Page 2 of Unconquered

"No one is here, Drogo," announced Tancred d'Ullack as he picked up a wooden bowl from the floor and set it on the well-scrubbed table.

"Are there any beds?" Drogo de Toulon asked as he adjusted his firm hold on the slender, ashen-faced man who sagged at his side, and stepped further into the great hall of the house he had chosen to claim.

"Yes, and some very fine ones, too.

Go right through that doorway at the far end of the hall.

The one on the left."

Drogo picked his companion up in his arms, ignoring the man's groaning protests.

"Come, Garnier, my friend, you will feel stronger after you have rested.

Tancred," he called back to the younger man, who was just sitting down at the table, "have our belongings brought to this place and see if my man Ivo can find us some food."

"I shall never return home, my friend," groaned the man in Drogo's arms.

"Do you plan to die here then, Garnier?"

"No, but I plan to never set my boots in a boat again and, unless I learn to soar like a bird, I am destined to rot out my days in this accursed land."

Laughing softly, Drogo laid his slender friend down upon the first bed he found.

A swift, but careful look around the small room told him that it had been hastily deserted.

Clothes and the toys of a young boy were scattered around.

His survey also told him that the room was extremely clean, and he began to relax.

"I should more closely study this bed," said Garnier, his deep voice hoarse and unsteady, "but I am suffering the mal de mer too badly to care if these Saxon fleas eat me alive."

"I would be most surprised, Garnier, if there are any fleas about.

The people who held this house were very clean."

"Some distant family of yours, mayhap?" Garnier teased, and he managed a weak smile.

Drogo briefly returned the man's smile, accepting the gentle jest aimed at his own strong inclinations toward cleanliness, a preference that many found a little strange.

"Rest, Garnier," he murmured.

"Rest is what you need."

The moment Garnier closed his eyes, Drogo returned to the hall and found the central hearth already being tended by his man Ivo.

Ivo was big, dark, and somewhat slow; but he tended to most of Drogo's and his men's needs as well as any woman.

Displeasure tightened Drogo's finely carved mouth, however, when he saw the young girl huddled close by Ivo's side.

A quick glance at Tancred, who was sprawled comfortably at the table, elicited only a shrug.

"Ivo, where did the girl come from?" Drogo asked his servant as he approached the man.

"Was she here? In this house?"

Ivo shook his head, his thick black hair tumbling onto his face.

"Outside."

"Ah, then you have brought her to us for our amusement." Tancred leapt nimbly from the bench he had lounged on and strode closer; but when he reached for the girl, Ivo suddenly placed his large, muscular body firmly between the much smaller Tancred and the terrified girl.

"I see; you have not, then."

"Mine," Ivo growled as the girl huddled behind him.

"I found her."

"And were you the one who beat her?" Drogo asked, frowning as he studied the girl's thin, bruised face.

"No.

The others did.

I stopped them and took her."

"Oh, merde." Tancred sighed with a blatantly false dismay.

"We shall have some deaths to explain away." He again approached the girl, reaching out one slender hand, and said quietly when Ivo tensed, "I only mean to look at her."

"I did not kill the men," Ivo said, never taking his gaze from Tancred as he defended himself to Drogo.

"I only hurt them."

"She is a bond-slave, Drogo," Tancred said and pointed to the earring the girl wore.

"That earring is how the Saxons mark their bond-slaves.

And it appears that she is a disobedient one," he added in a soft voice when he saw the still-raw lash marks on her back revealed by her torn gown.

"She could be more trouble than she is worth."

"Mine." Ivo put his arm around the wide-eyed girl's thin shoulders and held her close as he fixed his dark gaze on Drogo.

"You can give her to me."

Drogo grimaced and absently rubbed his hand over his broad, mail-covered chest as he realized he could have a serious problem on his hands.

"Ivo, she belongs to someone."

Ivo nodded.

"A Saxon.

You will fight them soon and win.

Then, everything will be yours and you can give her to me."

"Such lovely simplicity," Tancred drawled, his grey eyes bright with laughter.

"Enough of your jests, Tancred," Drogo muttered as he frowned at Ivo.

"Ivo, you may have her for now, but she must work and she must behave.

We have no time now to waste upon a lazy or disobedient bond-slave.

Do you understand?"

"Yes," Ivo replied, and he nodded slowly.

"I will watch her."

"And one more thing.

Now, heed me closely, Ivo.

The girl belongs to someone.

That earring tells us so.

We are here to fight the Saxons for William, but that does not mean that everything will then belong to us.

If someone comes to claim her and there is trouble over the matter, she may have to be returned to her masters."

"I understand.

If someone comes to claim her, I will tell him that she is mine.

We will talk on it."

When Tancred laughed, Drogo briefly glared at him, then looked back at Ivo.

He decided it would be easier to just wait and, if someone came to claim the girl, he would deal with the problem then.

"One last thing, Ivo," he said, as the big man moved to search the house for supplies, the girl close at his heels.

"I will take her away from you myself if you hurt her too badly." He did not really believe Ivo would hurt the girl for he was a relatively gentle giant, but he felt a need to give the warning.

"No, I will not hurt her.

Her name is May," Ivo added in a quiet tone as he took the girl by the hand and led her out of the hall.

"I am not sure it is wise to keep her with us," Tancred said as he and Drogo sat down opposite each other at the big table.

"Then you go and take her away from him," Drogo said as he tugged off his heavy leather-and-mail gauntlets.

"No, thank you, my friend.

I am most fond of keeping my head just where it is.

I just fear that she could bring us trouble.

By the look of her back, she is a much whipped slave."

"That does not mean she is any trouble.

She could be a little slow of wit, as Ivo is, and had a master with no patience.

Mayhap the lady of the house had the girl whipped because the master found her too comely.

We will wait and see how she behaves.

A servant can do well by one master yet plague another to madness.

Also, she now owes Ivo for he rescued her.

That might help."

Tancred shrugged his slim shoulders.

"As you wish.

It is a pity that he could find no wenches for us, though."

Drogo laughed as he tugged off his mail hood and the padded hood beneath it then combed his long fingers through his sweat-dampened black hair.

"You look for wenches despite spending your last days in France rutting day and night? I should think that you would be in need of a rest."

"I rested on the journey here.

I wonder what sort of wenches lived in this fine house?"

"Clean ones," Drogo murmured as he ran his hand over the smooth, clean oak table.

"And how can you know that any wenches lived here?"

"While you tended to our belly-emptying friend Garnier, I wandered through the house.

There are women's gowns in two of the sleeping chambers.

They did not have time to take all of them.

Ah, good, wine," he cried with pleasure when Ivo set a jug and two wooden goblets on the table.

"They took a lot of things, though.

This is a wealthy man's house, yet there is little of any value within it."

"There will be plunder to be had elsewhere," Tancred said cheerfully as he poured them each some wine.

"Since you are so close to William, we will be certain to get our share of it."

"Ah, and I thought you had joined this battle for the glory of it and for love of me."

"And so I did.

Also, William's cause is a just one.

But, I will not turn aside any gain either."

Drogo smiled faintly, but made no reply.

He shared Tancred's feelings.

William's cause was a just one and there would be glory to be found in fighting for it.

If they were victorious and could hold onto that victory, there would also be rewards.

Drogo had considered that when he had agreed to join William.

He was close to William, although not as close as others.

His position was strong enough, however, to promise him a healthy bounty of some kind and even a voice in what that bounty might be.

In France, there had been little William could give him and, with three brothers' between him and his father's titles and lands, there was no hope of an inheritance.

Inwardly, he sighed, wishing that he were not so prone to thinking matters over.

Harold of England had earned whatever fate befell him.

He had pledged to accept William as his king then broken that pledge.

Unfortunately, Drogo could too easily see how badly others would suffer for Harold's treachery.

That knowledge made it difficult for Drogo to maintain any real peace of mind.

Even the woman who lived here must suffer, he thought as Ivo set bread and cheese upon the table.

The woman clearly cared for her home and had worked to make it a fine place to live, yet she had been driven from it, able to take only what she could grab in a few, hectic moments.

Drogo doubted that she cared who sat upon the throne, and she certainly had been given no say in the matter; but she had still lost her home and could easily lose far more in the troubled days ahead.

"Drogo," called a rough voice.

Pleased to be dragged free of his morose thoughts, Drogo smiled at the man standing in the doorway of the house.

"Come inside, Serle.

You are most welcome to share in our bounty.

The larder here was not completely emptied."

"Nor were many others," the older man said even as he sat down next to Tancred.

"There is not enough for so many men, however.

We are to rest here for a while as many of the men did not suffer the crossing well.

Where is that pretty courtier Garnier?"

"He rests," Drogo replied and smiled faintly.

"He did not suffer the crossing well either."

Serle laughed softly then murmured his appreciation of the wine he sipped from the bowl Ivo brought him.

"Who is the woman?" he asked when he noticed May, who still shadowed Ivo's every move.

"A bond-slave called May.

No rescued her and now claims her."

"And out there lie a few men who can lay claim to broken heads, eh?" Serle grinned, revealing that his front teeth had not survived his chosen life as a warrior.

"Not broken beyond mending, I pray.

I have no time to become tangled in some quarrel.

Has there been no sign of the English? Are we to be allowed ashore unopposed?"

"It appears so.

We now have a few of the Saxons in our grasp.

They have told us that Harold has gone to face Harald Hardrada, yet another who tries to unseat Harold from his stolen throne.

It will be a most bloodied throne the victor finally sits upon."

"The victor will be William, of course," Tancred said as he wiped his slightly full lips with the back of his hand.

Serle looked at Tancred and his weathered face creased with a faint smile.

"Ah, the confidence of youth.

Come, my boy, do not forget that we are only a few thousand men facing a whole country.

We have set ourselves down in a strange land and only a few of us speak the tongue of these people.

Do not strut about thinking that we are already the victors or your slender body will soon feed the Saxon worms.

Nor should you think that all will be settled and done once William gets his buttocks on that throne."

"But, William will be the king."

"And that is all, eh? No, my boy.

We will still be a small army of French in the midst of a sea of Saxons.

Would you let a man take your land with only a small protest? I think not.

William may gain the throne, but it will be a long time before he truly holds the country.

I have lived three-and-forty years and I have never seen a king sit easy upon his throne.

And the men who hold whatever bounty William might gift them with had best keep their swords and their wits honed and sharp."

"You begin to make me wish I had remained in Normandy.”

Serle shrugged his broad shoulders.

"That king knows little peace, either; and you, as most of us, could hope for little reward save honors when fighting for him.

Here, there is a chance for some gain."

"Now that you have thoroughly discouraged my friend," Drogo said, laughter trembling in his deep voice, "can you tell me why you have sought us out?"

"To enjoy Ivo's fine cooking," Serle replied, only half in jest as Ivo set a hearty venison stew before them.

"Would the promise of that not be enough to bring any man to your door?"

"It would," Drogo agreed as he began to eat.

"You, however, could not have known that there would be a meal to enjoy.

We did not.

And I think this fine stew was already brewing for Ivo has not had the time to cook one.

So, tell, what brings you here?"

"William calls for supplies.

He asks for men to ride out and grasp all they can so that all of his men might eat well.

I have come looking for some men to ride out with me."

"And you have found them.

As soon as we have filled our bellies, we can begin the search for what is needed to fill the bellies of the rest of the men."

"And we are to look for Saxons.

I have no wish to be caught with my back to the sea."

Drogo nodded in heartfelt agreement before turning his full attention to his meal.

As soon as they were all done eating, he ordered Ivo to watch over Garnier and hold firm to the house.

He did not wish to lose such a fine place for he could not be sure how long they might have to rest in Pevensey.

Even if they lingered for only one night, however, he wanted to do so in comfort.

Just as they stepped out of the house, a youth raced up to them.

Drogo doubted that the boy was even old enough to grow a beard, but someone had at least armored him well before sending him out.

The youth had a mail hood, surcoat, and gauntlets, as well as a fine sword.

The warhorse he led was of a good, sturdy build and almost looked too big for the slender boy.

"Who are you, boy, and what brings you to me?" Drogo asked.

"I am Unwin, sir, and I should like to join with you," the youth replied.

"You appear too young to he able to pledge your sword where you will."

"The man I rode with died of a fever but hours before we sailed." The youth flushed.

"When William discovered that I was alone, he told me to find another knight to serve or he must return me to France."

"There are many knights here, Unwin."

"And all are well served.

I was told that you and your men have neither pages nor squires, only a brute called Ivo.

Please, sir, I need nothing as you can see.

My family armoured me well before sending me to this battle.

I will serve you well."

"You have never been in battle, have you?"

"No," Unwin admitted reluctantly.

"But, I am well trained.

I need this battle to gain my spurs, Sir Drogo."

"Or to get your head taken from your shoulders," Serle grumbled then smiled crookedly when the youth stiffened.

"I can fight," Unwin snapped.

"I am sure you can; and if your family has taken such time and spent so much coin to send you along with William, then fight you must," Drogo said, ignoring the way Tancred rolled his eyes.

"You must know, however, that we have no pages or others to serve us because we have no lands, no titles, and no coin.

You join a poor group of knights, lad.

We have come here to fight for William in the hope of gaining some or all of what we lack."

"As have I, Sir Drogo."

"Then join us, if you will."

Drogo smiled faintly at the way the youth grinned and quickly mounted his horse.

It had been a long time since he had felt such eagerness.

Unwin still held only visions of glory and wealth.

If the boy survived the battles he would soon face, that sweet, blind eagerness would quickly fade away.

If the boy were to survive, he would have to grow hardened as the rest of them had.

As he, Tancred, Serle, and the youth rode out of town, Drogo carefully looked around.

The area swarmed with men pleased to be on solid ground again and eager for war and gain.

Neither the ominous fire that had streaked across the skies at Eastertide nor the way William had faltered upon landing could dim their confidence.

Drogo prayed that this was not all the result of an empty and useless bravado.

He did not want to think that he had come to England only to die.