Page 20 of Saxon Blade Norman Blood
The darkness was almost complete. William could not distinguish much, apart from the table in front of him. His ears pricked at a shuffling sound from his right, indicating he wasn’t alone in the barn. His hand instantly went to the hilt of his sword. Then he heard a voice.
Cwenhild’s. “It’s him. Now . Get him!”
Though the words were not spoken in his language, he understood. He only had time to draw his sword before men jumped him. There could have been five or six of them; in the dark he could not tell. Swinging his arms in wide arcs, he managed to wound at least two of his attackers, but a man could not realistically hope to fight six men at once, even if he had been able to see.
A shove on the back of his knees sent him to the floor. A moment later, his sword was taken from him and his hands were tied behind his back.
“We have him.”
A man bearing a torch walked into the room, lighting the whole scene.
Cwenhild was standing in front of him, a grimace on her face.
“It’s him. The man who killed my husband.” She repeated these words in his language for his benefit before carrying on in hers. “He’s just like the other Normans. They want the Saxon lords dead and replaced by their own kin, they want to stamp their supremacy over us in every way they can. This man tried to seduce me. When I refused to submit, he took his revenge out on my husband.”
She spoke slowly, aware his knowledge of the Saxon tongue was sufficient for him to know what she was saying. Frustratingly, William could indeed follow the gist of her accusations, yet he could not answer in detail.
“No, I am not guilty,” was all he could say. “It’s ridiculous. Your husband isn’t even dead, I saw him yesterday. We spoke together. And why would I want to take my revenge on him for you refusing me your advances? It doesn’t make any sense,” he said in his own language, knowing Cwenhild would understand. Maybe one or two of the men around her would as well. He saw from the reaction of the lord to his right that he, at least, could follow what he was saying.
“How did I kill Ecberg?” he asked, articulating for his benefit.
There was a slight pause. Evidently, Cwenhild had not imagined he would challenge her thus and had not prepared any answer to such a question.
“How would I know? Was it a dagger or a sword? I am a woman, not a bloodthirsty warrior, I do not know what weapon you used to pierce his heart. All I know is that I found him lying in a pool of blood.” After she answered him, she shouted her translation for everyone to hear. The men gave various exclamations of anger.
“Who else saw this?” William looked at each of the men in turn, eyes ablaze. “Has any of you seen Ecberg’s corpse?” Silence followed his question. The men stole uneasy glances at each other. “No one has even seen any proof of this supposed murder, then,” he stated, sure of himself. “Take me to see the corpse if you—”
“Enough!” Cwenhild interposed. “You’re a murderer. We do not need to obey your orders any longer. Tomorrow, you will die. Take him.”
It was obvious to William that the Saxon lords would not demand to see any proof of the murder before condemning him. Cwenhild’s accusation was enough to justify their punitive expedition. In this climate, any reason would serve to get rid of a Norman baron. If necessary, they would blame her later for misleading them. In the meantime, they would have disposed of an enemy. It was all that mattered.
He was dragged to an empty room where he spent a long while swearing out loud at his own stupidity. Once again, he’d been betrayed by a woman, a woman who had seduced him. He had sworn it would never happen, yet there he was, ten years later, no wiser than he had been in his youth—and about to be killed for the privilege.
His thoughts went to the Saxon girl. Here he was, tied up to a wall in a damp cellar while she waited for him in his bed, warm and ready for his touch. The longing for her was acute, painful. Had he not been foolish enough to believe Cwenhild’s claim she was with child, he would be in her arms right now, kissing her all over, making her his, begging her to stay and make his life complete.
The ropes cut into his wrists, but the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the mental anguish. What would the girl think of his desertion? Would she even find out what had happened to him?
After a whole night spent waiting in vain, she would disappear in the morning, he knew. She would think herself rejected and the humiliation would be too much to bear. He swore if he got out of this alive, he would find her, wherever she was, and beg for her forgiveness.
What a fool he’d been… He should have acted on his desire for her days ago, told her what she had come to mean to him, he should have seen that she was ready for him. To think he would die on the same day she had finally agreed to make love to him, when he thought he had a chance of winning her over. Another series of curses escaped his lips.
If only he’d asked her to teach him her language. It might have saved his life right now. How pathetic this all was… He had sworn years ago never to be manipulated by a woman again, and here he was, the victim of Cwenhild’s machinations.
He had been caught and, this time, there would be no escape.
*
When Rowena entered the great hall, she was surprised to find Alfred pacing around the fire pit. William had told her once he liked to conduct important business at the break of dawn. It seemed he was not exaggerating. Had she not tossed and turned in bed all night waiting for him, she would never have been awake at this hour.
But she had been unable to sleep after his desertion.
At dusk last night, she had retired to his bedchamber and lain under the fur covers to wait for him, as he’d asked. Her heart had been drumming wildly in her chest at the thought of what was going to happen. Would she manage to overcome her fears when he drew her into his arms? She desperately wanted to see that she was not damaged beyond hope, desperately wanted to taste his kiss, his caresses again, and welcome him inside her body. Was she ready for such a momentous step? She wasn’t sure but she wanted to try, and give them a chance to be more than captor and prisoner.
In the end, she never found out what she was capable of.
William had not come.
Dejected, Rowena had lain in bed awake all night, fighting tears of disillusion. For the first time since their meeting, he had not come to her. He had been there without fail when it had been about guarding her, but to make love to her, he had not deigned bestir himself.
The notion tore cruelly at her heart. It seemed he did not want her after all, at least not enough to honor his promise. Why then had he asked her to wait for him? Why had he kissed her with such passion? She had no idea.
She turned her attention back to the present, and the man standing in front of her. “Good morning,”
Of all the Saxon lords she had met, Alfred was by far the most personable. “Good morning. I am here to see Lord William.”
“So I had gathered,” she murmured. “But I’m afraid I don’t know where he is. He did not sleep here last night.”
Nothing in Alfred’s demeanor betrayed any reaction, but this admission must have made him uncomfortable. Though she had officially been introduced to him as an interpreter, she knew that he, like everyone else, was convinced she was William’s mistress as well. And now, she had all but complained that her lover had slept with another woman.
No wonder he was embarrassed.
The thought had crossed her mind many times during the night that William had indeed gone to see someone else, despite his promise to come to her. Rowena was still unsure whether she would have mastered her fear of lovemaking, but she was certain she would have tried her best to overcome it. If one man was capable of making her forget her anxiety, it was William. After he had kissed her and touched her in that mind-blowing way of his, she would have asked him not to stop until he had possessed her completely, because she trusted him.
At least she had trusted him, until he’d abandoned her without so much as a word of apology.
She offered Alfred a glass of small ale, feeling absurdly like a host. How had she, a Saxon girl, ended up receiving guests in a Norman castle, dressed in a gown of the finest linen? She should have felt out of her depth, but her gestures were elegant, her demeanor assured. Alfred, at least, didn’t think it odd that she should act as mistress of the place. Briefly, she toyed with the idea of telling him she was here only because she had tried to kill William, just to see the look on his face.
She stayed silent.
“I am most surprised at Lord William’s defection,” Alfred said, accepting the tankard she was holding out to him. “He is not a man likely to forget an appointment. I have always considered him reliable and trustworthy.”
“Yes.” She gritted her teeth. She had been thinking precisely the same thing, though for very different reasons.
Just then a messenger irrupted into the room.
“A message from Elfrid the Bold. He came to find you at home, but you had just left. You are to go to Faldon immediately. The local lords are condemning William de la Falaise for the murder of Ecberg. He killed him last night.”
Thunder fell at Rowena’s feet. “ What ?”
“I do not know much more, only that Elfrid wants you there to witness the trial. They are all waiting for you.”
“I’m coming,” Alfred said darkly.
She took a step forward before he could move. “Wait. Let me come with you.”
The raised eyebrows demanded an explanation, but she wasn’t sure what to say to justify her decision. All she knew was that she could not stay here, waiting passively while events unfolded. Hearing William was condemned for murder had made her body liquid with shock. She had to do something, even if she was not quite sure what.
“Come,” Alfred said when it became clear she wouldn’t offer any explanation for her extraordinary demand.
She ran to get her hooded cloak from William’s room and followed the two men to the bailey. At this early hour, no one was about. Aside from the messenger’s horse and Alfred’s bay mare, the only other horse available was William’s stallion, Thunder. She knew the other horses, who mattered less to him, were stabled outside the palisade.
“Take this one,” Alfred said, saddling it with quick, efficient gestures. “We cannot afford to delay.”
She gulped, eyeing the enormous beast warily. Time was of the essence, but would she be able to remain seated on such a mount? She looked at Alfred, hoping he would offer to ride Thunder in her stead, but he was busy getting the horse ready and did not see her. Just then, the groom came running, flapping his hands in protest.
“What do you think you are doing? You cannot take him! Lord William does not let anyone ride his horse.” His grimace told her the rest of his sentence. Especially incompetent, savage females such as you .
“What is that man saying?” Alfred asked impatiently. He had vaulted atop his own horse and was now ready to go.
“He does not want me to take this horse. It is William’s stallion.”
“Be that as it may, Lord William isn’t here to protest.”
With an irritated shake of the head, Alfred jumped back down on the floor and unceremoniously lifted her onto the saddle. When the groom made to prevent him, he landed a neat punch on the side of his face, causing him to collapse like an empty sack of grain.
“He is right, though. William told me himself he did not want me to ride him.” Rowena gathered the reins nervously.
It was very high on Thunder’s back, even if he stood stock still. She remembered how he had snorted and stomped the ground when she’d first seen him at Old Sarum and could only marvel at the difference.
“I am sure Lord William will not forbid someone as determined to get to him as you are to ride his horse. Besides, if he was so particular about it, he would have taken him to go to Faldon, don’t you think?” Alfred said, hoisting himself up in the saddle once more. “Unless…”
They looked at each other. Unless he had not wished to be identified. If his purpose had been to kill someone, he would not have wanted to risk his big black stallion being seen and recognized in Ecberg’s stables.
“I am sure he did not kill him,” she said hurriedly. “There must be a good reason for his decision not to take Thunder. Besides, he intended to be back before nightfall yesterday. He did not mean to spend the evening away.”
“How do you know that?”
She bit her lip. “H-he told me.”
Alfred did not make any comment, though it was clear he guessed the reason for this particular promise. “We have wasted enough time already. Let’s go,” he instructed, setting off toward the gate. Once they were out in the open, he kicked his horse decisively, and Thunder leapt in pursuit.
Rowena hung on to the horse for dear life, grabbing the mane in an effort to stay balanced. To her surprise, though he ran like the wind, the stallion did not seem intent on shaking her off and after a while, she allowed herself to breathe more freely. Perhaps she would make it in one piece.
Soon, she got used to the pace and managed to sit up a little and relax. All she had to do was follow Alfred, which meant she did not have to worry about steering. Even so, relief washed through her when they reached the village of Faldon. Her legs were somewhat unsteady when she finally dismounted in front of Ecberg’s house.
“Please do not draw attention onto me, do not say who I am, or that I can speak the Norman tongue,” she instructed, placing the hood over her head to hide her features. “I will slip into the room as discreetly as I can.”
Alfred nodded his agreement and led her into the main hall.
“What is happening here?” he asked in his best commanding voice.
While the people started to explain the situation to him Rowena’s gaze darted around in search of William. A gasp almost escaped her when she saw him by the window, on his knees, his hands bound behind his back. Though he was the accused, no one seemed to think it necessary he should be included in the talks. His hazel eyes sent sparks when he recognized her, but he said nothing.
She maneuvered to place herself closer to him but, in an effort to remain inconspicuous, she did not speak to him. Fortunately, no one was paying any attention to her. All eyes were on Alfred, who expressed his anger at William’s treatment in the most vehement terms.
A dozen men were spread around the room but there was only one woman, apart from herself. Another Saxon, evidently. There was no mistaking her pale coloring and ginger hair. Rowena had never seen a woman wearing so many jewels. The effect could have been impressive, but somehow it just seemed gaudy.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Alfred repeated more forcefully. “Lord William is accused of murder, but how can we hear his explanations if we cannot speak to him? None of us here speaks his language.”
“I do,” the woman said, walking forward.
“Cwenhild,” Alfred said with a slight bow. Despite the politeness of the gesture Rowena sensed from his stiffness that he did not trust her. “Forgive me but as William de la Falaise is accused of killing your husband, how can we be sure of your impartiality?”
The woman’s answer was lost on Rowena because at that moment, William whispered behind her. “Why are you here?”
“I had to come,” she said, not turning around to address him.
“I did not kill him, I swear.”
“I know.” There was no doubt in her mind. “Let me listen to what she has to say.”
No one saw them talk. Everyone was watching the confrontation between Cwenhild and Alfred. Though he had questioned her impartiality, with good reason, it was obvious the other lords had already accepted her word that she would translate the accused man’s answers faithfully. Rowena remembered how William had told her the Saxons suspected his interpreters of twisting their words.
Now it seemed the situation was in reverse.
“Ask him if Ecberg tried to put a halt to his peace negotiating,” a grey-haired man asked. “Is that the reason for this despicable crime? And if not, why did he kill him?”
Cwenhild made a commendable effort of translating the man’s words but when William answered, she forgot many details from his answer, transforming his forceful denial into a much more feeble argument. As if it was not enough, she made it sound as if he had answered in a defiant, scathing manner.
Rowena understood that William was aware of it but, frustratingly, could not contradict her. Even more worryingly, it seemed a few of the lords had picked up on the discrepancies as well but were doing their best to ignore it.
This was a parody of justice.
They were not here to listen to William’s explanations, but to preserve appearances and give the illusion they had not executed him summarily. If word of the trial got back to other Normans, they would hear he was given a chance to defend himself but had only succeeded in proving his guilt.
William caught her eye. He must be wondering why she did not intervene, but she wanted to wait until the opportune moment. She wasn’t sure her voice would carry much weight, so she had to give herself as good a chance as possible of swaying the opinion of the lords. In the corner of her eye, she saw Alfred champing at the bit. He had guessed something was not quite right. She looked at him meaningfully. Wait another moment . He nodded.
Next, William was asked to describe his last encounter with Ecberg.
“The last time I saw him we did not argue.” His voice was as assured as if he had not been tied up and on his knees. “I swear he was still alive when I left. If he has indeed been killed, I will gladly aid in the capture of his murderers, wherever they are hiding, however much time it takes.”
“The last time he saw him they argued. My husband swore he would not make it out of here alive, so William killed him. He wanted to hide the corpse in case someone accused him of murder, but he had no time.”
Cleverly done, Rowena thought, the woman had stuck closely to his words, so that the lords would recognize the vocabulary, but had transformed enough details to make him say the opposite of what he had intended to say.
As if anyone would admit to murdering a man with such candor! Unluckily for Cwenhild, there was someone in the room who had understood perfectly what William had said.
This was her chance. There would not be a better one.
“My lords, that is not at all what Lord William said,” she declared, stepping forward. “I’m sorry to say that Cwenhild’s knowledge of the Norman tongue is not good enough for her to interpret William de la Falaise’s words accurately.”
Though she knew the mistranslation had been deliberate, she thought it best not to appear too confrontational. Cwenhild was the wife of a powerful lord, and she had the trust of the men, while Rowena was no one.
“What did he say then? We all understood a few words. Something about a dispute,” Alfred said, helping her along.
“He said they had not argued the last time they saw each other. Ecberg was still alive when Lord William left. Moreover, he offered to help you with the capture of his murderers if he has indeed been killed, which he seems to doubt.”
“And who are you?” the grey-haired man asked in an aggressive tone.
It was clear that he did not care about knowing what William had truly said, rather the opposite.
She let her hood fall off, revealing her fiery hair. A few murmurs told her that some of the Saxons had recognized her. Three men who had been present the day she had translated for Leowald of Tillburn nodded at each other.
Once again, Alfred spoke out. “This woman is one of Lord William’s interpreters. I brought her along to ensure he would get a fair hearing.”
“Why didn’t she speak earlier then?” a small man to her right asked.
“She was waiting to confound Cwenhild on my orders. As I stated earlier, I do not believe the wife of the victim is the best person to relay the supposed murderer’s words to us, and it appears I was right,” he answered with considerable aplomb. Rowena shot him a grateful look, for he had shouldered the full responsibility of her intervention. “Lord William deserves a fair trial,” Alfred continued. “How can we establish what truly happened if what he says is not properly translated?”
“Why should we listen to her? She’s not his interpreter, she is his mistress, he told me so himself!” a man spat, turning to face her.
With a measure of shock, Rowena recognized Leowald, the man who had wanted to confirm William’s loyalty by taking her to bed. She hadn’t noticed him before, as he had been half-hidden behind other men.
Not waiting for her answer, Leowald seized her by the arm and dragged her to the center of the room before she could stop him. Behind her, William growled in protest. She guessed he had tried to come to her aid when she heard a man strike him in retaliation. She did not turn around, fearing that if she saw him injured, she might faint.
Leowald seized her wrist and showed her hand to the other men. “If you do not believe me, look at her Norman ring. It’s obviously payment for her services in bed.”
One of the men to his left laughed. “Payment? It is more likely that the cunning wench stole it, and good on her. Have you ever heard of a Norman wasting such precious jewels on a girl he does not owe anything to? We all know how they treat our women. Why would he reward her when he can use her as he wishes without fear of punishment?”
Murmurs of agreement answered this sally, and Rowena had to acknowledge the truth behind the man’s words. The behavior of the Norman barons toward the local women left much to be desired. This was precisely what William was trying to change, and he was about to die for it. It wasn’t fair.
Well, at least by now, everyone’s attention was well and truly on her.
Cwenhild was glaring in her direction, jealousy evident, and the men’s eyes had lit up in lust. Only one person regarded her with something resembling proper interest, a man with dark eyes, standing in the far corner of the room. So far, he had remained silent, but Rowena could tell by his demeanor he was not as fired up by the prospect of killing a Norman baron as some of the other men were. He seemed to agree with her that they would have to answer for this, and the fact they had supposedly given him a chance to defend himself wouldn’t make much difference.
He might well take William’s defense if she handled him properly.
“Are you William de la Falaise’s mistress?” he asked, and everyone quietened at once.
Alfred nodded, urging her to say yes. He clearly thought the fact could only come to help their cause, something Rowena had already concluded herself. “I am.”
“Did you go to his bed willingly?” the man continued. “We all know if he wanted to take you there would have been little you could have said in protest.”
“Yes. I went to him willingly,” she said with as much aplomb as she could muster. “Lord William would never have lain a finger on me otherwise. He does not use force on women, Saxon or Norman.”
The man nodded, as if this behavior was unusual enough to be of note. At least he appeared to believe her. “Is it true you are also his interpreter?”
“It is.” This time she had no difficulty in speaking loudly for there was no shame in admitting as much. “I have even started to teach him our tongue, at his demand,” she added for good measure. “He is committed to helping our cause, as you all know.”
“If William de la Falaise chose this woman to translate his dealings with the Saxons and did not force her into his bed, then we should take her testimony seriously. It is no ordinary Norman who considers us as worthy allies and treats our women with such respect.”
“Respect!” Cwenhild scoffed.
“Respect,” the man repeated sternly. “The girl would not be here taking his defense if he had not shown her consideration, for she has little to gain from it.”
He turned to William. Rowena risked a glance at him and saw that he was still bound and on his knees. His eyes, for her only, burned with an incandescent fire. She could not help but take a step toward him. The dark-eyed man grunted, as if their attitude toward each other had proven beyond doubt that they were not feigning intimacy.
“If the man is guilty, then he will be punished,” he stated after a while. “But before we do that, I say we should establish his guilt. I think we should start by going to see Ecberg’s corpse.”
A few men nodded in agreement. Relief washed through Rowena. Clearly the man, whoever he was, held some authority over the others, and he had divided the opinion in the room. Hope began to blossom inside her. Perhaps all was not lost.
She whispered the gist of the man’s words to William. His eyes remained fastened onto her. She had the impression he was more gratified to see her taking his defense than to hear he was finally given a chance to prove his innocence. In this moment, she dearly wanted to drop to her knees and kiss him.
The four men who had gone to see Ecberg’s corpse soon returned, their expression somber.
“Ecberg is not dead,” the dark-haired man declared. “He’s alive, but unconscious. Drugged, it would seem.”
The announcement was received with consternation. The men looked at each other, then at Cwenhild, who blanched.
“You told us he had been stabbed,” the man accused, walking toward her. “But I think we can all agree William de la Falaise cannot be accused of murdering someone who is not dead.” This time the murmur in the room was unequivocally, unanimously with him. “Now, I wonder who drugged him, and why?”