1606011324-Lady-Knight-Chenery Page 5

  Someone gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Ariel looked up to find Osbern still at her side. She realized now he had kept his promise. He had not left her alone in the sea of carnage that had just taken place. Ariel saw Osbern was also covered in blood.

  “You didn’t leave me.”

  “Nay, not that you needed my help.” Osbern looked to see that they would not be overheard before he spoke again. “I must say, lass, you have lived up to surpass my expectations. Look at you, hardly a wound on you. If only your father could have seen you fight this day. You have done him proud.”

  “I have my teacher to thank.” Ariel raised her sword to salute Osbern. Finding it covered in blood she stopped in mid-motion and swallowed hard. Osbern chuckled.

  “You’re blooded now, lass. The next battle you fight it won’t hit you so hard.”

  “If you say so. Right now I need to wash up before I make a spectacle of myself.”

  Osbern draped his arm around Ariel’s shoulders and turned her. “It will get easier. You are a true warrior now, lass. I think a goblet of good mead is in order. Let’s go back to camp.”

  Ariel let Osbern lead her across the bridge. It would take quite a few goblets of mead to make this day unremarkable.

  Chapter 9

  Broc watched, enthralled, as she slowly came closer. Her scent wafted over him when she stood in front of him. She smelled like sunshine, flowers, and her own woman scent. The smell of it made his body harden even more.

  With shaking hands he pushed his fingers through her hair. It felt like silk. The sun turned it almost white as she pressed her cheek into his palm. Closing his eyes, Broc slowly lowered his head until their lips met. Feeling hers soften under his, he increased the pressure. Knowing what he wanted, she parted her lips. Her taste almost undid him. He didn’t think he would ever get enough of her.

  His body ached for the feel of her. Releasing her hair, Broc slid his hands down her back and pulled her closer, bringing her body flush against his. She had to know how much he wanted her. The evidence of his arousal nestled against her belly, hard and throbbing.

  He broke off the kiss and looked into her blue eyes. She smiled. Taking his hand she placed it on her left breast. Her heart beat just as fast as his. Then she did the unexpected. She silently mouthed the words, I love you.

  Broc bolted upright on his cot with his body covered in sweat and with an erection so hard he knew he would be uncomfortable for most of the day. The same dream had plagued him for the last month. And he always woke up just as she spoke those words. The Saxon girl had become so much a part of him she now lived in his dreams. Why she stood out in his mind so strongly, he couldn’t really explain. Making love to her had somehow bonded her to him. Broc hated to admit that she had become his obsession, but there was no denying that she had. That didn’t sit well with him.

  Running his fingers through his hair, Broc stood and stretched. While dressing he came to the only logical solution to his problem. He had to go back to his Saxon girl. She had given him her virginity, how could he not think of her but his? And to be certain he saw her again he planned to ask for Elmstead to be his after William won his throne.

  Last night the south wind finally started to blow once more. After being stranded at St. Valery for two weeks their chance at England had come again. This evening the fleet would sail. By God’s will, Broc would see the Saxon girl again.

  With the darkening sky the Normans set sail for England. The duke led the way in his ship called the Mora, a gift from his wife Matilda. The light on the masthead was the beacon for the rest of the fleet to follow. Broc, along with William FitzOsbern, were one of the few who sailed on the Mora with the duke.

  Once underway the men not needed to sail the ships settled down to sleep on the deck. Tomorrow they would reach England. There was nothing to do but wait.

  With the coming dawn it became clear events had transpired during the night. The Mora was alone with nothing in sight. No coast of England, no other ships of the fleet. The duke ordered the sail lowered and brought the Mora to a stop. Acting as if everything was as it should be, he decided to break his fast.

  As time passed the men began to worry, but the duke showed none of their discomfort. When a sail finally was spotted off in the distance a cheer went up. Broc felt himself relax. He spotted another ship behind the first, then another and another. Obviously the Mora had out sailed the rest of the fleet. Maybe they would make it to England after all.

  By the time the duke had finished eating, the other ships had caught up with them. The Mora once more got underway and a short while later land came in sight. They had made the crossing virtually unscathed. Only two ships had disappeared during the night.

  At seeing such a large fleet of warriors, the people of Pevensey ran and hid. Some of the Normans leapt ashore prepared to do battle as others urged the horses to jump overboard. With all confidence, William gained the shore. A gasp of horror went up through the men as the duke slipped and fell forward. He landed with both hands on the ground. Realizing most of the troops would consider this an evil omen William calmly got up and brushed his hands clean.

  “By God’s splendor, I’ve seized the soil of England in both my hands.” A cheer went up. The duke managed to turn the tide on a potentially bad situation with guile, making it seem a minimal occurrence.

  Finding no opposition, the Normans plundered Pevensey for food and claimed it as their own. They built a fort inside the old Roman walls. After a few days of rest the duke decided to move further inland. William divided his army. Some of the troops went by ships and the knights rode while the foot soldiers marched. Whichever way they traveled, William’s men left death and destruction all the way to Hastings.

  Chapter 10

  Four days after the Norman’s landing Harold received the news at York. The messenger arrived during the feast celebrating the defeat of the Norse. Gathering the house carls, along with the fryd who had fought at Stamford Bridge, the king marched for London.

  Messages were sent to Duke William telling him he had no right to England’s throne. In reply, the duke held firm to his belief that Edward had promised him the throne. Left with no other choice, Harold sent a last message to William. He would march at once and he would be marching to battle. With the final message sent Harold could be overheard saying, “May the Lord now decide between William and me, and may he pronounce which of us has the right.”

  Harold led the army out of London and marched towards Hastings. Other men were expected to join the army there, coming from Kent and Sussex, meeting up with the king at an ancient apple tree. The tree grew at a junction of tracks outside of Hastings. There, Harold set up his battle headquarters.

  Ariel once more found herself standing in a line facing a battlefield with ever faithful Osbern at her side. She was nervous, but not as badly as she had been when she had faced the Norse. This time she knew what to expect. The only difference from the last battle would be she now had to face the countrymen of the knight. The blood that ran through their veins also ran through her son’s. For all Ariel knew the knight could be among the men on the other side of the field.

  Ariel knew the English would be fighting on foot. Unlike the Normans, they never fought on horseback or used archers. But the numbers looked to be on their side. Where William had around eight thousand men, Harold had slightly more.

  The knights on the Norman side dismounted and donned their chain mail. Remounting, they prepared for battle. Ariel stiffened as a lone rider left the Norman lines. She could not believe what she saw next. The man started to sing as he threw his sword up in the air. He caught it as it came down and continued to canter his horse across the valley to the English lines. When he reached them he killed three men before being brought down.

  After that spectacle the real business of waging war began. The Norman archers stepped forward. In response, the English doubled their front ranks, to form a wall of overlapping shields. The archers loosed their missiles at fi
fty paces.

  Ariel felt the impact of the arrows without having to be in the front rank. Not all the missiles hit the shields, some found their mark. Men around her dropped to the ground screaming. She blocked out the sound and withdrew her sword from its sheath.

  After the archers, the Norman infantry advanced. The English made their first move by throwing spears at the new wave of men. Behind the infantry came the mounted knights. The house carls came forward to swing battle axes. With the sword as her choice of weapon, Ariel was not among the house carls when they first engaged the enemy. They had never fought men on horses before and she would be more of a hindrance than a help.

  It soon became obvious the knights had never met men in battle swinging axes. At the last minute they broke away. In their retreat, they ended up riding down the infantry and archers. Those who did not end up under the horses’ hooves they put to flight. At a marshy section at the bottom of the valley some of the horsemen fell in, causing the right wing of the English to break ranks and rush down their hill to attack.

  The Normans then broke ranks. Some were heard to shout that the duke was among the knights who had gone down and was now dead. This in turn caused most to retreat. William stopped their retreat by yanking off his helmet and riding to the front of his men. He shouted and threatened them with his sword. That seemed to work as their mad flight came to an abrupt halt. William then rode out and cut off the isolated English who had broken rank. The Norman’s used the opportunity to slaughter them on and around a little hillock in the lower part of the valley.

  A few of the men near Ariel muttered that the Norman’s confusion should have been used against them, but the order to attack never came. All stood firm and never advanced. Even near the end they did not retreat as a whole.

  The shield wall began to shrink in length as men fell and were not replaced. When the mounted knights started to come in at the sides, Ariel finally faced the enemy. Letting the rhythm of slashing and hacking take over, Ariel saw nothing except for each target as it presented itself. Even when a hail of arrows fell, it didn’t register.

  That soon ended. The knights kept coming. With each swing, Ariel’s arm grew increasingly tired. A pain ripped through her left shoulder, bringing her out of her trance like state. Ariel had to look, she couldn’t stop herself. Blood welled out of the sword cut that ran across the whole width of her left shoulder. She watched fascinated as it soaked the sleeve of her tunic and began to drip down her hand.

  As she looked down, Ariel found something else—something she never thought she would see. It was Osbern. An arrow stuck out of his chest. Without looking, she knew she would find his eyes staring, lifeless. As her legs gave out, once more oblivious to what went on around her, Ariel knelt down beside Osbern. Her hand shook as she reached out and gently closed his eyes. A wail of despair welled up in her throat. Little did she know that her cry had caught the attention of one of the Norman knights.

  * * * *

  Broc pulled his mount up short at the sound. Looking around him, he found the source of the noise. A Saxon warrior, no, taking a closer look he realized a young boy, was bent over the body of a dead man.

  The boy’s size made Broc wonder who had allowed him to fight. The way he was bent over, kept his face hidden. The very pale blond hair sticking out from under the boy’s helmet drew him. He walked his horse closer. Just before he reached him, the young man looked directly at Broc. If he had not been holding onto his horse’s reins, Broc would have fallen to the ground. The strikingly familiar face took his breath away. It was the face of the girl, the one who had haunted his dreams for the last year. The one he had not been able to forget.

  As Broc loomed above, the boy screamed with rage and attacked him. That he was mounted seemed to be no deterrent for the boy. Broc quickly lowered his shield and blocked the sword before it could do any damage to his horse. That must have been all the strength the boy had left in him. Thwarted, he lowered his head as if he expected Broc to deliver a death blow.

  When he did no such thing, the boy looked up at him. Broc watched as his gaze landed on his shield. The boy stiffened then jerked his eyes up to Broc’s face. A look of recognition flashed across the boy’s face before he quickly hid it.

  Waiting to see what the boy would do next, Broc watched him. When the boy seemed about to run, Broc dismounted and grabbed the boy by his left arm. At his cry of pain, Broc noticed the wound for the first time. From the amount of blood on his sleeve and the boy’s hand, he realized the wound would be deep.

  Broc had a decision to make. He could either let the boy go or take him as his prisoner. If he released him and the wound was not taken care of soon, the boy could die from loss of blood. Looking at the face that so reminded him of the girl, Broc knew he wouldn’t be able to leave the boy behind.

  Not knowing if he would be understood, Broc spoke to the young man. “You’ll come with me. I’m sure you will be worth something to someone.”

  “I’ll go nowhere with you, Norman. I would rather be dead.”

  Chapter 11

  “You understand me?” Broc almost released the boy’s arm at the sound of his voice.

  “Of course. My father is a thane, he provided me with the education I need for my station.”

  “Is that your father?”

  The boy looked down at the body of the large man who lay near him. At the reminder of the dead man, he seemed to have to compose himself before he could reply. “Nay, my father is at home. This was Osbern. He came with me to fight.”

  “He must have meant much to you.” Broc loosened his grip a little seeing the boy’s eyes go glassy with unshed tears.

  “Osbern taught me everything I know about arms. He has been with my family for years. Why should you care?”

  “What’s your name boy? If I’m to ransom you I need to know who to contact.”

  The boy seemed to debate with himself whether or not to tell him anything. In the end, he took a deep breath and said, “I’m Wulf of Elmstead.”

  Broc felt all the air empty out of his lungs, as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Could the girl be this boy’s sister? The resemblance was too close to be a coincidence.

  “Do you have a sister, Wulf?”

  “Nay. I’m an only child.”

  The sounds of battle had slowly been dying away as they spoke, which could only mean one thing. One side had become the victor. Too many Norman knights could be seen on the Saxon side of the field. It looked as if William had won himself a throne.

  Gripping the boy’s arm tighter, Broc started to pull him away from Osbern’s body.

  “Wait. I can’t leave my friend like this. He deserves to be properly buried.” When Broc did not slow his pace, he started to dig his heels into the ground. “I’ll not leave him. Stop whatever your name is.”

  “My name is Broc St. Ceneri. Don’t worry. Your friend will be taken care of. From now on you will do as I say. Until I receive your ransom you are my prisoner.” Feeling the fight go out of the boy, Broc continued. “The first thing we need to do is take care of your shoulder. It would be a pity to have you die before the gold arrives.”

  * * * *

  After he had dragged her away from the battlefield, Broc left Ariel with one of the Norman monks who turned out to be a healer. He silently lifted the sleeve of her tunic and began to clean her wound. Wincing slightly as the water seeped into the cut, Ariel looked around for Broc. He was nowhere to be seen.

  With her arm taken care of, one of the Norman foot soldiers led her to the small shelter that had been set up for prisoners. Ariel appeared not to be the only one who had been captured, escaping death on the field. Three other men shared the tent like structure with her. From them Ariel learned how the battle had been won. Even now, hours after hearing it told, she felt her stomach churn.

  Harold had been shot in the eye with an arrow. Probably around the same time poor Osbern had met his end. Some Norman knights took advantage of his blindness. They rode in o
n Harold and hacked him to pieces. One stabbed him in the chest, another cut off his head, and another disemboweled him. As if that was not bad enough, one knight cut off one of his legs at the thigh and carried it away with him.

  Ariel doubted she would sleep or find a good night of rest after hearing how that good man had died. He hadn’t deserved that type of death. What kind of God would allow something so inglorious to take place?

  Blocking out the bloody scene from her mind, Ariel pulled her blanket closer around her, the only item given her to take the chill out of the air. Outside a huge fire burned and sounds of festivity could be heard.

  She was so cold even though her wound felt on fire. Shivers racked her body. Turning onto her side, Ariel pulled her legs up to her chest. A single tear slid down her cheek. For the first time since leaving her home she was alone. Alone and scared. Her wound was bad. Bad enough for her body to now be wracked with wound fever.

  If she didn’t get help she could die. With Osbern gone she had no one. No one except Broc St. Ceneri, but the chances of him coming for her, she couldn’t count on. He had not returned to see her since leaving her with the healer.

  Closing her eyes, Ariel let sleep claim her. Too weak to fight the darkness that rose up to take her over, Ariel sank down into it and her pain went away.

  * * * *

  Broc waited patiently while William finished talking to two commanders of his army. He was not happy. What had been done to Harold’s body had not been ordered by William. The man, who had cut off his leg and carried it away, had been dismissed from the army.

  Two men stood before William as he gave his last order. “I want you to find someone who will be able to identify Harold’s body. He should have a proper burial. That will be all for now.” Bowing, they left Broc alone with the new King of England.