Page 8 of Unconquered

"Leaving Pevensey?" Eada asked in confusion as she hastily finished her breakfast of bread and honey.

She had woken up to Drogo's lovemaking.

Sated and groggy after their passion was spent, she had risen, dressed, and joined the men for breakfast.

This abrupt return to the cold, harsh world of armies and marches left her confused.

"Yes," answered Drogo as Unwin helped him don his armor.

"It is time to move on.

This is not a good place for a battle.

I begin to think that William had not really intended us to land here, but was aiming for a port farther up the coast.

He now says we are to march to Hastings."

"Mayhap it would be best if I stayed here.

May, too.

It would only slow you down if you had to drag us along."

Drogo watched her closely as he strapped on his sword.

If she thought that one night in his arms was all he wanted, or all she needed to do to be free of him, she was in for a surprise.

He saw no signs of guile or anger in her expression, however, only confusion and a hint of fear.

Drogo pushed aside his sudden suspicions, feeling guilty for even having them, and wondered how he could convince her that she needed to stay with him.

"It will be too dangerous for you to stay here," he said finally.

"I think it would be dangerous for me to march along with an invading army," Eada responded.

"That could easily place me in the very midst of a battle."

"You could find yourself in the midst of a battle here, too, but with only a few men between you and whoever attacked."

"The attackers would be Saxons, my people."

"We are not Harold's only enemy.

And who would protect you and May from the men left behind? Once I am gone, I do not believe my claim to you would be heeded or honored."

Eada cursed softly, for there was no denying the truth of all he said.

"It would seem that there is no safe place for me, not in England, not in Pevensey, not even in my own home."

"There is one place where you will have some chance of being safe."

"With you.”

"Yes.

With me.

Ivo will take the cart and pony to carry our supplies.

You and May will remain with him.

There will be the baggage of a whole army, servants, youths in training, even some armed men to protect it.

And when we camp, you will again be with me." He walked over to her, touched a kiss to her forehead, and started toward the door.

"You may take your hounds.

And I should hurry and collect what you feel you need, for we shall be leaving shortly."

She watched him leave, the other men hurrying out behind him.

There was no argument she could make, although she dearly wished she could think of one.

It irritated her, but Drogo was right.

She would be safest traveling with the army.

Unless William was soundly defeated or swept to victory with just one battle, England would soon be a very dangerous place for a woman, especially a woman alone.

She suspected that the only way she could return to her home again was if her father emerged from the war victorious or if William suddenly decided to give up and sailed back to France.

Either one would require a miracle, and Eada felt sure that England would be seeing few miracles in the years to come.

As Eada stood up, she caught sight of May standing at the far end of the table and looking uncertain.

"Come, May, let us see how much we can gather before we are forced to leave."

"We shall be safe with Ivo and the others," May said as she followed Eada to her bedchamber.

"Yes, I think we shall be, but we shall have to watch our people suffer.

But I must try and save myself now.

I cannot stop this war and I would make a very poor warrior, so I shall have to endeavor to survive and, if fortune smiles upon me, mayhap I can aid a few of my people as well."

"Are you certain that you need so much?" Drogo asked as he rode up alongside the cart and scowled at the contents, an odd collection of chests, barrels, and sacks.

"Most of what you see here is to enhance your comfort," Eada replied as she got into the cart and settled herself on a sack of grain next to May.

"Wine, bedding, food, and other comforts.

If you wish, we could discard—"

"No." Drogo smiled faintly.

"We can always discard something later if the cart becomes too heavy to travel over the road with ease."

"Or steal another cart," she murmured.

Drogo opened his mouth to protest the word steal then frowned as he suddenly noticed how the men passing by the cart were casting hard, curious looks at Eada.

"I think I had best tell William that you speak French."

Thrown off guard by the abrupt change of subject, Eada asked, "Will that be a problem for you or for me?" She began to wonder if her little game, prompted by stubbornness and pride, could now put her in danger.

"I do not think it will be a problem for either of us.

Not if I tell William before others can whisper the news to him, slyly twisting their tale until it smells of some treachery."

She nodded as she suddenly understood his concerns.

"Your enemies could easily use it against you, making what was but foolishness sound evil."

"Yes, and there are ones who would like to cause me such trouble, mayhap lessening me in William's eyes." He looked back at Eada.

"Stay with the cart and with Ivo," he ordered.

"Do not stray from Ivo's reach."

"I will not flee," she said.

"Where would I go?"

"It is not your escape I fear, for I believe you have the wit to know you are safest where you are now.

No, I give this warning because we now ride amongst the Saxons.

I do not wish you to be mistaken for some fleeing villager."

She tensed as she realized what he was not saying.

"Now the killing truly begins."

He sighed and rubbed his chin.

"My men do not cut down the unarmed and innocent or lay waste to all in their path, but others are not so merciful.

The mercenaries will certainly be brutal.

I have also heard talk of some retribution.

Two of our ships went ashore in another village, and many are certain that the men were killed.

If they find such a village and the tale is true, those people will pay dearly." He shook his head.

"It does us no good to talk of this, for neither of us can stop it.

Just stay in the cart or at Ivo's side.

I ask it only to keep you alive."

Eada nodded and watched Drogo ride off to rejoin the others.

He was right.

It did no real good to speak of the horrors to come, of who was right and who was wrong.

She knew Drogo was a merciful man and, in the end, he had no more power than she did.

The stinging smell of smoke roused Eada from her sleep.

She winced as she straightened up, deciding that sleeping on a sack of grain in a moving cart was not something she would do often.

Rubbing the small of her back, she looked around.

It was already late afternoon, and she was sure they were nearing Bulverhythe Harbor.

They would have to ride around that just as they had had to ride all the way around Pevensey Harbor, so it was possible that they would soon stop to camp for the night.

The smoke, she realized, was drifting toward her from Hove or Bexhill and she shivered.

"God have mercy on them," she whispered and crossed herself.

"I think God has shown mercy on us," May said, her voice soft and unsteady.

"You have slept, and I have been saved from seeing the horror all around us."

"It has been bad?" Eada asked, briefly clasping May's hand in hers.

"Halisham, Herstmonceux, Ninfield, and Hove were all struck at least as hard as Pevensey was."

"That was hard enough."

May nodded.

"From what I have heard, Ashburnham has been laid waste, and I fear that fate awaits Bexhill.

The footsoldiers who march along the coast have just reached it.

I cannot be certain for I but grasp names spoken, know where the villages lie, and see what the soldiers do."

"And smell the smoke." Eada cursed softly.

"With such wanton destruction, even those fortunate enough to avoid the swords and arrows could still be doomed.

The winter to come will be hard with all of their stores emptied or burned." Eada looked to the carts behind them and saw that prisoners had been taken.

"Have you spoken to the prisoners?"

"No, but we have been close enough many times and I have heard some of what they say to each other.

That is how I learned a little more than the names of the villages.

How can the men we are with be so good and kind yet ride with men who can do such cruel things?"

"All men do evil in war.

A village suffers even when our own men march through it or camp nearby.

Warriors are the same no matter which king they march behind.

Some just have a little more mercy and honor in their hearts than others." Eada tapped Ivo on the shoulder.

"Are we going to stop to camp for the night?"

"Yes," Ivo replied even as he nodded.

"I do not know these roads, and it would be dangerous to travel them in the dark.

They are rutted and the mud is thick."

"They were passable until an army marched over them," Eada muttered, but she kept her voice too low for Ivo to hear for she did not wish to confuse him or hurt his feelings with her complaints.

"When we stop, you can teach me how to talk to May."

Eada glanced at him and grimaced inwardly when she saw the earnest look upon his face.

She really doubted that he had the ability to learn English, but she could not say that.

"Mayhap it would be better if I taught May how to speak your language.

She and I will be together more and talking more.

You will be too busy helping your liege lord." She patted him briefly on the shoulder.

"Then, when you are not so busy, May will be able to teach you all she has learned."

"Yes, that is a good idea."

She sighed inwardly with relief.

Although teaching Normans English would help fulfill Old Edith's prophecy that everything Saxon would not die, Eada did not think she wanted to start with Ivo.

That would require more patience than she had at the moment.

When all their fates had been decided, if they all survived and were still together, she would do her best to teach every Norman in her reach how to speak English, even Ivo.

Even though she wanted to ignore it, to remain blind to all of the tragedy, Eada looked at the prisoners riding in the carts and stumbling along the muddy road.

They all looked terrified, some wearing the empty expressions of horror and grief on their pale faces.

It did not surprise Eada that most of the prisoners were women, many looking as if they had already suffered the pain and degradation of rape.

Many soldiers considered women part of the loot due the victor.

The only other reason they would take a prisoner would be for ransom, but there was no reason to do that in this war.

If William lost, his men were doomed; and if he won, few Saxons would have anything left to pay a ransom with.

What the Normans had not already taken they would soon claim as their rightful due under the new king.

After watching the mournful prisoners for several miles and smelling the taint of smoke in the air from yet another burning village, Eada's spirits were very low by the time Ivo stopped to make camp.

She silently helped him prepare a meal, absently noticing that May was equally subdued.

It was not until she heard the sound of a man in armor approaching that she was able to shake free of the fear and the grief weighting her heart; but when she looked up, it was not Drogo standing before her.

The man turned to look at Ivo and Eada tensed.

On his right cheek was a scar, the same scar she had glimpsed on the man in her vision.

She did not need Ivo's muttered greeting to know that this was Sir Guy DeVeau.

"Which one of these women is Sir Drogo's whore?" Sir Guy asked, his voice soft and cold as he stared at Eada.

Eada stiffened with outrage as a scowling Ivo pointed at her.

She ached to respond to the insult but forced herself to remember that, despite the kindness of Drogo and his men, she was a prisoner, a Saxon in the midst of an enemy army.

This time she would have to swallow her pride, for acting out in anger could not only endanger her but Drogo and the others as well.

"You can speak French?" Sir Guy looked Eada over with an insolence that had her clenching her fists.

"Yes," she answered, spitting the word out between clenched teeth.

"I need you to speak to my prisoners," he said, as he grabbed her by the arm and started to pull her toward his camp.

His grip was so tight Eada nearly gasped from the pain, but she fought to hide it.

She waved Ivo back when he stepped forward.

Sir Guy would not tolerate a servant's interference, and Eda saw no point in Ivo's putting himself at risk.

She wanted to talk to the man's prisoners anyway.

Even if she were unable to comfort them, she could at least find out what had happened in their village.

At his camp, Sir Guy pushed her toward two terrified women and a boy of about fourteen.

All three were badly bruised, and the older of the two women sat on the muddy ground clutching her two small children.

A quick look at Sir Guy was enough to tell Eada that he intended to stay close enough to hear what she said.

That made no sense if he could not speak English, and Eada briefly wondered if he could and sought to trick her.

She decided she would carefully guard her words until she was sure of what he did or did not know.

"Tell them that they are to serve me," Sir Guy said.

"They are to cook for me, clean, mend, and whatever else servants do.

And tell the women they are to warm my bed."

Eada refused to blush as she repeated his words.

When she saw the anger flare in the youth's blue eyes, she quickly took him by the hand.

She moved around the camp touching things and making him repeat the French word for each item until she felt the tight fury in him begin to ease.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Godwin of Halisham.

My father was a shepherd.

They cut him down in his pasture as he tended his flock.

My mother was slain as she fed our chickens.

You are not Norman?"

"I am Eada of Pevensey.

My mother had some Norman blood.

That is why I can speak their language.

Now, who are the women?"

"The younger one with the red hair is Elga.

She is from my village.

The older, dark-haired one is Hilde.

Those are her children.

Welcome is but two, and Eric is not yet four."

"And you are not yet fourteen I would guess."

"A good guess.

Was Pevensey laid waste?"

When she saw a frowning Sir Guy step closer, Eada started to prepare a meal and the youth quickly helped.

"He will not be fooled by this for long," she murmured.

"Pevensey was damaged and many were killed, but I know little else.

I was captured outside of town.

Now, heed me, Godwin, and try to make the women understand, too."

"Can you not talk to them?" he asked as he stoked the fire.

"I have little time and I picked you because you appear to be the strongest." She began to prepare a stew and tried to act as if all she were doing was giving him instructions.

"Do not fight this man.

He has no mercy.

He will kill you without hesitation and simply find more Saxons to serve him."

"It is cowardly to just give up, to just meekly bow before him."

"Bow.

Bow and survive and help those poor women and the babes to survive, too.

That should be your only battle and, believe me, it will be a hard one.

Yes, you have a lot of courage, but it is still trapped inside a boy's body and that boy is surrounded by battle-hardened men.

Saxons will soon die in the thousands.

Why not try to defeat the enemy by living?"

"You have said enough," Sir Guy snapped, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her away from Godwin.

Eada could not fully restrain a gasp of pain as Sir Guy's gaundeted fingers dug into her arm, but she quelled Godwin's move to help her with one sharp look.

"There are better uses for good Saxon blood than feeding the flies."

"I told you, you have talked enough."

She ducked when she saw Sir Guy swing at her, but was not quick enough to completely avoid his blow.

His hand slammed into the side of her head with enough force to cause her ears to ring and make her fall to her knees.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Godwin move; but before he took more than one step, Sir Guy was pulled away from her so abruptly the mail of his gauntlet scratched her wrist as he was forced to release her.

Holding the side of her aching head, she looked up and nearly gaped.

Drogo now stood between her and Sir Guy, his sword drawn and his face white with fury.

Sir Guy quickly recovered from his surprise and drew his sword, an odd smile curving his thin-lipped mouth.

Eada stumbled to her feet and backed away, knowing there was nothing she could do, that she could even make matters worse if she interfered.

The moment Drogo drew his sword, she had lost all chance to end the confrontation.

"See to the women," she said to a startled Godwin and was pleased when he immediately went to the terrified women, escorting them out of harm's way and then standing guard over them.

"So gallant, Sir Drogo," said Sir Guy.

"You leap so quickly to the defense of this Saxon whore."

"This woman is under my protection," Drogo said, his voice hoarse with anger.

"There was no need to strike her; and even if there had been provocation from her, you had no right."

"No right? She is a Saxon—"

"—lady," Drogo snapped, interrupting Sir Guy before he could utter yet another slur against Eada.

"She is probably as well born as you, but you must have known that.

Or did you think that all peasants in England were taught to speak French?"

"I gave her no thought at all."

"Here, here, my young knights," said a coarse, deep voice.

"So hot of blood."

Eada tore her gaze from Drogo and looked at the older knight who calmly stepped between the two younger men.

She had not yet learned how to tell who was higher born, but the reactions of Sir Guy and Drogo told her that this battle-scarred, grey-haired knight sat a lot higher at the table than they did.

Both men eased their battle stances, lowering their sword points slightly as they faced the man.

"Lord Bergeron—" Drogo began.

"No, Sir Drogo, there is no need for explanations.

I saw all that happened." Lord Bergeron stepped closer and placed a hand on each man's shoulder.

They quickly obeyed his silent command to sheath their swords, although neither looked pleased to do so.

"Young Sir Guy was hasty, and I am sure he regrets not leaving the girl's discipline in your capable hands, Sir Drogo.

It is not worth wasting good Norman blood, however.

We have been on these shores but two days and a great many days of fighting lie ahead of us.

Let us not waste our strength here.

Go, Sir Drogo, and take the pretty little girl with you.

Sir Guy and I will have a word or two, hmmm?" Lord Bergeron slipped his thickly muscled arm around Sir Guy's slender shoulders.

After bowing to the older man and casting one last cold look at Sir Guy, Drogo grabbed Eada by the hand and started to walk back to his camp.

Eada stumbled along behind him, but managed one last look back at Sir Guy and Lord Bergeron.

The older man was doing all the talking and Sir Guy's tight, pale expression told her that the words he listened to were not to his liking.

"I am sorry," she whispered when she looked at Drogo and caught him frowning down at her.

"You should have stayed with Ivo as I told you to."

"I had little choice.

Sir Guy is a Norman knight.

You also told me to remember that I am a prisoner, and neither Ivo nor May could safely deny the man what he wanted.

The man strode into your camp, said he needed me to talk to his prisoners, and took me with him.

Despite his insulting manner, I said nothing and did as I was told."

"So he struck you because you were so obedient?" Drogo stopped and lightly touched the bruises on the side of her face.

"He seemed to think I was saying too much to his prisoners."

"And what did you say to them?"

"I told the women exactly what he told me to tell them and then I spoke to the youth Godwin.

I told him that the only battle he should fight now is the one of survival, not only for his own sake but for the sake of those two terrified women and the babes."

"And that is all you said to them?"

"Yes.

It would be foolish to try and stir rebellion in the hearts of a boy, two frightened women, and two babes when we are in the midst of thousands of armed men." She sighed when he only smiled faintly at her tart words.

"Sir Guy hit me because I did not stop talking when he told me to.

All that was not what I said I was sorry for."

"Then what are you sorry for?"

"Because I think what has just happened has made Sir Guy hate you even more than he already did." She cursed inwardly when Drogo offered her no argument.