not envy his lord the task of sorting through decades of English legal documents to account for his hard-won kingdom.

The familiar weight of his knee-length hauberk settled over his shoulders, iron links shining dully in the fading afternoon light. Hugh fastened the plate greaves to Alex’s legs before he pulled on his own waist-length hauberk.

Alex looked over Hugh, Jerome and the six other soldiers his father had granted him when he first pledged his sword to Duke William. They were dressed for battle, eyes gleaming with possibility. A show of force in case Lord Dumont proved difficult.

“Approaching the gates in plain view is rather direct,” Jerome said as he smoothed his surcoat over his mail.

Hugh looked up from fastening his belt. “And unexpected.”

Alex shook his head. “We have every right to be here. No need to lurk in the shadows.”

Jerome lifted a shoulder. “Would you answer if a party of strange knights showed up on your doorstep?”

Hugh chuckled. “One look at us and they will beg for mercy.” He patted his scabbard. “If not, there’s an answer for that.”

Alex raised his hand for silence. “Non. We have our orders. We must give the Dumonts every courtesy until we learn more.” He made eye contact with each of his men. “Do not risk their goodwill because you did not get your fill of killing at Hastings.”

Satisfied with what he saw on his men’s faces, he put on his helmet. “Bon. We ride.” Without another word, Alex mounted his horse and led his men down the hill.

He kept his eyes trained on the Dumont castle. Wooden palisade walls encircled a large number of outbuildings. A huge mound of earth rested in the center, on top of which stood a timber watchtower. The motte and bailey structure seemed out of place in England, where so many lords and men of might made their homes in hillside forts, living little better than animals. The Dumont castle was more reminiscent of those of the homeland Alex had left behind when he crossed the channel. The thought eased his mind only slightly.

The sentries were not ignorant of their advance and had drawn the gates shut well before Alex and his men came within range. No arrows, though. Instead, Englishmen up on the walls argued in their harsh tongue, their mutterings carrying on the frigid air.

With the collective strength of his men behind him, Alex took a steadying breath. Time to see what they faced. He removed his helmet—a sign of good faith—and hailed the sentries in French, the only language he knew. “On behalf of William, Duke of Normandy, defeater of Harold, I, Alexandre d’Évreux, request an audience with Lord Bernard Dumont.”

His voice faded, and only silence was his answer.

From behind his helmet’s nose guard, Jerome gave Alex a look.

Hugh exhaled noisily, his breath a white plume on the air. “Do you think they understand?”

Alex tucked his helmet under his arm and kept his eyes on the men on the walls. “We will find out.”

“We should have strapped that cleric to the pack horse, ill or no,” Jerome said. A cleric had been charged to accompany them to aid in translating their words into the barbaric English tongue, but a fever had taken him two days into their journey, and they had left him behind.

Snow clung to Alex’s hair as the minutes trickled by. His hand closed reflexively over the hilt of his sword. If they were not granted entry, Alex had few peaceful options to fall back on. He didn’t want to disappoint his liege, but if the Dumonts resisted, Alex would not have much choice.

His horse stamped impatiently. Alex had to agree. Time to change tactics. They would retreat a safe distance and decide their next steps.

He was ready to give the order when a new face appeared on the wall. A man with graying temples and the squared shoulders of a soldier. He gave Alex a long, inscrutable look, then gestured to the Englishman next to him.

The gates groaned, then slowly opened wide enough to admit horses and riders single-file.

Alex gritted his teeth. Would he and his men be picked off one by one as they entered the courtyard? He reminded himself their arrival had probably taken the Dumont household by surprise. Perhaps they were simply being cautious—as much as they could within the bounds of courtesy.

Before he forgot his courage, Alex tapped his horse’s sides with his heels. He passed into a strangely empty courtyard for a castle this size, offering up a silent prayer when no swords or arrows confronted him.

Small but stout, an old woman exited the hall and stood in the middle of the courtyard. He brought his mount up short. Her back was stiff, with fear or importance he did not know. He did not miss the keys she wore at her belt.

He nodded to her. “I am Alexandre d’Évreux, envoy for Duke William, soon to be the ruler of this land. You have heard such tidings?”

She finally nodded as Jerome and Hugh flanked him. “Welcome, sir.” Her words were a crude imitation of his language.

Household servants and a few soldiers filed into the courtyard, unarmed and grim-faced. Tense, curious, wary. Since they did not attack them when they had first arrived, Alex felt certain they would not interfere now. It was enough to know Lord Dumont had taught his household to respect his Norman countrymen, even if the man in question was not there to greet them.

“I seek Lord Dumont and his family,” he said to the woman.

Her brow pulled tight. In concentration or concern? “Pardon?” she asked.

“Lord Dumont. I would see him. At once.”

She shook her head, her simple linen headrail brushing her shoulders. “He is not here.”

“When will he return?”

“I know not.”

“What about the daughter? The son?”

She held up her hands. “You speak…too quickly.”

Forcing back a curse, he asked again, slowly forming each word.

She shook her head. “They are not here either. Come, you must be tired. A long journey, no?” Her offer of hospitality was unmistakable despite the poorly phrased words.

Jerome’s raised eyebrows matched Alex’s as he dismounted and let a stable boy lead his mount toward Lord Dumont’s stables.

Alex tipped his head to the servant and smiled. “My thanks to you. We have traveled many days and—”

A high-pitched whinny pierced the air.

“You filthy cur!”

Alex whirled around just as Hugh backhanded a different stable boy across the face, knocking him to the ground.

For one tense moment, silence blanketed the courtyard. Then instinct kicked in. Alex took two steps toward the boy. An arrow lodged into the packed dirt at his feet. He jerked to a stop, his gaze leaping to the walls. A dozen archers with arrows nocked.

His men raised their shields, their naked blades ready to taste blood as they circled around Alex.

They had come so far, and now this? He held up his hands. “Non! Stand down. Now!”

Dimly, he could make out an Englishman’s shouts along the walls. Then one archer relaxed his stance, followed by another.

Alex gave Jerome a stern look. He was the first to ease off, the rest of Alex’s men cautiously following.

He would see this fixed. Alex leveled a glare at Hugh and kept his hands raised. “Your pardon,” he called out.

Air aching in his lungs, he slowly approached the hapless stable boy, still sprawled across the ground. Alex helped him up, cursing the boy’s wild eyes and the red streak across his cheek.

He dusted him off and led him to the old servant who had not moved, nor dared to breathe he guessed, based on her white cheeks. “Good woman, please give him my apologies for my shield bearer’s conduct.”

Her gaze darted to Hugh and the men on the walls before stopping on Alex. She gave him an uncertain nod. The boy scurried to her side and they exchanged frantic whispers before he sprinted toward the stables.

However, that was only half the problem. Frowning, Alex turned back to Hugh.

He spat on the ground. “He startled my horse.”

Alex growled. All this over such a trifle? He grabbed two fistfuls of Hugh’s surcoat and shoved him back a few paces. Hugh’s heel caught on a half-frozen clod of dirt, and he fell back. Laughter sounded, but a harsh command silenced the Englishmen on the walls.

Alex loomed over him. “I care not what the stable boy did,” he said through his teeth. “I care only that you have single-handedly threatened our mission here.”

Hugh’s gaze fell. “I just reacted—”

“And nearly got us all killed.”

“It will not happen again.”

Alex battled back a fresh surge of embarrassment and anger. He took a deep breath. “Do not make me regret taking you into my service.”

Hugh swallowed and nodded.

Alex stood back as Hugh struggled to his feet. “You will see to our horses’ stabling personally since you are so concerned.”

He waited as Hugh slunk off to the stables before returning his attention to the Dumont servant. “Please accept my apology for this unfortunate misunderstanding.”

The woman gave him a jerky nod. “The boy was more scared than hurt.”

Perhaps all was not lost. Alex inclined his head. “It is kind of you to say so.”

She hesitated, then squared her shoulders. “Let me show you where you’ll be staying.”

As Alex followed her to the main hall, he threw a look over his shoulder. His gaze caught on the gray-haired knight still up on the walls. The Englishman stared after them, an unreadable look on his face.

Bloodshed had been prevented this day, true, but Alex would need to watch his back.

* * * *

Alex set down his eating dagger and looked along the high table. Despite the difficulties earlier, his comrades seemed to be in good spirits, with food, wine, and revelry flowing. If only the rest of the dinner guests were so cheerful. Sharp looks were aimed his way whenever the Englishmen and women thought his attention elsewhere. Distrust imbued the air, as thick as the smoke curling up from the fire in the center of the room. What else could he expect?

“Alex.” Jerome put a hand on his arm.

“I am sorry,” Alex said. “I was not attending.”

“Non, I gathered not,” Jerome said with a grin. He followed Alex’s gaze over the main hall. “It is an excellent castle.”

The hall was soundly built, timber reinforced with stone. Horsemen on a hunt leapt across thick tapestries that kept out a great deal of winter’s chill. Fresh rushes graced the floor and crumbs of feasts past had been swept clear from the tables long before the start of the meal. A well-kept home, and goodly-sized. Alex had been given a room in the living quarters located over the hall, while household staff made use of rooms off the kitchens. And the nearby lodgings for Dumont’s men-at-arms were large enough to house the rest of Alex’s men.

He leaned back as a serving girl set a platter of venison on the table. “Merci,” he said, eyeing her closely.

The girl’s mouth fell open before she simply nodded and gave a short curtsy. He frowned as she backed away from the table and hurried off.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you are disappointed she did not swoon at your attentions,” Jerome said with a laugh.

“Nothing of the sort. I was merely seeing if she recognized the word.”

“Matilde told us the staff only speak English. We’re lucky she knows as much French as she does.” Jerome pointed to the old woman who had greeted them in the courtyard, now bustling around the room, directing servants. “She said her father was a merchant of sorts, and she learned French as a child before coming to serve the Dumonts.”

“Yes, but is that not odd? I would think Lord Dumont would have retained a few French-speaking servants.”

Hugh looked up from his cup. Still chastened when he had returned from his duties in the stables, his shield bearer had been quiet for much of the meal. “Are you suggesting they are refusing to talk to us?”

Alex nodded. “I can understand their defiance, but it bodes ill for our presence in England.”

He glanced at all the strange faces taking the meal with them. Someone here had to know where the Dumonts could be found, but Matilde claimed she did not understand him when he had questioned her again before the meal. And now, the other servants and guests were keeping their distance from the high table where Alex and his men sat. He kept an eye out for the gray-haired knight, who had not yet made an appearance.

He rubbed his temples. “I am not sure how we will be able to find the Dumonts if they do not wish it.”

“Worry not about the son. There’s not much doubt he was at Hastings,” Jerome said.

“Ha,” Hugh said with a sneer. “He probably didn’t even survive the battle.”

A heavy clank momentarily drowned out the rambunctious voices filling the hall. Dread coiled tight in Alex’s chest. The English surrounded them on all sides—it didn’t matter the majority of the Dumont soldiers had most likely fallen serving in the English army. Alex and his men were still outnumbered. And after the confrontation in the courtyard earlier, he would take nothing for granted.

Hugh and Jerome gripped the hilts of their swords. Alex scanned the hall for the source of the disruption, for a sign they would need to defend themselves. If their hosts regretted their offer of hospitality…

His gaze landed on Matilde, a heavy-laden platter at her feet. She must have dropped it. Hardly a cause for alarm. He sank into his seat, his men following his lead.

The tray’s contents had splattered onto the rushes, and a pair of hunting dogs snarled over the mess. Matilde flushed as she shouted commands in English to the other servants to help clean up whatever the dogs left. The older woman scurried from the hall after a quick backward look at Alex. He could not shake the feeling the parting glance was a condemning one.

Drumming the table with his fingers, Alex turned to his comrades.

“The son forfeited any inheritance when he lifted his sword against us,” Hugh continued.

Jerome leaned in, amusement twinkling in the depth of his eyes. “And I hear the daughter is a beauty. But she may be too high-spirited for you, Alex.” Hugh and the others chuckled, the tension from a few moments ago now forgotten.

“She might be worth the trouble, if this castle is any indication. Lord Dumont must be getting on in years. You’ll not have a long wait, Alex,” Hugh said, a smug grin on his face.

“You’ll marry that minx Dumont and be comfortable for the rest of your life, and us along with you,” Jerome said.

Alex’s stomach tightened, uneasy at coveting what William had promised when too many things remained unresolved. He pushed at the meat on his trencher with the tip of his eating dagger, all too aware of the hostile looks darting toward the high table.

“Dumont will see the advantage in having a son-in-law of William’s choosing, I have no doubt,” Jerome said when Alex remained silent.

Hugh surveyed the room with ill-disguised contempt. “Bah, William is too considerate of these English dogs.”

“You forget Lord Dumont hails from Lisieux and was one of the Confessor’s men. Surely this meal is evidence of that much,” Jerome said.

Alex had to agree. In addition to plainer faire like hearty stews and meat pies marking English cooking, the meal included elaborately spiced and sauced dishes reminding Alex of the grand meals he had enjoyed growing up in his father’s hall in Normandy. Back when he could still stomach such feasts and his father’s hospitality.

Hugh shrugged. “Mongrel then, if the Norman is such an important part of English society.”

“William must tread lightly if he wants to remain king of this land. Allowing the nobility to marry their daughters off to Norman knights will ease the transition,” Jerome said between bites.

“And you must not forget there are many other men William will need to reward,” Alex said.

Hugh took a sip of the small beer they had been served. “I suppose we must be grateful to William for thinking of you for this holding.”

“Yes, but not everyone can claim to have saved William’s life during the battle,” Jerome said. “No doubt he found Alex worthy of this estate, wife or no.”

Alex shifted in his seat. He hoped for the same things they did, but hearing it spoken of so coldly… He was glad Matilde had not remained in the hall regardless of how much she would understand of their conversation. He shook his head. “The Dumonts may resent William’s heavy-handedness.”

He knew better than to assume the holding would be worth an unhappy marriage. His parents had taught him that much. However, William seemed convinced Lord Dumont would be receptive to the match. And Alex, having no prospects of his own as the third son of a Norman lord, was thankful his gamble in joining with William paid off, despite his misgivings about the marriage. Perhaps he would be pleasantly surprised in both Lord Dumont and his daughter.

“I do not want the possibility of my marriage spoken of again.” Alex waited until he heard the murmur of assent around him. “After all, we must still find them.”

Jerome gave him a wink. “I hope you’ll like what you find in the lady.”

“Keep watch on your tongue, Jerome.” Alex stabbed at a piece of venison and ate, while his men busied themselves with their trenchers.

The harsh murmurs of the Englishmen and women in the hall rose in volume. Then a handful of men left the tables and went outside. Alex looked at Jerome and directed his head toward the commotion. With a nod, Jerome excused himself to investigate.

Hugh looked up from his cup. “Probably nothing. The Englishmen are just tired of sharing a meal with their conquerors, no?”

Alex drained the rest of his beer and kept his eyes on the entrance of the hall.

In moments, Jerome returned to the high table. “They’re opening the gates!”

Alex jumped to his feet. He had given orders he be informed of all comings and goings, but had not expected much activity, given the snow that had begun shortly before they arrived at the Dumont castle.

Jerome led Alex out of the hall. Hugh and the rest of his men followed. The sentries stationed along the palisade walls shouted back and forth in guttural English. What had raised such a commotion? Perhaps the Dumonts had returned. Alex looked at the bewildered faces of Hugh and the rest of his men, before turning to the opening gates.

“It’s a wonder the English can even see in all this.”

Alex ignored Hugh’s grumble and peered past the gates. Through the falling snow he could just make out a horse heading toward them at a gallop. Pulling up sharply, a disheveled woman slid out of the saddle and shrieked out orders in English. Members of the Dumont household scurried about in response. Leaning heavily against the horse, she called out again. He didn’t understand the words but recognized the urgency behind them.

Underneath her cloak, the girl wore a padded leather tunic over a woolen dress. She had a sword and a small knife strapped to her waist, and an empty quiver rested on her back. Another sword was fastened to the saddle. What would a mere girl be doing with such an arsenal?

Her eyelids fluttered when she found the blood that saturated her clothing and seeped onto her hand from her injured shoulder. She swayed, and Alex hastened his steps toward her. When she finally looked up at him, surprise and disappointment stained her features.

She shook her head as his arms closed around her. “No...” Her voice had lost all its frantic energy from before.

The sentries cried out again as more riders, leading a handful of empty mounts, streamed into the bailey. The girl pushed him away, but her feeble efforts drained whatever strength she had left and she collapsed against him. He disentangled her from the horse’s reins and took extra care to ensure he did not aggravate the broken arrow lodged in her shoulder as he picked her up.

He stared at the men standing around him. “Who is this girl, and why have you admitted her?” he said, voice raised above their murmurs.

No one moved.