Page 11 of Rogue Knight (Medieval Warriors #2)

CHAPTER 11

“Archbishop Ealdred has passed from this life,” Artur somberly announced as he stepped through the front door a few days later.

“I am sorry,” Emma said, looking down at the golden tapestry stretched on the frame. She had been working on it for some months as a gift for the archbishop. It depicted him riding on a black horse, his head held high as he traveled through an English village. She had hoped it might bring him memories of happier days. It was finished. She rolled it up and rose from the bench, giving Artur a sympathetic smile. “This will keep for another day.”

It was not just the passing of a good man but the ominous end of an era. She was sorry her father had left for the Humber and was not here to share the loss. She had known the archbishop was old and frail, yet she could not help wondering if he had died of a broken heart. The look of despair she had seen on his face when she had left the Minster a few days before spoke loudly of his sadness at having failed to persuade the people of York to submit to the Norman king. All his pleading had been for naught.

A sigh escaped her lips as she took the tapestry to her chamber and placed it in a chest with some others. Mayhap it was best he had passed, for the city Ealdred had longed to see at peace would now see only war.

She decided to go to her garden where Sigga was harvesting vegetables. It was September and harvest time for all of Emma’s fields, too.

“’Tis a dark day,” said Sigga, patting down the dirt around the herbs from which she had taken cuttings .

Emma joined her servant in the work, grateful for something to do that took her mind from more troubling thoughts.

“The archbishop was a voice of reason,” murmured Sigga, glancing at Emma from where she was digging out a weed.

Sitting back on her heels, Emma wiped her brow. “He was old, Sigga. His death was not unexpected. But you are right; such a faithful servant of God will be sorely missed.”

They were watering the plants with the buckets they had carried from the well when an acrid smell rose in Emma’s nostrils. “Do you smell smoke?” Her eyes met Sigga’s. “Something is burning.”

Alarmed, she sniffed the air and hurried through the kitchen and into the hearth room, detecting nothing amiss. But the faint smell of smoke persisted. Seeing no one, she shouted up the stairs, “Inga, where are the children?”

“Here with me,” said Inga coming to the top of the stairs.

Emma’s heart raced with fear as she threw open the front door. The bitter smell of burning wood was stronger. Fire was dangerous in a city made of timber, wattle and daub. Stirred by the wind, it could quickly leap from one structure to another, rapidly destroying an entire street, even the entire city.

“Inga,” she shouted, “there is fire somewhere. Keep the children inside until I return.”

Ottar appeared at the top of the stairs. “I want to see, too!”

“You and Finna stay here with Magnus until I learn what is happening.”

The hound suddenly appeared next to Ottar to stare down at her. “You, too, Magnus.”

Outside, she raced across the streets that lay between her house and the Minster. She arrived out of breath. Panting, she stood in front of the cathedral, looking south toward the castles, shielding her eyes as she stared into the distance. A huge cloud of black smoke rose high into the sky above where the castles stood. May God have mercy .

Artur came to her side, his chest heaving from running after her. “My lady, is it the castles?”

“I cannot say for certain, but its source must be near them.” Feeling the breeze on her face, she said, “The wind is coming this way. It will bring the fire to the Minster. It will bring the fire to us!” She faced her servant. “We must prepare to flee. ”

With haste born of fear, they ran back to the house.

***

“What in God’s name was Gilbert thinking!” shouted Geoff. He pointed to where the flames leapt from one thatched roof to another. “See there,” he said to FitzOsbern, standing beside him on the tower’s battlement, “the fire spreads beyond the houses he torched. It roars into the city.”

“Aye, the wind carries the blaze north,” replied the earl in dismay. His lined face a mask of worry, he gazed north. “The Minster lies in its path.”

“It has not rained for days. At the speed the dry wood will burn, it will no doubt reach the cathedral.” Geoff gritted his teeth, furious Gilbert’s men had not been more careful. It was just as he had feared. For a moment, he watched the flames engulf another house, disturbed at how fast the fire was spreading.

It had been foolish for Gilbert to set fire to the homes. Surely destroying them would not prevent the rebels from finding sufficient timber to fill the moat. The forests of York were full of wood. But Gilbert had been intent on torching the homes nonetheless.

Smoke filled Geoff’s nostrils until it made him cough and he had to cover his face with a cloth. Emma’s home lay in the path of the fire though some distance east of the Minster.

“I must warn Emma,” he told FitzOsbern. He had to help her and her family escape the inferno.

Minutes later, Geoff launched himself into the saddle and tore out of the gate and over the bridge with Alain following. Galloping through the smoke, they sped down one street, then another, avoiding the path of the fire, burning straight through the center of town.

People scattered in all directions before the hooves of their powerful horses. Panicked by the spreading fire, they shouted to their families and serfs to help carry away their goods.

Pulling rein in front of Emma’s house, he and Alain slid to the ground. Their horses’ coats were soaked with sweat and lather from the hard ride. “Can you stay with the horses?” he asked.

“Aye.” Alain accepted the reins Geoff handed him.

Geoff stormed to the door, preparing to knock, when it opened.

“My lady is upstairs packing, sir,” said Artur.

“’Tis well she does. The fire is headed this way. ”

“Are the castles burning?” the servant asked with a look of concern.

“Nay, ’tis the homes around them but the fire has spread.” Geoff glanced up the stairs, anxious to see her, to assure himself she was safe and had a place to go. “Artur, I must speak with your mistress. Can you help Sir Alain with the horses? We ran them hard.”

“Aye, I will take care of them.”

The servant left and Geoff raced up the stairs.

In her chamber he found Emma scurrying around, shoving things into a tapestry bag. The hound came to greet him, wagging its tail, unaware of the danger that had all of York on the run.

Emma whirled around and her eyes lit up. “Geoffroi!” She ran into his arms and, for a moment, there was no fire, no threat, only the comfort he drew from knowing she was safe. Inhaling her fresh woman’s scent above the smell of smoke that permeated his clothing, he felt the tension in her body. Looking up at him, she said, “I was terrified to think the fire might be coming from the castle. That you might be in danger.”

“Nay, my love, ’tis homes burning, torched to prevent their wood from being used to fill the moat. A witless idea. Now the whole city is threatened.”

She pulled back from his arms, terror in her eyes. “I must finish packing. We are leaving.”

“Where are the young ones?”

“With Inga. They are helping her to pack.” She reached for some clothing on the bed and stuffed it into her bag.

“Where will you go?” he asked, already knowing where he wanted her to go. Though taking her to the castle had its own risks.

She reached for some jewelry, the gold glimmering in the dim light, and dropped a necklace into a small velvet bag. “In truth, I know not. I just want to be certain we are free of the fire. If need be, we can stay in the fields. There are those who will shelter us.”

“Will you come to the castle? The wind blows away from it. You would be safe there.”

She hesitated, her blue-green eyes speaking of her distress. “Nay. I would rather not be surrounded by so many of your knights. And Inga will not return there again. Besides, Feigr is on his way, bringing friends who will flee with us.”

Geoff did not want to leave her but he knew he must. “I cannot stay but I will come tomorrow. Where will you be? ”

“If the fire is out and my house still stands, I will be here. Otherwise, I will be on the other side of the River Foss, among the crofts to the north.”

Geoff had seen the cultivated fields to the north and east of the River Foss and remembered the cottages that dotted the countryside. “We can take you there. Alain is with me.”

“Nay, there will be too many of us. I have Thyra and she can carry what we cannot.”

He had always known she had courage. Now, intent on helping the others, she calmly accepted that she must flee her home. “All right, but please take care, Emma. And hurry.” Drawing her into his arms, he kissed her. It took all of his resolve to pull away. “I will come tomorrow or the next day. Keep the hound close.”

Worry clouded her eyes as she stared up at him. “I will.”

He patted the hound’s head as he departed. Geoff felt certain that his life was bound up with Emma’s. Somehow they had to be together, no matter the fire, no matter the Danes.

As he and Alain rode back to the castle, the shouts of the people fleeing the onrushing flames echoed all around them. Not a few of them threw curses at “the Norman swine”.

***

Two days later, Maerleswein stood on the deck of the longship rolling beneath his feet, his eyes on the waters of the River Ouse as they sailed toward York. It was the same ship on which he had sailed to Denmark and Scotland, the same ship he had sailed to meet the Danes at the mouth of the Humber.

Turning his head, he glimpsed Osbjorn and his nephews, Harald and Cnut, proudly standing on the deck of their dragon ship, sailing beside him, the square sail taut with the wind. The black raven on a red banner flying atop their ship’s mast was the symbol of the victory they believed would soon be theirs. Behind the two ships were hundreds more.

Maerleswein’s spirits soared. Soon York would be theirs once again.

They had left the mouth of the Humber the day before, accompanied by King Swein’s ships with their colorful round shields hanging from the side of the sleek hulls, their square sails billowing with wind. Marching apace along the riverbank were Northumbrians, rejoicing as they went. It was all he had asked for, save that Malcolm of Scotland had yet to appear. But he had the leaders he needed. He had the Danish ships and he had the men.

Next to him, young Edgar braced his hands on the rail and gazed back at the hundreds of ships in their wake. “I have never seen such a sight.”

“Nor I,” said Cospatric, standing next to the Saxon heir.

“’Tis the Danes who will see us the victors,” said Maerleswein. “Swein does not come himself, but he has thrown the might of his people into the fray.”

“What is your plan?” asked Waltheof, the tall, blond Earl of Huntingdon, who appeared every bit the Dane as he leaned on his tall axe, his powerful legs swaying with the ship’s movements.

“Unless Osbjorn has a better idea, I would make camp and attack at first light,” said Maerleswein.

Waltheof nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “Your plan pleases me.”

Another hour brought them within sight of the city. Gazing off the leeward side of the ship, Maerleswein stared in shock, for where there should have been the city, there were only tendrils of smoke rising from scorched ground. The only structures he could see above the blackened earth were the castles of the Norman king.

“What goes here?” Cospatric asked, his face showing the shock Maerleswein felt.

Anger such as he had never known surged through Maerleswein’s veins. “Have the Normans destroyed the city?”

The crews rowed their ships to the bank of the river where a crowd so great he could not number it poured forth to greet them, shouting their welcome and joining the Northumbrians who had traveled the bank of the river all the way from the Humber.

“You there!” Maerleswein shouted to one of the men coming to greet them, “What has happened to cause this devastation?”

“’Tis the Norman scum’s doing,” said the man as his lip curled in a bitter scowl. “They thought to keep us from filling their ditches by burning the homes that ringed the castle. ’Twas bad enough they took so many homes, but then the fools let the fire escape.”

“My God,” breathed out Cospatric.

“I must see my daughter,” said Maerleswein. He gave orders to his men and soon tents began to rise on the bank of the River Ouse. “I leave you in charge, Cospatric, while I go in search of Emma. ”

“Do you think Emma is safe?” the earl asked, his face speaking his disquiet. It pleased Maerleswein to see the look of concern in the earl’s eyes. Mayhap he already considered Emma as a future wife.

“Aye. You know as well as I, Emma is a resourceful woman. She would have fled the blaze. I but go to see for myself how she fares and to leave guards who will assure no Dane thinking to pillage comes close to her. I will return ere long.”

Taking some of his most trusted men, Maerleswein mounted the dark bay horse he had brought with him on the ship and left Osbjorn and Cospatric to organize the camp.

***

Geoff joined FitzOsbern on the battlement, looking north into the smoldering ruin of the city. Malet and Alain stood with them. The cloud of smoke had mostly cleared now and the blue sky reappeared in places in stark contrast to the black ash and charred timbers. It saddened Geoff to think of the destruction.

In the distance, what was left of the tall Minster rose from the ground, a charred hulk whose bell was now silent. Ravaged by fire, the wooden parts of the church had burned, but bits of its skeleton remained to signify the terrible loss. He was glad the archbishop had not lived to see it.

The fire had raged for two days, cutting a swath through the city from the castles north toward the cathedral, destroying homes and shops along the way. Small fires still lingered where there was fuel. Oddly, the blaze had left some buildings undamaged, a home here, a shop there, as if it had carefully selected which structures would be its victims.

Consumed with fighting the fire’s incursions into the outer palisade fence, he had not been able to return to Emma’s house. From what he had heard, it was possible that, lying so far to the northeast, it might have been spared. It was his fervent hope and his nightly prayer she was well. She was his heart and he could not live without her.

From the other side of the battlement, a great hue and cry suddenly arose. He and the other men quickly crossed to the other side to look down at the point where the River Ouse met the River Foss.

His heart sank as understanding dawned. As far as his eye could see, longships were unloading at the banks of the river. “The Danes have arrived. ”

“There must be hundreds of them,” said Alain beneath his breath.

“And thousands of warriors,” said Geoff. As they watched, the Danes, armed with axes, swords and spears, poured forth from the ships to be embraced by Northumbrians waiting on the shore.

“ Mon Dieu ,” gasped Malet, gaping at the Danes swarming ashore.

FitzOsbern said nothing but the scowl on his face spoke loudly.

Geoff watched the scene, dismayed. Even knowing they were coming had not prepared him for the sight. He turned to Malet. “Would that you had not sent word to William telling him we could hold out for a year.”

“Mayhap I was wrong,” admitted the sheriff in a stunned voice.

“Surely William has received word of their numbers,” muttered FitzOsbern. “He knows they have been plundering their way north.”

“Even if he has,” Geoff said, “his army cannot move as fast as we require. I would not count upon his aid. Best we prepare for the siege that will soon be upon us.”

***

Maerleswein first stopped at Emma’s house, pleased to find it untouched by the fire as were all the homes in that section of the city, but many were empty, including Emma’s. He ordered his men to ride on, northeast of the city walls, to where he thought she might go—the cottage of Jack and Martha, two of her villeins. Emma was fond of the couple and he knew them to be trustworthy, loyal to his daughter.

When they arrived, he was relieved to see the twins playing in front of the cottage. He dismounted, telling his men to wait.

The twins rushed to greet him and he swept them into his arms.

“Have you come to save us, Godfather?” asked Finna.

“From the fire, you mean?”

“It was awful,” interrupted Ottar. “The smoke burned my eyes.”

“Mine, too,” added his sister in a small voice.

“I have come to take you and Emma home, and to see you are safe. There now, is not that a fine thing?”

The twins grinned. It brought joy to his heart to have cheered them. A fire sweeping through the city must have been terrifying to one so young. It would be terrifying to anyone.

The door of the small thatched cottage opened. Emma appeared, her long flaxen plaits trailing down the front of the simple, brown tunic, one he thought she kept to work in her garden.

“Father! I heard voices and wondered who it was the twins were speaking with. I am glad to see you.”

He put the twins down, walked to his daughter and kissed her on the cheek. The twins ran at his side to keep up with his long strides. In truth, he was glad to see they were all here. He stopped in front of his daughter and studied her face. “You are well?”

“Yea, Father. We escaped the fire as you can see, but we have watched the smoke and people fleeing tell us the city lies in ruins. Did you see my house?”

Finna clung to Emma’s tunic and looked up at him.

“Aye. It stands.” At that Emma’s face brightened, Finna’s did as well. “I have come to bring you home. Are Sigga and Artur with you?”

“Sigga and Inga are in the cottage and Artur is helping Jack with the lambs.”

“You must see them, Godfather,” urged Finna. “They are much bigger now.”

“I will visit the lambs,” he agreed, not wanting to disappoint them. “Then we must go while we still have light.”

“I see you do not come alone,” Emma remarked, her eyes taking in the five men who had come with him sitting atop their horses some distance away.

“Nay, and not just these, four of which I will leave to guard you. The Danes have come with their many ships. They camp on the bank of the River Ouse along with the Northumbrians who have joined our cause. Cospatric and Edgar are with them. Think of it, Emma. Hundreds of ships and thousands of men. All of Northumbria has risen to fight the Normans.”

“When does the fighting begin?” she asked anxiously.

“We attack at first light.”

***

Geoff had spent the night preparing his men and his weapons. From the tower’s battlement, he had watched the hundreds of fires in the Danish camp on the bank of the river, wondering if fire would be the Danes’ chosen weapon. None in the tower castle had slept even after the campfires died down .

Dawn broke in the cloud-streaked sky as he gazed toward the city. The flames still lingering in isolated places added to the hellish nature of what Geoff knew might be the place of his last battle. He had faced death many times and knew well the fear before a battle. But he could not recall a time when William’s forces had been so greatly outnumbered. Even so this was not the first time he had considered the day might be his last.

He did not want to think he might never see Emma again. He wanted a life with her, one day even a child. He did not worry for her safety since she was a Northumbrian, but the Danes’ presence added an uncertain element. Would they seek to pillage what was left of the city? Will Emma and her family be safe?

Geoff was standing at the top of the motte looking into the bailey when the Danes’ fierce war cries echoed through the air as they attacked the castle in a great rush. Their shrieks sent an icy chill snaking down his spine. He had fought for William in Maine and Normandy against the French, at Hastings and Exeter against the English and the year before in York at the side of the Red Wolf, but if he survived the day, he would never forget the shrieks of the Danes as they tasted blood they had yet to shed.

Arrows flew from the castle battlements in a great whooshing sound. The Danes raised their shield walls where the arrows struck in the thickest part of their numbers. A few of the Danes fell but not many. The archers on the battlements of both castles fired another volley. Once he and his fellow knights engaged in close fighting, the arrows would no longer be of use.

Geoff rushed down to the bailey and mounted his destrier Mathieu had waiting.

“ Dex Aie !” God aid us! Knights shouted as they poured forth from the castle to engage.

“I want you and your knights with my own and those of FitzOsbern, Sir Geoffroi,” shouted Malet coming alongside Geoff.

“As you wish,” Geoff said and signaled to his men to circle Malet’s and FitzOsbern’s guards. Protecting the two noblemen, Geoff and Alain led the knights into battle.

Immediately they were confronted with the Danes’ axes and swords flying in all directions. With his long shield, Geoff blocked an attack from a blond, bearded warrior on one side of his horse, then with his sword sliced the neck of a dark bearded man on the other. The Danes screamed in exaltation and their victims grunted in pain. It was almost like Hastings where they had faced the elite huscarls of the Saxon army.

Geoff and Alain fought side-by-side keeping the nobles protected from the most vicious attacks. Around them, the other knights sought to cut down the bearded rebels, but they swarmed like bees over the ground.

What seemed like hours later, Geoff felt fatigue sapping his strength. He had lost track of the rebels that had fallen to his sword as the clash of steel with shields and blades gave way to the groans of wounded and dying men. He was coated in the blood of the slain. His own arm had suffered a gash and only now did he feel the pain.

Finishing off one rebel, he surveyed the field of battle. While they had killed many of the Danes and their allies, too many French knights had fallen. Their mail-clad bodies littered the grass now soaked in blood. The knights protecting the nobles had dwindled to a precious few. Concerned he could no longer afford Malet and FitzOsbern the protection needed, he gave the order, “Fall back!”

They managed to shield Malet and FitzOsbern as they retreated across the bridge to the palisade gate, fighting off Danes and rebels as they went. The nobles and the small group of knights plunged into the bailey, past the guards still holding the gate.

“Into the tower,” he shouted to Malet and FitzOsbern, fearing it would only postpone the inevitable.

They dismounted in the bailey where Mathieu met them. “Stable the horses, then follow us into the tower.”

Mathieu nodded and took the reins of their horses.

A short while later, Mathieu joined them in the hall. Geoff knew the squire was disappointed not to have seen his share of fighting but the battle was too intense for Geoff to allow it. He would not risk the Red Wolf’s faithful squire.

“I need you here,” said Geoff, “but keep to the shadows. You may have need of escape.”

“Aye, sir,” replied Mathieu.

Minutes later, Geoff stood at the door of the great hall looking down into the bailey when the Danes broke through the line of knights defending the gate.

“Bar the door!” he ordered the few men inside the tower. “Then fall back to guard the sheriff and the earl.”

** *

Gripping his round shield in one hand and his spear in the other, Maerleswein and his men surged forward with their swords and spears to inflict a bloody assault on the Normans. Grudgingly, he admitted the French knights fought well but they were sorely outnumbered and the people of Northumbria unforgiving in their revenge.

No mercy was given, no quarter offered. They fought with a purpose, not for the love of battle like the Danes, but to take back their city and to thrust out the Normans who had viciously oppressed them.

At one point, he crossed paths with Feigr, the sword-maker, wielding one of his silvered blades, crying aloud his vengeance as he slew a Norman knight. “This,” said Feigr, piercing the knight’s throat and thrusting his sword deep, “is for my daughter.” Maerleswein wondered how many men of York had come seeking reprisal for their daughters’ stolen virtue. Too many.

He was surprised when some of the Normans left the protection of the walls of the new castle on Baille Hill, venturing forth on a sally, only to be cut down as they passed through the gate. Waltheof had placed himself there like a Nordic harbinger of death. As each Norman drew near, Waltheof let his giant axe fall in a move that could only be called an execution. In a steady stream, the severed heads of the French knights fell to the earth and rolled down the hill to form a large pile below. Even to Maerleswein, it was gruesome.

The fighting went on for hours, battle lust carrying Maerleswein and his men forward until, with the Danes’ help, they had captured the castles and nearly every Norman lay dead. Hundreds of bodies were strewn about the baileys, at the base of the massive, square towers and on the banks of the rivers.

Some Danes and Northumbrians had fallen to the long French swords and lances as they fought on the riverbanks, but their losses were few compared to the number of French knights slain. In such tight spaces the knights’ horses had not given them much of an advantage. And their numbers were not so many as the Danes.

When the battle was theirs, Maerleswein’s men surged through the gate and broke down the door of the first castle built the year before, a hated symbol of Norman domination.

Soon after, with Cospatric at his side, he strode into the great hall where his captain told him he could find the nobles they had taken prisoner: Gilbert de Ghent, whom Osbjorn had brought over from the new castle where he’d been captured, William Malet, the Sheriff of Yorkshire and his family, and William FitzOsbern, Lord Hereford.

He knew the three men from his time as Sheriff of Lincolnshire. And he could see from their faces, they remembered him.

A small group of French knights surrounded the nobles, their stance oddly proud given they had just lost thousands of men and been stripped of their weapons.

Osbjorn swaggered into the hall with Swein’s two sons and walked toward him, all three bearing wide grins. “We have won!”

“Aye, so we have,” said Maerleswein.

“We go to join the men,” said Osbjorn. “They seek their plunder and we would have our share. Even now Norman helms and swords lay on the ground for the taking. What do you have here?”

“A few prisoners I must see to.”

Osbjorn nodded and cast a glance at the nobles behind Maerleswein.

“Go, then.” He waved the Dane off. “But take no booty except from the Normans and keep your men clear of the far northeast of the city where lies my daughter’s home, else your men will die by my sword.”

“Of course,” Osbjorn said, tipping his head. “I will see you later when we return for the evening’s feast.”

Maerleswein rolled his eyes at Cospatric. The Northumbrians might be there to take back their city, but the Danes were there to plunder its riches. King Swein would not have been so shortsighted.

Swein’s brother and sons departed as Maerleswein’s captain approached. “What would you have me do with these?” He gestured toward the group of nobles and the knights who stood with them.

“We will keep the nobles as prisoners. They may yet be useful to us. The rest we will slay.” Smiling at Cospatric, he said, “Mayhap Waltheof’s axe is not yet dull.”