A Light Within Page 2

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  Edward motioned to Thomas on his left, alerting him to the approaching steed. There were only six of them, but with surprise on their side, William would soon be minus one more knight. Thomas could see the gleam of Edward’s teeth as he grinned to himself in the dark.

  As the huge horse drew abreast of them, Edward whistled sharply and all six men moved as one, quickly surrounding the horse.

  The destrier rared in fright, his mammoth hooves pawing the air around him. One of Edward’s compatriots received a blow from the flaying hooves that sent him senseless to the dirt of the road.

  Jerking away from the men, the riderless horse ran several steps forward before stopping. Shaking his flowing mane, he neighed nervously at the five surprised men staring after him.

  “Looking for someone?”

  Whirling in the direction of the soft voice, Edward’s eyes grew large as he saw the figure standing behind them on the road. The huge Norman seemed one with the night, his black mantle flowing around him in the darkness. The hissing intakes of breath told Edward of his friends’ reaction to the sight.

  Even in the darkness, the gleam of the warrior’s sword was unmistakable. Knowing that knives and pitchforks would have no effect against the dark lord’s mail, the others fled into the forest, leaving Edward to face his enemy alone.

  They stood thus, face to face, though neither could see the other’s visage clearly in the darkness.

  “Come on, you Saxon swine!” Garek roared. “Or are you too much a coward without your friends beside you?”

  Edward considered attacking the man where he stood, so great was his hatred, but even the red haze of his anger did not cloud his reason enough that he would risk his own life. After all, when all was said and done, he was the coward Garek accused him of being.

  Picking up a rock from beside the road, Edward threw it at the Norman, and in the second it took for Garek to avoid the missile, Edward had disappeared into the forest.

  Although it had been too dark to see any of his attackers’ faces, Garek was certain one of them was the villein from the village—the blue-eyed woman’s husband.

  Knowing the foolishness of trying to track his attackers among the trees in the dark, Garek mounted his horse and, turning, retraced his steps until he found the tree he looked for. Lifting his gloved hand to the lowest branch, he retrieved his hawk.

  “So, Lebeau,” he told the animal. “These English are a cowardly lot, are they not?”

  The hawk cocked its head, its normally rapier-sharp vision impeded by the hood covering its head. Laughing without humor, Garek made his way down the road toward the castle. What might be waiting for him there, he knew not.

  Soon Garek left the forest. The road continued ahead of him, and in the distance he could see the towering motte rising darkly against the moonlit sky.

  There was no watchman on the gate tower to announce him, but Garek hadn’t expected one. Chevier, the previous lord here, had brought his own men with him from France, and upon his death they had returned to the continent.

  There seemed to be no other living creature about, and the hawk gave no sign of anyone’s presence. Even Corbeau remained calm, his strides eating up the miles to the drawbridge over the moat surrounding the outer bailey.

  Garek crossed the wooden bridge that allowed him entrance into the middle bailey area that surrounded the palisade walls of the castle. He stopped midway, staring down at the murky depths of the water fed by a river he could just discern meandering behind the castle.

  Very few of the castles King William and his brother Odo had built thus far could boast a wet moat. Chevier had chosen his castle site well.

  Urging his steed onward, Garek passed through the gates and into the inner bailey, the courtyard. All he could see in the darkness were dim shapes of buildings, the castle tower rising majestically before him.

  The size of the building surprised Garek. It stood at least three levels high. How had Chevier managed to raise such a fortification as Fenlac in such a short time? Perhaps the complaints of the English people had been justified after all.

  Odo, Garek knew, had forced the inhabitants of the island to build fortifications all over England, regardless of their need to tend their crops. That, he was sure, was only one reason the people stared at Garek in open hostility.

  Returning to the gate, Garek dropped the portcullis, closing off the outside world. He gazed through the lattice bars, searching the forest in the distance for any sign of life. Having no desire to be closed in a building for the night, especially one that might harbor hidden enemies, he made camp near the outside well.

  Garek found two large sticks and tied them together with a leather thong, making a cross. Pounding it into the ground, he then settled his hawk on the perch.

  He spoke to Corbeau as he brushed him down by the light of the fire. One thing remained uppermost in his mind.

  “Why would a woman marry such a man as that?” he asked his faithful steed. He shook his head. “It is beyond reason. Aye, all women are beyond reason. Be glad you don’t have to deal with them, my friend.”

  His thoughts returned to the confrontation on the road. He had left one man lying there, believing his companions would retrieve him and tend to his wounds. As for Garek, he had neither the time nor the inclination.

  Such cold hatred he had seen in Edward’s eyes. He could sense there was more to the man’s hate than anger at having been conquered by a foreign king.

  There were others in this country with much the same sentiment. He had seen it before and doubtless would again. Wouldn’t he feel much the same?

  His lip curled up in a sneer. Every Englishman he had encountered thus far had wanted his blood. Save one, that is.

  His features softened as the white face of the village maid who had met him on the road floated into his mind. For a brief moment his thoughts relaxed, as did his features. But only for a moment.

  two

  The morning sun was just beginning to rise when Garek made his way across the bailey and stood at the foot of the castle steps. He stared upward at the mammoth log structure. Fifteen stone steps led to the front portal that opened onto the main floor of the building.

  The ground-level floor was used for storage of food stuffs and smaller animals. Garek opened the lower door and carefully peered inside before entering the dark chamber. He walked from one side of the building to the other, his eyes adjusting to the dim light that filtered in from the small window openings around the perimeter of the room.

  There were no animals or supplies anywhere. It was evident the villeins of the area had made use of any provisions that had been left by Chevier’s men. Only the fetid smell of decaying hay and animal excrement gave evidence that there had ever been any occupants to the building.

  Wrinkling his nose with distaste, Garek hurried from the cellar and mounted the outside stairs to the floor above. He slammed the huge door inward, following swiftly, his broad-sword drawn and ready.

  This, then, was the main hall, he decided, since a huge fire pit stood in the middle of the room. A dais at one end held a table that Garek assumed was where Chevier and his guests had eaten. It was not a simple trestle table but one hewn of fine solid oak; Garek believed Chevier had used it to impress others with his status.

  The room held an assortment of benches and mats that would have been used by the castle servants and knights for sleeping. Why hadn’t the villeins taken these articles along with the others? Shrugging, Garek turned to a door at his right that separated one end of the huge hall from the main room.

  Again being careful, Garek slowly opened the door and peered inside. The remains of another fire pit rested at one end of the room, the stone floor around it charred and blackened.

  The only other furnishings were a huge table and a broken bench.

  Garek would have turned and left the room, but a slight movement behind the table caught his eye. Readying himself for attack, he called out in English, “Come out
. I know you are there.”

  A moment later a frightened face peered around the end of the table—a boy no more than ten plus four years of age, Garek surmised.

  “Come out, boy,” Garek told him, sheathing his sword. “I will not harm you.”

  The boy sidled out from behind the table, his eyes huge in a gaunt face. He quietly regarded Garek, twining his fingers in front of him in agitation.

  “What is your name, boy, and why are you here?”

  “Gaylan, milord. I. . .I live here.”

  Garek’s eyebrows flew upward, but he awaited an explanation.

  “I. . .I served Lord Chevier,” he told Garek hesitantly. “I helped Mary in the kitchen.”

  “And where is this Mary?” Garek asked, his eyes roaming the empty chamber.

  “She left with the others after. . .after Lord Chevier’s death. They were afraid of what his knights might do.”

  Garek studied the boy thoughtfully. His hair was long, in the Saxon style, but his face was clean shaven. Was that because the lad had yet to grow hair upon his face? He certainly seemed young.

  “And why are you still here?”

  The boy dropped his eyes. “I have nowhere else to go.” He lifted worried eyes to Garek’s face. “Are you the new Lord of Fenlac?”

  “Aye,” Garek affirmed. “And I have need of servants for the hall. My men will be here sometime today with supplies, but I will need an accounting of this holding.” Garek turned his cold gray gaze upon the young man. “You know of this shire?”

  Bobbing his head, the boy told him, “Aye, milord. I know most everyone around here, though there is a girl in the village who probably knows more.”

  “Who is this girl? Can you bring her to me?”

  “Her name is Brianna. She lives just at the end of the village.”

  Garek jerked his attention back to the boy. “I have met her.” Garek’s thoughts turned to that meeting on the road. So, the wench knew most of the people in the shire. A slow smile spread across his face. “Yes, bring her to me. And any others who might be willing to serve in this hall. Go quickly, and be back before nightfall.”

  Walking with the boy down to the drawbridge, Garek lifted the portcullis and allowed the boy to pass before securing the chains to leave the gate raised.

  He went back to his horse, pulling grain from his own bags and putting it into the feed bag he hung over the horse’s head.

  Turning to the hawk, he lifted his arm and the bird leapt onto his forearm, its wings fluttering as it tried to gain its balance.

  “Time to break our fast, huh, Lebeau?” Garek stroked the bird’s feathers softly before lifting him into the air. “Chassez!” he commanded, then watched as the bird circled high into the sky searching for food.

  Several hours later, Garek sat back against the stone wall of the well, sighing as he threw the last of the bones of a small rabbit onto the fire beside him.

  “You have done well, Lebeau,” he told the bird and threw it another chunk of raw meat. Garek leaned back and studied the sky overhead. The sun shone weakly through the morning mist, trying to burn it away.

  Garek shook his head in irritation. England and its infernal rains! Why would any man choose to live in this soggy place?

  Scrambling to his feet, Garek decided to check the palisade walls and the buildings that surrounded the main keep.

  He was strolling along the bulwark inspecting the strength and security of the log walls when he noticed the contingent of knights making their way toward the bridge.

  Without realizing it, he felt himself relax for the first time in days.

  “Ho, Etienne,” he called down, returning the grin of the younger knight below.

  “Ho, Garek! All is well with you?”

  “Aye.” Garek’s grin broadened. “You doubted it?”

  Sir Etienne Bolson shrugged his shoulders. “One never knows. These English are a treacherous lot.”

  Garek climbed down to meet his men as they entered the middle bailey. Their pages and squires brought up the rear, arguing good-naturedly among themselves as to the best location for the wagons and supplies.

  Garek ended their bickering by showing them where to stow their stores.

  Sir Bolson stood studying the castle fortification. He shook his head slowly in amazement. “How did Chevier manage to build all of this in less than a year?”

  Garek’s eyes followed his. “I have heard much complaining as I traveled across this land. It would seem that Odo and King William are bent on covering the land with castles, and they care not how they have to build them, as long as they are built.”

  Shrugging, Bolson turned to his companion. “It is understandable. Had England the castles to begin with, Harold would probably still be king instead of rotting in the ground. William would not have found it so easy to conquer a fortified land. He realizes this and is determined that the same thing will not happen to him.”

  “Aye,” Garek agreed, “but the English are being abused, I am afraid, so that William has what he desires.”

  Bolson cocked an eyebrow at Garek. “You think Chevier did the same?”

  “As you suggested, how could such a castle have been built in such a short time otherwise?”

  Late in the afternoon, Garek decided to take Bolson and a few others and scout the surrounding countryside. He left most of his contingent behind, grunting at his orders to straighten some of the rooms in the keep and to clean out the stable. If not for their loyalty to Garek, he knew he would have a serious problem, for all were knights and not disposed to play the part of serf.

  After leaving the castle behind, Garek exited the road to skirt the fields beyond the small copse of woods that bordered the property.

  They hadn’t traveled far when Garek noticed a small brown heap lying in the pathway before them. Curious, he moved his horse on an intercept course. As they drew near, a small moan drifted from the object, causing Garek’s huge black to rear in surprise.

  Garek fought with the beast, struggling to bring him back under control. “Easy, Corbeau! Down!”

  The destrier quieted, a quiver of muscles rippling along his smooth back.

  Bolson was already beside the bundle that Garek could now see was a human. Quickly dismounting, he joined the knight.

  “By all that is holy!” Bolson hissed between his teeth, his horrified eyes lifting quickly to Garek’s face.

  Garek knelt beside the still form. Blood had congealed on what he could see of the face. Turning the body over carefully, he came face to face with the young girl from the village. What was her name? Ah, yes. Brianna.

  His breath drew in sharply at the sorry sight she presented. The bruise he saw last night was still dark and ugly against her cheek, but many others had been added since then. Her eyes were swollen shut, her lip cut and bleeding.

  Garek gently pulled back the girl’s mantle to check the extent of her injuries. Lash marks crisscrossed her arms and back, the blood already clotting against the welts. He felt for a pulse and was reassured to find it beating weakly against his fingers.

  “Who could have done such a thing?”

  Bolson’s hoarse voice brought Garek’s head snapping up. Lips tight, he gently lifted the girl into his arms. Striding to his horse, he set her gently against the pommel, climbing swiftly up behind her.

  Triden, Barough, and Serin, the other knights who had accompanied him, stared in open-mouthed amazement. The girl had been beaten so badly, she hardly looked human at all.

  Reining his horse around, Garek moved swiftly but as gently as he could. Brianna moaned in pain but remained unconscious.

  Garek thundered into the courtyard, his horse’s hooves tearing up the sod. Bellowing loudly, his men hastily exited the keep and stable, their swords drawn and ready.

  Bolson took the girl from Garek’s arms as he dismounted. Claiming her again when his feet hit the ground, Garek hastened inside.

  Swiftly he climbed to the master’s chambers he had found earlier tha
t day. He lowered Brianna gently to the mattress, pushing the dusty furs aside as he did so.

  “What will you do?” Bolson, who had followed him into the room, asked in concern.

  “I do not know. I need a physician, but I have no idea where to find one. The only one I know of who could help me is out seeing about servants for the hall.”

  “Do you think the girl will die?”

  Garek’s chin set in determination. “Not if I can help it. Take some of the knights. Search the village. If you find a physician, or someone who knows the healing arts, bring that one to me.” His eyes grew darker. “And find me the villein named Edward. He lives on the outskirts of the village—the last house. Bring him also.”

  Bolson left and Garek began to gently remove Brianna’s mantle. As the extent of her injuries became clear to him, he felt his anger begin to rise.

  What had happened to the girl? Had she been attacked after he left her on the road? Had she lain there all night with no one to help? Guilt washed through him. He should have seen her safely home instead of charging off to do battle with a bunch of cowardly Saxons.

  It seemed an eternity before the boy Gaylan returned. Garek could hear his voice from the courtyard below and realized that one of his knights must be telling him what had happened.

  The boy entered the room, followed closely by a young woman. Garek’s eyes momentarily rested on her, registering her dusky beauty. Her eyes met his boldly before Garek turned his attention to the boy once again.

  “Is there a physician in this shire?”

  “Yea, milord. His name is Alfred.”

  “Go quickly and bring him to me.”

  Gaylan’s eyes went beyond Garek to the form lying on the bed. His breath hissed sharply. “Dear God!” Stepping backward, he hastily crossed himself. Without another word he rushed to do as bidden.