Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(13)
Unfortunately, that was exactly what had happened even as some of Harold’s army still tried to fight back and hold off the Norman tide. But the shield wall had failed and the Normans broke through, many of them swarming right to the spot where Harold had lain. And the Norman knight on the ground….
He’d been one of those who had seen Harold’s body and had called forth more Normans to partake in the triumph of a fallen king. He’d been a well-armed, powerful knight, but as he moved about, confident in a Norman victory, he’d made a terrible mistake – he’d traveled alone and without the company of others. He seemed more intent to linger near the Anglo-Saxon lines that were breaking up. For the Anglo-Saxons fleeing the battlefield, the lone Norman knight had been a target of their vengeance.
Knocked off his horse by a nasty club strike to the back of the head, they’d tied the unconscious knight to a horse by his leg and dragged him away as they’d fled. Now, they were several miles to the west in a vast and dense forest, regrouping with some of their dispirited army. The Norman knight was on the ground, dazed, as men took their rage out on him.
But the woman had stopped them.
Even now as she lay sprawled over him, she’d taken a few blows from her own men who had refused to heed her command. An older soldier, seasoned and trying to gain control of the others, held back some of the more aggressive men.
“He is our enemy, Ghislaine,” he said in a calm, even tone. “You cannot prevent what must come about. The men must know some satisfaction on this night.”
Ghislaine pulchra ancilla Merciae, or Ghislaine, The Beautiful Maid of Mercia, and sister to Edwin, Earl of Mercia, didn’t move from her position over the wounded knight. She knew the men wouldn’t strike as long as she was there but, in all honestly, she couldn’t understand why she wasn’t joining them in their rage. She’d been at the battle from the beginning and she, too, held hatred in her heart for the Normans. But there was something about this situation that spoke to her of something beyond a captured Norman knight.
There was an opportunity here.
“His death would be momentary satisfaction only,” she said. “None of you realize that this man is of value to us. Do you not understand? You captured him to kill him but you must not do that – he knows the Norman ways. They are upon our shores and our king has been killed this night. Are you too foolish to realize that he may be of use for our very survival?”
It was very dark in the trees, the shadows from the moon barely piercing the canopy as dozens, if not hundreds, of men lingered below, beaten and bloodied from a day of battle against the Norman invaders. They were also confused and dazed. Even as Ghislaine spoke, the men surrounding her and the injured knight didn’t seem to grasp what she was suggesting.
“I would rather feel the satisfaction of his head upon my sword!” one of the men snarled as the others around him agreed.
But Ghislaine shook her head. “Nay,” she stressed. “He is of more value to us alive.”
“The only valuable Norman is a dead one!”
Men shouted in agreement but Ghislaine put up a hand to plead for understanding. “Killing him would accomplish nothing! We would only be harming ourselves in the end! Can you not see how valuable he could be?”
“He is our enemy, Ghislaine.”
The voice came from the darkness. Then, a slender man with a massive scar across his face running from his left temple, across his nose, and ending by the right side of his jaw pushed through the men standing about. When he made an appearance, everyone seemed to fall quiet; where anger and revenge had reflected in men’s expressions, now there was uncertainty. Fear. Even Ghislaine’s features changed at the sight; there was fear there but she was trying not to show it.
At that moment, the mood in the agitated circle of men seemed to plummet.
“Alary,” she said calmly. “Greetings, Brother. God has been merciful that you have survived the battle.”
Alary of Mercia, a brother to both Ghislaine and Earl Edwin, surveyed the group of men standing around before finally coming to rest on his sister, still spread out over the injured knight. His dark eyes narrowed.
“Aye, I survived,” he said. He began to pace a slow circle around his sister and the crumpled knight. “I survived when our good king did not. Why I should be spared and Harold should die, I will never know. God is, mayhap, not favoring the faithful on this night. And you, my sister? I thought you hated the Normans as we all did. Why do you protect this knight?”
Ghislaine eyed her brother until he wandered out of her sight; she didn’t like the fact that he was behind her now. Alary was unpredictable at best, an edgy sadist with a brutal streak, so much so that their brother, Edwin, had exiled him from the royal stronghold of Tamworth last year. Too much disobedience on Alary’s part and an incident that saw one of Edwin’s favorite knights killed had warranted such a reaction. If evil had a name and a face, both belonged to Alary of Mercia. Alary Obscurum, he was known.
Alary the Dark.
“I am not protecting him,” she said, feeling fearful of her brother even as she said it. “But we should think twice before using him as an object of vengeance. He looks to be a very fine knight. Mayhap, we could ransom him to Normandy or even back to his own family. Mayhap, he even knows of Normandy’s plans. Certainly, we should consider such things before the men run him through and we lose any chance we have of understanding Normandy’s intentions. He could be valuable.”