Snow in July (30 page)

“I do not want to wait for confirmation. The lives of Sir Robert, Sir Ruaud, and perhaps many others,” proclaimed the conqueror of England, “may depend upon how swiftly we can arrive.” He inclined his head toward Odo. “I will, however, follow your advice and order a regiment to muster at Sarum. God willing, we won’t need them, but it is prudent to be prepared.”

Odo could not have agreed more heartily.

Chapter 17

A
LAIN’S MAIL CHIMED as he rose from his knees following the conclusion of Wednesday’s dawn prayer service. In London’s West Minster, such a sound would have jolted off the stones and echoed embarrassingly throughout the nave. Not so inside Edgarburh’s humble timber chapel, where the only stone took the form of the altar and two granite sarcophagi decorated with carved marble panels.

With a voiceless apology to its occupant, he used the closer tomb to lever himself to his feet. It felt good to be arrayed in war’s trappings once again, but the leather and steel ensemble did impose limitations.

“That’s my son. Sir Delwin Waldronson.” Sadness muted Waldron’s voice as he stopped beside the sarcophagus, hands clasped behind his back. “We call—called him Del.”

Alain studied the effigy, carved as a comely knight dressed in full Saxon battle gear, a longsword at his left hip and a seax strapped to his right, his expression stern and hands folded in prayer. A pair of dried roses lay entwined across the granite knight’s chest on a nest of petals: a white and a red.

His spine tingled in recognition. Wonderingly, he reached out to touch the blooms. The petals felt brittle, but his fingertips released a cloud of fragrance. He withdrew his hand to keep from damaging the flowers.

“Kendra laid those there before she—she—” Waldron sucked in a breath, studying the tomb. “It was—is her custom, every day the rosebushes bloom, to select the best one for Del. Only one rose, without fail. Yet for some reason, on the morning of her abduction, she placed two here. And two the day before, now naught but loose petals…” He glanced at Alain, dashing tears from his eyes. “I haven’t had the heart to remove them.”

Alain felt his lips twitch into the semblance of a smile. “The red one looks like the rose I gave her that morning.”

Waldron nodded as if it came as no surprise. “Del planted the roses for her after their mother, my beloved wife, died several years ago.” He sighed, gazing at the other sarcophagus. Its lovely female effigy led Alain to presume it housed the remains of Kendra’s mother. “I think Edwina and Del would have liked you, despite your fighting on the other side at Hastings.”

“You didn’t approve of your son’s choice to join Harold’s cause, did you?” Alain asked.

“Approve? I was proud of him, aye. But how can any parent approve of a child’s decision to risk life and limb, no matter how worthy the cause?” His expression turned frank. “I will not lie to you, Alain. I would have rejoiced to see Harold defeat your duke and send him fleeing tuck-tailed for Normandy. But Harold failed, and so here we stand with a Norman overlord rather than a Saxon one, and life muddles on. Del must have accepted that fact and was prepared to live with it; he was a realist at heart. I believe he was murdered for his realism.”

That rang true enough in Alain’s ears, based on the suspicions he harbored. “Lord willing, I shall return with answers.”

“Just returning with your bride will make me happy.” Waldron thrust out his hand, and he and Alain gripped forearms. “God speed you and guard you well, son.”

The fatherly benediction bolstered Alain’s spirits more than he ever would have imagined possible.

With a sharp nod to Kendra’s family, dead as well as living, he strode from the chapel to join Ruaud and those of Waldron’s fyrd who had not been ordered to guard the burh, tugging on his leather riding gloves as he went.

Alain’s warhorse, Chou, saw him coming and tossed her head, pricking her ears and nickering a greeting. Ruaud, already mounted astride Azure at the head of the unit, added his admonishment for Alain to hurry. Dawn had yielded to a glorious summer morning; with favorable weather, the hundred-member company could cut half a day off the two-day journey to Thornhill.

A stable hand steadied Chou as Alain climbed the mounting block and hoisted himself into the saddle. After he settled in, the lad handed up Alain’s shield, emblazoned with the de Bellencombre rose. Alain drew his sword and held it aloft, glinting bright and deadly in the morning rays.

“For God, Lady Kendra, and Edgarburh!”

With a thunderous whoop, echoed by the surrounding crowd, the men took up Alain’s shout as they set spurs to their horses’ flanks and cantered away from the rising sun.

While streaming past the stables, they were joined by a noisy black streak that scattered chickens and children in its wake. Alain allowed himself a smile as Noir adopted an easy lope beside Chou, who sidled a bit but calmed when she realized the hound wasn’t a threat. Alain welcomed Noir’s presence.

He could use all the help he could find.

WHAT HAD begun in Sarum as a dreamy summer morning had by nones transformed into a dreary, drizzly nightmare. Odo pulled his sable-trimmed cloak’s hood closer to shut out the damp. Much more of this, and his mail would rust solid.

He slid a glance toward his half brother, who rode tall in the saddle, sans hood, defying the weather. That William bothered wearing a cloak gave mute testimony to the fact that defiance sometimes had to be tempered with wisdom.

In due course, William’s messenger returned with the welcome news that Edgarburh stood ready to receive its king. When they topped the final rise separating them from their destination and Edgarburh lay before them, Odo wanted to whoop for sheer joy.

Instead, he nudged his black mare to keep pace with William’s sorrel stallion as the king ordered their company to canter the remaining distance.

Edgarburh’s residents greeted William and his troop with respectful if wary bows, the hoods of their drab cloaks making the people kneeling in the mud appear like giant mushrooms.

One mushroom rivaled the eye of a peacock feather.

“Thane Waldron, well met,” said William as amicably as possible, given the sodden conditions. “If memory serves, I believe you met my regent and half brother, Bishop Odo de Bayeux, the last time you visited court.”

The man in the peacock-blue cloak lifted his head. The rain had plastered his white hair to his forehead in haphazard strips. His eyes shone clear and unafraid. “Your Majesty and his regent honor humble Edgarburh with your august presence. To what, pray, may we ascribe this good fortune?”

William’s stallion pawed the muck and shook his head, spraying droplets everywhere, doubtless as eager to retreat from this miserable weather as everyone else was. The water muffled the tack’s jingling.

“Two of my best knights are missing,” said the king. “I want to know why.”

“Then might I suggest that Your Majesty and his men join us for hot mutton and mead in the feast hall?” The thane swept a cloaked arm in the general direction of the timber building behind him. “I believe my tale shall be easier to stomach in that manner.”

Chortling, William swung down from the saddle and ordered his men to do likewise, admonishing them to see to the comfort of the horses before accepting the thane’s hospitality. He entrusted his stallion into the care of one of his men as Waldron rose and directed his guards to assist the soldiers.

Odo and William’s three ranking bodyguards handed their reins to other soldiers, and the five Normans followed their Saxon host into his small but warm and aromatic hall, where a feast awaited them. While William and his retainers fell gustily upon the mountains of mutton and bread, Waldron regaled him with what he knew of the events surrounding Sir Robert and Sir Ruaud.

“In fact, Your Majesty just missed seeing them,” concluded the thane. “They departed at dawn this morning to return to Thornhill for my daughter.”

“Thornhill?” asked Odo.

“In the Glastonbury district, Your Grace.”

That the thane had mistaken Odo’s question for ignorance, the bishop let pass without comment.

William, who had claimed what had to be the thane’s dais chair, straightened to regard Waldron. “Are you aware that an upsurge of pilgrim activity has been sighted in that area? Numbers that might suggest an army?”

Waldron appeared genuinely surprised. “Alain—that is, Sir Robert expressed concern that he might face armed resistance, but he said nothing of the proportions you indicate, my lord.” Color drained from his face. “Do you think he and Ruaud and my men may have ridden into a trap?”

“I know not what to think, Thane Waldron,” William snapped, “other than perhaps my policies toward the Saxon people have been too lenient.”

Odo whispered into William’s ear, “Your Majesty will do well to recall that this Saxon is not your enemy.”

“No?” William all but roared, startling a nearby maidservant into sloshing her mead pitcher. As she squeaked an apology, curtseyed, and withdrew, another servant rushed to mop up the spill. Oblivious, the king continued, “How do I know Thane Waldron didn’t plan to send my knights into harm’s way to be destroyed by the traitors with whom he is in league?”

To his credit, Waldron returned William’s glare with steady calmness. “Thane Ulfric of Thornhill is my late wife’s kinsman; that fact is pointless for me to deny. But I have no knowledge of his plans beyond his longtime desire to marry my daughter.” His bushy white eyebrows lowered. “Ulfric knows well my loyalty to Your Majesty. Why, therefore, would he confide in me?”

The tension crackling between king and thane prickled the hairs on Odo’s arms.

“Perhaps that loyalty,” William ground out, “stretches only as far as you believe you can seek justice from me for the Norman knight who murdered your son.”

Waldron’s eyes widened, his face flushed, and he glanced away for a moment. “That might have held true at Cristes mæsse when I presented my petition to Your Majesty,” he admitted. “But no longer. Sir Robert has reason to believe that someone else, not a Norman, is responsible.”

“Who?” asked Odo.

“Good my lords, I would rather not say until I have proof, which I have every confidence Sir Robert shall obtain. He did confirm that the Norman shield my men found at the ambush site had been looted from someone who perished at Hastings.”

Confronted with the king’s impassive stare, Waldron went to one knee at William’s feet. “I seek nothing from Your Majesty now other than your trust. Not even that much, just your willingness to believe that I have not betrayed your excellent knights.”

Odo sharpened his senses as he scrutinized the thane. “My lord,” he said to William, “I discern no guile in this man. I believe his tale is worthy of Your Majesty’s consideration. I also believe it would be in the best interests of the realm to move the regiment from Sarum to the Salisbury Plain, perhaps invoking combat drills to avoid alarming the local residents until we receive more information.”

“And what would be in the best interests of the Crown?” The years of their kinship had taught Odo to recognize the almost-smile flirting with William’s lips as eagerness for action.

“That, of course, depends on whether the Crown wishes to discover in person what has happened to the Crown’s knights. In that event, the Crown would be wise to wait for reinforcements.”

“Order them here, to Edgarburh, rather than the Salisbury Plain?” William pinched his chin between thumb and forefinger. “What says a Saxon thane to the prospect of quartering a Norman regiment upon his doorstep?”

Waldron, still kneeling, jutted his chin. “Your Majesty, although I am weary unto death of battles and wars, I would quarter the devil in my own bed if I thought that could help forge peace between our peoples.”

The king tipped back his head and uttered a throaty laugh. “Well said, Thane Waldron. Well said. If even half of your peers possessed a fifth of your humor, ruling your lot would be tenfold easier.” William swiveled his head toward Odo. “Pen the order to bring the troops to Edgarburh with best possible speed.”

As Odo moved to obey, he saw the king signal Waldron to rise, which the latter did without hesitation. William grinned at the thane. “It appears you shall be required to host me and my retinue a while yet,” he said.