The Summer of the Danes (17 page)

“You
are going into the first safe shelter we can find,” said Cadfael firmly, moved
to a degree of indignation he could not have felt if he had found her
distressed and in fear. “Afterwards, once this trouble is over, you may have
your life and do what you will with it.” It seemed to him, even as he said it,
that she was capable of doing with it something original and even admirable,
and if it had to be in the world’s despite, that would not stop her. “Can your
beast go?”

“I
can lead him, and we shall see.”

Cadfael
took thought for a moment. They were midway between Bangor and Carnarvon here,
but once returned to the westward track by which Mark had set out, the road was
more direct to Carnarvon, and by taking it they would eventually rejoin Mark.
Whether he had gone on into the town, or turned back to return to the
crossroads meeting place by dusk, along that pathway they would meet him. And
in a city filled with Owain’s fighting men there would be no danger. A force
hired to threaten would not be so mad as to provoke the entire armies of
Gwynedd. A little looting, perhaps, pleasant sport carrying off a few stray
cattle and a few stray villagers, but they were not such fools as to bring out Owain’s
total strength against them in anger.

“Bring
him out to the path,” said Cadfael. “You may ride mine, and I’ll walk yours.”

There
was nothing in the glittering look she gave him to reassure him that she would
do as he said, and nothing to disquiet him with doubts. She hesitated only an
instant, in which the silence of the windless afternoon seemed phenomenally
intense, then she turned and parted the branches behind her, and vanished,
shattering the silence with the rustling and thrashing of her passage through
deep cover. In a few moments he heard the horse whinny softly, and then the
stirring of the bushes as girl and horse turned to thread a more open course
back to him. And then, astonishingly high, wild and outraged, he heard her
scream.

The
instinctive leap forward he made to go to her never gained him so much as a
couple of paces. From either side the bushes thrashed, and hands reached to
clutch him by cowl and habit, pin his arms and bring him up erect but helpless,
straining against a grip he could not break, but which, curiously, made no move
to do him any harm beyond holding him prisoner. Suddenly the tiny open glade
was boiling with large, bare-armed, fair-haired, leather-girt men, and out of
the thicket facing him erupted an even larger man, a young giant, head and
shoulders above Cadfael’s sturdy middle height, laughing so loudly that the
hitherto silent woods rang and re-echoed with his mirth, and clutching in his
arms a raging Heledd, kicking and struggling with all her might, but making small
impression. The one hand she had free had already scored its nails down her
captor’s cheek, and was tugging and tearing in his long flaxen hair, until he
turned and stooped his head and took her wrist in his teeth and held it. Large,
even, white teeth that had shone as he laughed, and now barely dented Heledd’s
smooth skin. It was astonishment, neither fear nor pain, that caused her
suddenly to lie still in his arms, crooked fingers gradually unfolding in
bewilderment. But when he released her to laugh again, she recovered her rage,
and struck out at him furiously, pounding her fist vainly against his broad
breast.

Behind
him came a grinning boy about fifteen years old, leading Heledd’s horse, which went
a little tenderly on one foreleg. At sight of a second such prize tethered and
shifting uneasily in the fringe of the trees, the boy let out a whoop of
pleasure. Indeed, the entire mood of the marauding company seemed good-humoured
and ebullient rather than menacing. There were not so many of them as at first
they had seemed, by reason of their size and their exuberantly animal presence.
Two, barrel-chested and moustached, with hair in straw-coloured braids down
either cheek, held Cadfael pinioned by the arms. A third had taken the roan’s
bridle, and was fondling the long blazed brow and creamy mane. But somewhere
out on the open ride there were others, Cadfael heard them moving and talking
as they waited. The marvel was that men so massive could move so softly to
close round their quarry. The horses, calling to each other, had alerted the
returning foragers, and led them to this unexpected gain. A monastic, a girl,
by her mount and dress a girl of quality, and two good horses.

The
young giant was surveying his gains very practically over Heledd’s unavailing
struggles, and Cadfael noted that though he was casually rough with his
captive, he was not brutal. And it seemed that Heledd had realised as much, and
gradually abandoned her resistance, knowing it vain, and surprised into
quietness by the fact that there was no retaliation. “Saeson? demanded the
giant, eyeing Cadfael with curiosity. He already knew that Heledd was Welsh
enough, she had been reviling him in the language until she ran out of breath.

“Welsh!”
said Cadfael. “Like the lady. She is daughter to a canon of Saint Asaph, and
under the protection of Owain Gwynedd.”

“He
keeps wildcats?” said the young man, and laughed again, and set her down on her
feet in one lithe movement, but kept a fast hold on the girdle of her gown,
twisted in his large fist to tighten and secure it. “And he’ll want this one
back without a hair missing? But the lady slipped her leash, seemingly, or
what’s she doing here with no bodyguard but a monk of the Benedictines?” He spoke
a loose mixture of Erse, Danish and Welsh, very well able to make himself
understood in these parts. Not all the centuries of fitful contact between
Dublin and Wales had been by way of invasion and rapine, a good many marriages
had been made between the princedoms, and a fair measure of honest commerce
been profitable to both parties. Probably this youth had a measure of Norman
French in his tongue, no less. Even Latin, for very likely Irish monks had had
him in school. He was plainly a young man of consequence. Also, happily, of a
very open and cheerful humour, by no means inclined to waste what might turn
out a valuable asset. “Bring the man,” said the young fellow, returning briskly
to business, “and keep him fast. Owain has a respect for the black habit, even
if the Celtic clas suits him best. If it comes to bargaining, holiness fetches
a good price. I’ll see to the girl.”

They
sprang to obey him, as light of heart, it seemed, as their leader, and all in
high content with their foraging. When they emerged with their captives into
the open ride, the two horses led along behind them, it was easy to see what
reason they had for being in high feather. There were four more of them waiting
there, all afoot, and burdened with two long poles loaded down with slaughtered
carcases and slung sacks, the plunder of scattered folds, stray corners of
grazing, and even the forest itself, for there was venison among the booty. A
fifth man had improvised a wooden yoke for his shoulders, to carry two balanced
wineskins. This must be one of at least two shore parties, Cadfael judged, for
the little ship carried twelve pairs of oars aside from other crew. It was
guesswork how many the Danish force would muster in full, but they would not go
short for a day or so.

He
went where he was propelled, not entirely out of the sensible realisation that
he was no match at all for one of the brawny warriors who held him, let alone
two, not even because, though he might break away himself, he could do nothing
to take Heledd with him. Wherever they were bound, useful hostages, he might
still be able to afford her some protection and companionship. He had already
given up any idea that she was likely to come to any great harm. He had done no
more than confirm something already understood when he urged that she was
valuable; and this was not total war, but a commercial expedition, to achieve
the highest profit at the least expenditure.

There
was some redistribution of the booty they had amassed, Heledd’s lame horse
being called into service to carry a part of the load. They were notably brisk
and neat in their movements, balancing the weight and halting short of
overburdening a valuable beast. Among themselves they fell back into their own
Norse tongue, though the likelihood was that all these young, vigorous warriors
had been born in the kingdom of Dublin, and their fathers before them, and had
a broad understanding of the Celtic languages that surrounded their enclave,
and dealt freely with them in war and peace. At the end of this day of raiding
they had an eye to the sun, and but for this foray after the alarm the horses
had sounded, they were losing no time.

Cadfael
had wondered how their leader would dispose of the one sound horse, and fully
expected he would claim the privilege of riding for himself. Instead, the young
man ordered the boy into the saddle, the lightest weight among them, and swung
Heledd up before him and into arms even at fifteen years brawny enough to make
her struggles ineffective once her hands were securely bound by her own girdle.
But she had understood by this time that resistance would be both useless and
undignified, and suffered herself to be settled against the boy’s broad chest
without deigning to struggle. By the set of her face she would be waiting for
the first chance of escape, and keeping all her wits and strength in reserve
until the moment offered. She had fallen silent, shutting lips and teeth upon
anger or fear, and keeping a taut, brooding dignity, but what was brewing
behind that still face there was no knowing.

“Brother,”
said the young man, turning briskly upon Cadfael, still pinned between his
guards, “if you value the lass, you may walk beside her without a hand on you.
But I warn you, Torsten will be close behind, and he can throw a lance to split
a sapling at fifty paces, so best keep station.” He was grinning as he issued
the warning, already assured that Cadfael had no intention of making off and
leaving the girl in captivity. “Forward now, and fast,” he said cheerfully, and
set the pace, and the entire party fell into file down the ride, and so did
Cadfael, close alongside his own roan horse, with a hand at the rider’s
stirrup-leather. If Heledd needed the fragile reassurance of his presence, she
had it; but Cadfael doubted the need. She had made no move since she was
hoisted aloft, except to stir and settle more comfortably on her perch, and the
very tension of her face had softened into a thoughtful stillness. Every time
Cadfael raised his eyes to take a fresh look at her he found her more at ease
in this unforeseen situation. And every time, her eyes were dwelling in
speculation upon the fair head that topped all the rest, stalking before them
with erected crest and long blond locks stirring in the light breeze.

Downhill
at a brisk pace, through woodland and pasture, until the first silvery glints
of water winked at them through the last belt of trees. The sun was dipping
gently towards the west, gilding the ripples drawn by the breeze along the
surface, when they emerged upon the shore of the strait, and the crewmen left
on guard launched a shout of welcome, and brought the dragon-ship inshore to
take them aboard.

Brother
Mark, returning empty-handed from his foray westward to keep the rendezvous at the
crossroads before sunset, heard the passing of a company of men, swift and
quiet though they were, crossing his track some little way ahead, going
downhill towards the shore. He halted in cover until they had passed, and then
followed cautiously in the same direction, intending only to make sure they
were safely out of sight and earshot before he pushed on to the meeting place.
It so happened that the line he followed downhill among the trees inclined
towards the course of their open ride, and brought him rapidly closer, so that
he drew back and halted again, this time catching glimpses of them between the
branches of bushes now almost in full summer leaf. A tall youth, flaxen fair,
his head floating past like a blown primrose but high as a three-year spruce, a
led horse, loaded, two men with a pole slung on their shoulders, and animal
carcases swinging to their stride. Then, unmistakably, he saw Heledd and the
boy pass by, a pair entwined and afloat six feet from the ground, the horse
beneath them only implied by the rhythm of their passing, for the branches
swung impenetrable between at that moment, leaving to view only a trudging
tonsure beside them, russet brown almost wholly salted with grey. A very small
clue to the man who wore it, but all Mark needed to know Brother Cadfael. So he
had found her, and these much less welcome strangers had found them both,
before they could slip away thankfully into some safe refuge. And there was
nothing Mark could do about it but follow them, far enough at least to see
where they were taken, and how they were handled, and then make sure that the
news was carried where there were those who could take their loss into account,
and make plans for their recovery.

He
dismounted and left his horse tethered, the better to move swiftly and silently
among the trees. But the shout that presently came echoing up from the ship
caused him to discard caution and emerge into the open, hurrying downhill to
find a spot from which he could see the waters of the strait, and the steersman
bringing his craft close in beneath the grassy bank, at a spot where it was
child’s play to leap aboard over the low rim into the rowers’ benches in the
waist of the vessel. Mark saw the tide of fierce, fair men flow inboard,
coaxing the loaded packhorse after them, and stowing their booty under the tiny
foredeck and in the well between the benches. In with them went Cadfael,
perforce, and yet it seemed to Mark that he went blithely where he was
persuaded. Small chance to avoid, but another man would have been a shade less
apt and adroit about it.