(See sidebar menu for links to all previous chapters)
~ 9 ~
Thomas, an officer of the sheriff of Newcastle, stood
straight and tall beside his horse, his eyes sweeping over the soldiers’
camp. He gripped the carved hilt of his sword absently, waiting. His hair was graying near the edges and
balding on top, but holding his sword made him feel like a young man again,
ready to take on a hostile world.
A brilliant
display of sunlight was bursting through the forest, its rays driving away the
swirling mists that clung to the surface of the river. The air was cool and fresh,
heavy with the fragrance of clover and morning dew. Birds chirped happily from their roosts in herald of the breaking dawn.
He nodded to Stephen, third in the chain of command,
who was carefully rearranging the items in his saddlebag in anticipation of
another day of riding. Sighing with
resignation, Thomas made his way over to where the Sheriff was snoring loudly,
his mouth wide open.
“Sir,” Thomas said gently.
The Sheriff didn’t move, so Thomas leaned down closer
to him. “Sir!” he practically shouted,
but his attempt was lost in the raucous snoring and a chorus of laughter from
the watching men. So he prodded the slumbering officer with the toe of his boot until eventually
he began to awaken. The snores ended in
a quick flurry of grunts and throaty mumblings. After a few moments, his eyes
flew open to see Thomas looking down at him, a slight expression of amusement
on his usually solemn face.
“What’s all this, Thomas?” he leapt to his feet,
squinting in the bright light of early morning.
“The sun’s up! We should have
awoken an hour ago.”
“Yes, sir,” Thomas smiled knowingly.
The Sheriff shook his head, running a hand over his
iron-gray beard as he yawned and stretched.
“And the previous sheriff said you were his best man. How sad.
I still don’t understand why we didn’t attack them by night.”
Thomas pointed out into the woods. “They undoubtedly had sentries posted. They could have scattered and we would have
lost them in the night. It’s better to
track them until we can corner them in a place without any escape routes.”
The Sheriff nodded to appear as though he had
considered it before. “And where will we
find such a place? Do you know the
region?”
“I do, sir. If
we ride hard today, we may be in position by this afternoon.”
“And how do you know these outlaws haven’t already
broken camp and left?”
“I sent my brother Raymond as a scout. He’ll be back to tell us when they
leave. Or if they are late sleepers, we
could always spur them on today’s ride with our blades.” He smiled, deftly twirling his sword from
hand to hand.
The Sheriff grunted and shook his head. “With our luck, they captured your brother
and are already miles beyond us.”
“I have no doubt Raymond will return with a report
soon, sir,” he responded, then turned and began making his way to where Stephen
was scanning the woods, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Sir Thomas,” the Sheriff called him back as if on an
afterthought. Leaning in confidentially,
he whispered to the knight. “What do you
suppose these outlaws were after? They
seemed to be targeting the Jews.”
The knight’s brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t find that unusual, sir. It was probably just another outbreak in the aftermath of the London
riots. It wouldn’t have even concerned
us if they hadn’t struck down the armorer.”
“Yes, we shall miss him,” the Sheriff said. “And his death will be avenged. But did you not have the impression that they
were searching for something—something they thought the Jews might have?”
Thomas spread his hands and shrugged. “I have no idea, sir. I suppose it’s possible. Why do you ask?”
The Sheriff’s eyes scanned the group of soldiers cautiously, as if he was about to reveal a great secret and he
didn’t want anyone but Thomas to hear.
After a moment’s silence, though, he shook his head. “No reason.”
Thomas narrowed his eyes at the response. He nodded and made his way over to Stephen,
who greeted him with a solemn nod. “Are
you ready for the ride today, sir?”
“Yes,” Thomas replied.
“We might catch them by this afternoon if luck is on our side. Stephen,” he said, in a tone that made clear he was broaching a new subject.
“What is it, sir?”
“The Sheriff," Thomas lowered his voice. "He’s only had the post for a few weeks, I
realize that. But do you have the impression
that he is acting very strangely?”
“Strangely?”
“Well, he seems secretive. Almost paranoid sometimes…have you ever had
that feeling about him?”
The younger soldier nodded, his face
impassive. “He does have certain affairs
that he tends to keep undisclosed. He often has a guest by the name of Michael come to his office. I have no idea what sort of business they
have with one another, but I have observed this much—he seems frightened of
this Michael.”
Thomas nodded, scratching his chin. “All right.
I’ll have to keep my eyes open.
Something isn’t right.”
Stephen shrugged, turning back to tending his
horse.
At that moment, Raymond burst
from the bushes, breathing heavily.
“They’ve broken camp, sir!” he saluted the Sheriff. “I heard the leader say they would follow the
river.”
“Good work,” the Sheriff nodded brusquely. “All right, men, mount up!” he shouted. “Quickly now, or we’ll lose them!”
He led the way, his gray charger
plunging down the thin trail. The
others followed at a swift gallop, riding single file towards the west. Thomas smiled grimly as he rode, his eyes scanning the brush to either side. He had known the Armorer and his family, and
he longed to see the brigands brought to justice. Even
after so long, some of the Saxons needed to be taught who the rulers were. And they were going to teach that very lesson
to these brigands.
~ ~ ~
Edward grimaced, thrusting out an arm to deflect a
low-hanging branch before it slapped him in the face. Hannah sat behind him on the mare, her arms
wrapped tightly around his waist. They
rode along quickly, the rough staccato of hoofbeats forming a familiar pattern
that broke the early morning stillness.
The leaves on the trees still glistened with droplets of dew,
shining out like millions of tiny crystals.
In the distance, the peaceful trill of a sparrow could be heard over the
sound of the chase.
What a deceptive beauty, he thought as he looked at the wonders of
nature flying past him. How can this
world seem so peaceful and yet be torn apart by such brutality?
Just then, he heard Hannah’s voice speaking
behind him. “You know, Edward of
Melrose, you are the one redeeming grace of your people.”
He turned
his head, uncertain if he had heard her correctly. “What do you mean?” he shouted back.
“Never have
I met an Englishman that has cared in the least for a Jew—Saxons and Normans both. Englishmen killed my father, and Englishmen
have offered nothing but reproach all my life.
But you—you’ve saved your people from my complete hatred. Good can come from even such a vile race.”
“The good does not come from me, Hannah. It’s only because of what Christ did
for me that I can display any kind of love at all.”
He could
hear her chuckle softly. “Christ
made you different?” her voice was filled with clear, almost scoffing,
disbelief. “Then why has he neglected
his work in the hearts of your countrymen?”
He shook his
head, forcing the mare to take a sharp corner in order to stay with Alfred’s
lead. “Not all men who claim the name of
Christ follow him in action,” he replied.
“I have worked for many years in showing such men the power and the
grace that lies behind their beliefs.”
She was
silent for a long while as they rode along.
“So,” she spoke up after some time, “does
your Christ love Jews as much as Englishmen?”
He groaned
inwardly. God, why did she have to
ask that? “I don’t know,” he
admitted with a sigh. “The Jews have
rejected the covenant of God by crucifying his Son. And yet…I’m just not sure.”
“I thought
as much,” her voice was tinged with bitterness.
“I want no part in that kind of faith.”
They rode on, never stopping for more than an
instant. By the time noon had come, Hannah’s little mare was heaving for
breath, nearly ready to collapse from exhaustion again. It was only a few minutes later, though, that
Edward felt the first few drops of rain hit his face. Looking up, he saw dark, frowning clouds above them, heavy with rain.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the wind picked up, lashing out at
the trees. A flash of
lightning burst out in the sky to the north, followed instantly by a booming
roll of thunder that seemed to make the earth itself tremble.
As if a celestial
knife had slit open the clouds, a torrent of drops poured down on
them. Nevertheless, they continued their reckless charge. They continued riding for nearly
an hour, and the rain never relented. By
that time, though, Alfred had thought better of riding further in the mud, and
turned down towards the riverbank. They
had to ride for another few minutes before coming on a high bank with several
shallow caves, where they pulled up to rest from the fury of the elements.
Edward sat there,
shivering between Hannah and Alfred in one of the larger caves. The other five brigands were hiding in
smaller caves all along the bank, waiting for the storm to stop.
After a while,
Alfred sighed. He had not spoken to his
brother since the night before, for the weight of Edward’s unspoken accusations
always lingered between them.
“Edward,” he said
after a moment, “once these rains stop, I’ll need you to do me a favor.”
Edward was silent,
not even bothering to acknowledge his brother’s presence. After a few minutes, he replied evenly. “No.”
Alfred smiled
slowly. “Don’t forget, Ed, I still know
something about your Jewess that the others don’t. We both know she isn’t your wife.” At this remark, Hannah laid a
hand on Edward’s shoulder, glaring at the brigand.
His brother sighed. “What is it you
want?”
“This rain may have
forced the Sheriff’s men to turn around and leave us. I want you to go out back east for a
while. If you don’t come across them
after a few hours, come back here.”
“And why can’t one
of your men do it?”
Alfred shrugged. “You’re
more expendable to me.”
Edward turned, his eyes searching his brother’s. After a moment, his gaze dropped
disappointedly. “I see. If I do this, I’m taking Hannah with me.”
Alfred shook his
head with a smile. “She stays here. I want to make certain you come back.”
Edward grimaced, but
did not reply. Instead, he turned to
watch the river. And the rain kept coming down.
~ ~ ~
Thomas
frowned, his back pressed hard against the rough bark of a tree as he waited
for the rains to subside. His brother Raymond
lounged beside him, idly toying with his sword.
The company had remained together well past noontide, and were waiting
out the storm beneath a small grove of trees that grew next to the
riverbank.
The Sheriff, though,
was beginning to grow weary with the chase, and found himself
entertaining thoughts of returning to Newcastle. It was absurd, after all, to go after any
sort of criminal in such terrible weather.
A more pressing reason, though, was the memory of Michael’s promised
return, which lingered like an icy threat over his mind.
Raymond sighed,
glancing over to his brother. “I still don’t
understand why we didn’t just rush their camp last night,” he said. “We knew where they were, after all.”
Thomas
shrugged. “It’s better not to take
chances, Raymond. If we had scattered
them in the dark, they could have fled for miles, and we would have no way to
track them until the sun rose again.”
Raymond sighed
again, scratching his head. “What do you
think they were doing anyway?”
“The brigands? Well, I suppose they were just raiding the
Jews again. There seems to be a lot of
that going on.”
“Yes,” Raymond
agreed quietly. “The priest doesn’t seem
to approve of it.”
“Since when have
Saxon priests approved of anything good?” Thomas chortled.
“Well, I’m not so
sure,” the younger brother said, his eyes distant. “I never minded the Jews much. They kept to themselves for the most part.”
“You’re the only one
who didn’t mind them because you’re never in debt.”
“Quite true,”
Raymond grinned, smiling lightly. “You
would be wise to follow my example.”
Thomas shrugged,
huffing loudly. “There are some things
worth the money it takes to purchase.”
“Well, I never seem
to be in desperate need, do I?”
“Only in need of
some common sense, my brother. I
wouldn’t worry about it. We’re here to
avenge the death of a Norman,
remember? The Sheriff couldn’t care less
about the abuses set on the Jews.”
Raymond did not
comment, but continued to stare out from beneath the tree, reaching up every so
often to brush off droplets of water that fell into his thick hair. After a while, Thomas laid back against the
wet turf, closing his eyes against the rain.
“I too, find part of
myself wishing to return,” he said.
“Better to be safe and dry in the castle than to be drowning to death
out here.”
“Perhaps,” allowed
Raymond. “But there is some merit to
completing out task with honor, I suppose.”
“Does your daughter
fare well in the house when you are gone?” Thomas asked. “She is alone, isn’t she?”
Raymond nodded
slowly. “Felice? Yes, but she is old enough to take care of
herself for a few days. Ever since Anne
passed away, she has taken over and grown right up.”
“I have not been out to your
farm enough lately,” said Thomas. “I
suppose my duties at the castle have me tied down. Tell me, Felice is turning eighteen soon,
isn’t she?”
Raymond nodded. “Next month.”
Thomas shook his
head with a grin. “How time slips
by. We’ve been fighting together as men
of war for twenty years now, Raymond.
And it never gets any better.”
“I’ve had enough of war
myself, what with King Henry’s feud with William. I’d be content to settle back and farm my
land.”
“I wouldn’t. I’m getting older, Raymond. I need something to make my blood run swiftly
again--a good fight now and then. It makes me
feel young and alive.”
“Well, if these rains let up,
you may just get your wish.”
~ ~ ~
Edward
frowned, watching as the rain faded into a misty drizzle
floating over the surface of the river.
Hannah was resting against his shoulder, her eyes closed. He moved slightly, trying to see
whether Alfred was still watching him from the other side of the cave. The motion awoke Hannah, who
smiled and smoothed the hair back from her face.
“It’s stopped
raining,” she murmured softly.
Edward nodded, his
eyes fixed on the southern bank of the river.
He leaned down slowly, until his lips were next to her ear. “We have to get out of here.”
She looked hard into
his eyes. “But your brother--he's going to make you go
scouting for him.”
He risked another
glance over to where Alfred was staring blankly over the wet rocks. “After I come back, then,” he whispered. “We’ll slip away into the night. I think we’ll be able to do it. I’ll—I’ll take you back to Newcastle.
Maybe we’ll be safe there now.”
She made no comment at first. After the
rain had stopped completely and the sun had broken through the clouds, she
leaned back up to whisper into his ear. “I need to get to London,” she hissed. “Soon.
If we can get out of this tonight, that would be best.”
He recalled that
she had said she needed to depart for some sort of quest, but until that moment
he had not considered being a part of her venture. London
was leagues upon leagues away. Escorting
her back to Newcastle and then returning to Melrose was one thing, but seeing her across the country was another. But, then again, how could he refuse when he
was aware of her situation? He couldn’t just send her wandering across so many hostile miles alone.
Seeing his
confusion, she shook her head. “Perhaps
I should not have told you. You mustn’t
worry about me.”
He averted his gaze,
looking up to where the sun had begun to shine into the mouth of the cave. “We’ll speak more of this when I
return.”
They sat in
contemplative silence for a long while, then Alfred spoke up. “Well, Ed, I would say it’s time to be
off. We’ll wait here until sunset, then
move on. With or without you.”
~ ~ ~
“Someone’s coming,” Oswald hissed, and
instantly the rest of the men of Melrose
were clustered around him. The
flickering light of the campfire cast a ring of dim light around where they had
been waiting near the border.
The sounds of even footsteps came over the gentle hush of the night, and
eventually they could make out the dim silhouette of a man jogging toward them,
his shoulders low with weariness.
As the man entered the circle of
firelight, they glimpsed the haggard countenance of Malcolm, his eyes bleary
and his jaw covered with a layer of thick red stubble. “Sir!” Oswald exclaimed, catching him as he
collapsed, his chest heaving for breath. The farmer-soldiers looked down, concern
etched on every visage, as they waited for their leader to speak.
Eventually Malcolm had the strength to sit
up and down a long draught from Oswald’s wineskin. Still breathing heavily, he looked up at
them. “I fear Edward has fallen into
trouble,” he reported.
“What trouble?”
“I’m not sure,” he shook his head as he
took another gulp. “He
met with his brother’s brigands and they were all chased into the woods
together by the knights of Newcastle
after a raid on the town. I think he
might have gotten mixed up in something that he hadn’t counted on, but I can’t
say what.”
“What can we do?” Oswald knelt down beside
his captain. “If they are in hiding from
the authorities, we can’t go in without knowing what has happened there.”
“True,” Malcolm replied, stretching out on
the ground and gazing up into the faces of his comrades. “But I would be loath to leave my friend in
danger. No matter what the cost.”
“I’m with you, sir,” one stated boldly,
and the others followed in suit.
Oswald nodded, placing a gentle hand
against Malcolm’s shoulder. “You know we
would all lay our lives down for Edward.
But it was his wish that we remain out of this conflict, even if trouble
would befall him along the way.”
“But if he truly ran into some unexpected
problem,” one of the men broke in, “than I doubt that he would turn aside our
aid.”
Malcolm smiled. “I cannot order any of you to join me in this
venture. You must each decide. But I plan to return and help Edward in any
way I can, and I would welcome your company.”
All four men were quick to give their assent. The captain nodded. “Unfortunately, five men on foot, even with
pikes, may not be enough. There were six
brigands and though I pray we will not have to defend ourselves against the Newcastle knights, we
must be prepared for that possibility as well.
Alasdair,” he pointed to the youngest of the group, a youth who had
joined Malcolm’s command only a month before.
“You would render the mission a great measure of aid if you would return
to Melrose and
rally any other men who wish to come.”
The young man looked disappointed, but he
nodded. “I’ll do it, sir. In fact, I’ll begin back this moment.” He broke off from the cluster and slung his
pack over his shoulder, setting out on the westward road at a quick clip. At the edge of the ring of firelight, he
halted and turned back to his commander, raising an arm. “We’ll join you soon, sir!”
“Godspeed, Alasdair!” Malcolm called out
after him, watching as the form of the thin young man was lost to
sight. As soon as the sound of his
footsteps had receded into the still of the night, Malcolm raised
himself to his feet, a painful grimace on his face as he accepted the offered
hands of his comrades.
“Come,” he said. “We would do well to imitate young Alasdair’s
enthusiasm. I wouldn’t waste a moment
while Edward remains in peril.”
“Sir,” Oswald crossed his arms, shaking
his head slowly. “You will be in no
shape to help him if we have to hold you up in the fight. We would be better off to rest tonight and
gather our strength before setting off.”
The other men nodded at this, adding
their agreement to the soldier’s suggestion.
Malcolm stood uncertainly for a moment, then grumbled under his breath
and sank to the ground again. “Your
wisdom comes at the most annoying times, Oswald."