Page 13 of Unconquered

"No! I will not listen to you!"

Eada covered her ears.

When that did not silence the cry she heard, she wriggled beneath the blanket and put the pillow over her head.

Drogo had left her to sleep while he went to meet with William.

After a long night of lovemaking and the exhausting trial of waiting a full day to find out how the battle had ended, she had heartily welcomed a lazy morning spent curled up in bed.

She deeply resented the voice keeping her from her much-needed rest.

She also knew that her attempts to silence it were useless, even foolish.

The cry did not come from without but within, and the only way to stop it was to answer it.

Eada threw the pillow off angrily and sat up.

Cursing softly, she rose and dressed.

The voice in her head pulled her toward the battlefield, the very last place she wished to go.

She knew she would find only horror there and that nothing could ever prepare her for what she would have to see.

Angrily, she pulled her hair back and secured it with a leather thong then, grabbing up a small bag she had filled with bandages and healing balms, she marched out of Drogo's tent.

Ivo and May were nowhere in sight, and Eada cursed again.

She knew Drogo would be angry if she went alone, but there was no one in camp to take her and she could not wait.

The cry in her head was too desperate, too demanding.

"You can cease now," she muttered as she started to walk toward the battlefield.

"I will find you soon." Although she wanted the voice to be silent, the pain and the fear in the cry deeply affecting her, Eada also hoped that she did not have the skill to send a message as well as receive it.

"I just pray that I can return before Drogo discovers what I have done," she said fervently as, after checking to be sure that no one would try to stop her, she walked away from the soldiers' camp.

May gasped softly, grabbed Ivo by the arm, and pointed at Eada, who was already too far away to call to.

"Look there, Ivo, Eada has left the camp—alone." She cursed when she realized that, since Ivo could not understand English, all she had done was draw his attention to what looked like an attempted escape.

"Wait," she cried, tightening her grip on his arm when he tossed aside the kindling they had gathered and started after Eada.

"Drogo said Eada must stay in camp," Ivo said, frowning down at May but hesitating in his pursuit of Eada.

Eada had not had enough time to teach her much French, but May began to struggle with what little she did know.

To help May to make herself understood as quickly as possible, Eada had stressed simple commands, the words for common objects, and a few select verbs.

May was finally able to get Ivo to understand that he was to just follow Eada, staying near enough to help her if she stumbled into any trouble, but not to just drag her back to camp.

As she watched Ivo go after Eada, May prayed she was right in thinking that Eada was responding to some sending or vision.

She refused to even consider the possibility that Eada was plotting some treachery or was trying to escape.

That would only bring them a great deal of trouble.

* * *

Eada's first sight of the battlefield nearly brought her to her knees.

She pressed her hands over her mouth, altering her cry of horror into a smothered groan of pain.

The dead were everywhere she looked.

Norman bodies were being carried from the field to be buried, but the Saxons were left where they fell.

Only a few Saxons wandered in the field in search of their kinsmen.

The mutilation caused by swords and battle-axes caused bile to sting the back of her throat as she fought back a choking nausea.

The voice in her head pulled her free of the shock which held her motionless.

She cursed when she realized she would have to walk the length of the battlefield to the forest beyond.

As she walked, she tried to keep her gaze fixed upon the trees and not look at the devastation she passed.

When she entered the wood, her sense of urgency grew and she tasted fear, yet she knew it was not her own.

Whoever drew her to him was desperate and terrified.

She came to the bank of a small river, the dead thick upon the ground, and knew she had reached her destination, yet she saw no one alive.

For one brief moment, she wondered if she could now hear the voices of the dead then hastily calmed herself.

Someone needed her help but was too afraid to show himself.

"I am here," she called, her voice trembling as her own fears grew, born of standing in the midst of so many dead.

"I cannot help you if you do not let me see where you are.”

"You would see me if you would but look down," said a deep male voice from very close by.

"There are only dead men upon the ground," she replied as she fought for the strength to look at the corpse-littered ground surrounding her.

"It should now be clear that not all of us are dead."

Trembling slightly, Eada looked at the dead, idly noticing that most of them were Normans.

At least in one place, her people had clearly won.

Just as she began to wonder if she were losing her mind, had not really heard anyone at all, she saw movement in what looked to be a pile of dead Normans.

She grit her teeth against a rising nausea as she moved closer, then, seeing that one body at the bottom of the pile was dressed as a Saxon, she began to push and pull aside the dead Normans.

She gasped with surprise when, after heaving aside a body, she found a filthy, blood-soaked Brun staring up at her.

"You have decided that you are tired of killing Normans?" she asked as she pulled him away from the dead.

"I have decided that I do not want to die," he answered, his voice hoarse with pain.

Eada nodded, and tearing a strip from her undertunic, she soaked it in the chill of the river and crouched by his side.

"I am glad," she said, as she gently bathed his face.

"I have seen enough Saxon dead this day to haunt my dreams the rest of my life." She tried to unlace his jupon but found the blood-soaked ties stiff and hard to work with.

"Are you badly wounded?"

"Two clean sword cuts.

One to my right side and one in my left leg.

My right arm was badly beaten by a mace, but I do not believe it is broken.

I have left a lot of my blood in this dirt."

After checking the wounds he spoke of, Eada sat back on her heels and sighed.

"I cannot tend these wounds here."

"I have come to take you back to camp now," said a deep voice.

Eada stared up at Ivo in openmouthed surprise.

"You followed me?"

"Sir Drogo said you must not leave camp," Ivo replied as he calmly disarmed Brun, who was struggling to reach his sword to defend himself.

"This man called to me.

He has surrendered."

"He cannot surrender to us.

We are not knights.

He must surrender to Sir Drogo."

"Sir Drogo is with William.

It will have to wait, but this man's wounds can wait no longer to be tended."

"Sir Drogo will be angry."

Although she was not sure what Ivo thought would anger Drogo, her coming to the battlefield or adding another to those he was responsible for, Eada nodded.

She stared up at Ivo, saying nothing and waiting with a hard-won patience for his decision.

Eada just prayed that Ivo would make that decision before they were discovered by the Normans who collected the dead from the battlefield.

"Look there, Sir Drogo," called Sir Guy as he rode up next to Drogo and pointed to the wood at the far end of the battlefield.

"Your little Saxon whore has obviously tired of your lovemaking and flees."

Already in a foul mood because he had had to endure Sir Guy's company as he rode back to camp, Drogo saw Eada disappear into the wood and struggled to subdue a sudden rush of anger.

He felt and heard his men draw closer even as he caught sight of Ivo striding right behind Eada, and he turned his attention back to Sir Guy.

Sir Guy had a true skill for making everything Drogo said or did carry the taint of treachery, and he wondered how the sly little man would twist this insignificant incident.

Drogo knew that was not Eada's fault, but he could not fully suppress his irritation that she might have given the treacherous, hateful man one more thing to whisper lies about.

"My man Ivo is with her," Drogo said, his voice cold and hard as he struggled to remain courteous to a man he knew would stab him in the back if given half the chance.

"She is probably searching the field for her kinsmen or friends, just as others do."

"Of course.

We must see if we can assist her in her search."

Drogo cursed as Sir Guy and his two equally treacherous companions turned their mounts and started to follow Eada.

"Tancred, you stay with me.

The rest of you can return to camp.

This should not take long."

As Drogo hurried to catch up with Sir Guy, Tancred close by his side, he silently and viciously cursed the man.

In the meeting with William, it had become blatantly obvious that Sir Guy intended to do his utmost to discredit Drogo.

He was too much the coward to make any open accusations but indulged in an unrelenting campaign of whispered lies and innuendo.

Drogo doubted that he could even relieve himself without Sir Guy trying to twist it into something suspicious or some insult to William.

At the moment, it did not appear that the man was gaining any believers except for the few who had always followed him.

It worried Drogo, however, for these were troubled times and the men who tenuously held the power were often quick to scent treachery, real or imagined.

When Drogo first saw Eada by the murky river, he discovered that he too could have a suspicious mind.

She knelt by a young, handsome Saxon, tenderly holding the man's hand in hers.

Drogo had to battle a surge of jealousy when, as Sir Guy and his companions dismounted, swords in hand, she moved to protect the youth with her own body.

He slowly dismounted and cautiously approached her.

"So, you found one of the dogs still alive," said Sir Guy.

"Move away, woman, and let me end his miserable life."

"No," Eada cried, and she looked pleadingly at Drogo as he reached her side.

"He has surrendered."

"We are not troubling ourselves with prisoners, certainly not from amongst those who raised their swords against us," Sir Guy snapped.

"This fool chose to fight with Harold.

Let him die with his king."

"No, he is a kinsman," she cried, trying to protect Brun even as she shifted out of the way of the sword Sir Guy poked at her.

Drogo drew his sword and thrust it between Sir Guy's and Eada and the helpless youth.

He was furious that he was placed in the position of stopping Sir Guy from killing one of the enemy, but he had seen enough of the helpless slaughtered.

Neither did he believe it was right to kill a man who had offered up his sword in surrender.

As he met Sir Guy's glare with an icy calm, he found himself thinking petulantly that, if Eada were determined to save Saxons, she could find ones who were not so handsome.

"Put your sword away, Sir Guy," he said.

"He is but a wounded boy."

"He is a Saxon," Sir Guy protested angrily, but after one long look at Tancred and Ivo, who stood firmly behind Drogo, he sheathed his sword and curtly signaled his companions to do the same.

"You are very kind toward our enemies."

"When that enemy is wounded, unarmed, and has surrendered—yes.

He threatens no one, and he is my woman's kinsman."

"You gather around you an increasing number of useless Saxons.

One might begin to wonder why."

"Since they are useless as warriors against our king, I do not see why it concerns anyone.

Ivo, can you carry the boy back to my camp?"

Ivo nodded and picked Brun up in his arms.

After one long, hard look at Sir Guy, he strode right by the man and his increasingly uneasy companions.

Drogo grasped a wide-eyed Eada by the arm and pulled her to her feet.

He stood watching Sir Guy until the man hissed a curse and remounted, his friends quickly doing the same.

A moment later, they were gone.

Drogo tossed Eada onto the back of his horse and silently mounted behind her.

He was glad that she held her tongue as they rode back to camp.

He knew she did not deserve any of the anger churning inside him, but he also knew he could easily flay her with it if they spoke before he was able to control it.

The moment they reached his camp, Eada slid off his horse and hurried over to where Ivo had settled the Saxon youth.

Drogo fought to dispel a sudden, sharp pinch of jealousy.

The youth was badly wounded and had suffered through a night with no treatment of those wounds.

He did, however, intend to find out how Eada had found the youth and exactly who he was.

Instinct told him that the boy was not really her kinsman.

Drogo also wanted to hear from the youth's own lips that he had surrendered, for, young though he was, he was still a Saxon warrior.

Eada sighed with relief as she finished washing and slipped her clean gown on.

It had taken a long time to clean, stitch, and bandage Brun's wounds.

She had then left him in Ivo's care and rushed into Drogo's tent to scrub away the scent of blood and battle.

And to hide from Drogo, she ruefully admitted to herself.

She had felt his gaze on her from the moment they had returned to camp.

She had also felt the anger he struggled to control.

She felt absolutely no guilt about helping Brun, and she felt sure that Drogo did not really fault her for that either.

Leaving camp alone had not only been disobedient but foolish and dangerous.

That, however, would bring no more than a stern reprimand and, perhaps, a heavier guard.

The anger she saw in Drogo was caused by Sir Guy and the fact that, however inadvertently, she had somehow made matters between the two men even worse.

As she brushed her hair by the small central hearth, she decided that she needed to know exactly what was going on between Sir Guy and Drogo.

When Drogo entered the tent, Eada gave him a tentative smile as he sat down facing her.

He was still angry and, although she did not fear him, she was unsettled by it.

Since she did not know the full cause of that anger, she was uncertain about how to soothe it.

"Who is that youth?" he asked.

"I do not believe he is your kinsman."

"No, he is no kin to me at all," she admitted, feeling a distinct pinch of guilt for having lied to him.

"I said that to try to save him.

He is Brun, the youth I met in the wood when I found the baby."

Drogo felt himself relax.

Her reply soothed the small lingering suspicion he held that something secretive was going on.

He knew it was a suspicion born of his own jealousies, but he had not been able to fully conquer it.

"He called to you?"

"Yes.

I am sorry that I did not wait for Ivo.

I did look for him, but he was not in camp and I was desperate to silence the voice in my head.

It carried such pain and fear, and those feelings were beginning to spread through me.

Did you really think I would go willingly to that battlefield?" she asked in a soft voice, shivering as she remembered the horrors she had seen.

"You may have thought to find someone you knew, a friend or a kinsman," he replied and then shrugged.

"Did Brun really surrender?"

"He did not actually say so, but he called to me.

I told him to do so if he decided he needed help and that, perhaps, there were a few things he cherished more than killing Normans.

He said he had decided that he did not wish to die."

"That is not really a surrender.

I will talk with him.

I want to hear the words of surrender myself so that I can attest to them in all honesty if anyone asks about Brun." He combed his fingers through his hair and sighed as he felt his stomach begin to unknot, his anger finally leaving him.

"I believe I will also get him to pledge himself to me and, when and if the need arises, to William as well.

Is he highborn?"

"Higher than I, I think, although not wealthy.

He told me that his father was killed as he tended their flock in the fields.

Good blood does not always bring an easy life.

The fine quality of his weapons marks him as one of good family, however."

Drogo nodded then grimaced.

"Do you mean to gather forlorn Saxons to your breast all the way to London?"

"I cannot ignore a cry for help."

"Neither can I, and I could never ask you to do so anyway.

It is just that filling my camp with Saxons could prove troublesome."

"Because of Sir Guy."

"Yes, because of Sir Guy.

He was easy to ignore before because he simply hated me.

Now he tries to destroy me."

"How can he do that?" Eada remembered Sir Guy's words about Drogo's kindness to his enemies, words that had been meant to be insulting, but now also seemed ominous and threatening.

"In a most cowardly way.

He twists and tangles everything I say and do until it appears treasonous.

He whispers suspicion and lies into every ear he can reach.

He blackens my name and questions both my honor and my courage, yet not in a way I can fight.

There are no open accusations or insults made, and so I cannot challenge him.

That means that I cannot prove my innocence in battle."

"William cannot believe any of Sir Guy's lies, can he?"

"I would like to believe that William would treat Sir Guy's words with all the scorn they deserve, but I cannot be certain of it.

Treachery and danger lurk in every shadow.

William has faced betrayal so often, he sometimes sees it everywhere.

This is the greatest battle he has ever fought, and a crown is the prize.

For every man who wants William to be king, there is one who would rather see him dead.

Sir Guy's lies could turn William against me.

It is a small chance, but I cannot ignore it.

What troubles me and infuriates me is that I do not know how to fight against this.

I can only deny what he says as lies."

"It is sad, but I fear your word may not be enough.

In his heart, I am sure that William trusts and honors you; but sometimes, one forgets to listen to one's own heart.

I will try to do and say nothing to help Sir Guy.

I certainly do not wish to be the one who puts the dagger in his hand, the dagger he will then bury in your back."

Drogo nodded as he stood up.

"I can ask no more.

Except, perhaps, that you think of a sure but honorable way to shut his mouth." He kissed the tip of her nose then started out of the tent.

"I will now go and talk to that boy."

Eada cursed and moved to start cooking the evening meal.

Whispered lies were a hard thing to defeat.

She had seen before how completely they could destroy a person and dreaded such a fate befalling Drogo.

And once the lies had wreaked their havoc, the truth no longer mattered.

Eada vowed she would try to be more careful in all she did and said.

She refused to give Sir Guy the weapon he needed to destroy Drogo.

After helping Brun drink from the wineskin to seal the oath he had just made, Drogo sat down and studied the youth's somewhat sullen, pale face.

"I did not ask you to swear to like me," he drawled.

"Only to obey and serve me."

"You cannot expect me to find the taste of defeat a sweet one," Brun said in heavily accented French, revealing his high birth.

"No, I expect no Saxon to embrace us with joy.

You are wellborn?"

"Yes, but poor.

My father held lands but had to do all the work himself.

As you saw, I had weapons but no armor.

You need not fear that I will have too much pride of blood.

I may be cousin to kings, but I still had to clean our stables.

My father had hoped that my skill with a sword would help us regain the riches his father had lost."

"You have good blood, a fair face, and wit enough to speak both English and French.

You may yet gain more than your father had."

"There is one thing my father had that I do not think I will ever attain, not under Norman rule, and that is freedom."

Drogo wanted to argue that flat statement but could think of nothing to say.

What little he had learned of Saxon ways told him that the youth was probably right.

Freedom as a known Saxon would not be allowed under Norman law.

"I do not know what laws you have lived under," he finally said, "so I cannot agree or disagree.

If you remain in my service, you will not be treated badly," he felt compelled to add even as he wondered why he felt a need to gain the youth's respect, if not his friendship.

"I begin to believe that that is the truth."

"Eada said you called to her?"

"Yes.

She told me to; and after a night of lying with the dead, waiting for some Norman to find me and cut my throat, I decided to try it.

I had not understood that she had such a gift.

If I had, I would have called to her sooner."

"That gift she has is to remain a secret." Drogo shook his head.

"More people know of it than I can like now.

No others need to hear of it.

It would stir fear and put her in grave danger."

"Not all Saxons could accept it either."

"I have an enemy in this camp, a man who seeks to destroy me.

He could try to do that through Eada if he discovered her strange skills."

"He will never gain that secret from me.

I would never betray Eada."

Drogo found it irritating that the youth vowed to protect Eada with a great deal more fervor that he vowed to serve him.

At the moment, such intense loyalty was important, however.

He prayed that he could learn how to successfully play Sir Guy's games before it was too late and all the loyalty and praise in England could not save him.