Warrior's Song (Medieval Song 1)

She could think of nothing to do except see this through. She slapped her arms against the cold and started singing to her horse. She didn’t know his name.

Mark turned about to let the fire warm his back and tossed the pork rind over his shoulder. “You are quiet tonight, Jerval. What ails you?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you brood on a new strategy for the Scots?”

Jerval raised his head, forced a smile. “If you would know the truth, I was wondering if my father will chance taking Chandra any supper.”

“If he’s wise, he’ll send Mary. The girl handles Chandra better than you do. Even your mother treats Mary well, almost as if she were another daughter.”

“But not another daughter-in-law.”

Mark grinned. “I never forget the day poor Trempe wandered into the hall looking totally bewildered, Chandra’s hauberk tucked under his arm, not having a single idea what he should do. Your mother just stood there beside him, the both of them staring at that damned hauberk.”

“One of the links had come loose. Chandra had very nicely asked him to repair it for her.”

“Which he did, I gather, once you gave him the order. I remember that at Croyland, her word was law, even with her father’s armorer.”

“You think I should have tied her up as well as locked her in her room?”

“Nay. As it is, she will likely starve herself, out of anger against you. It is difficult to balance the cocky, arrogant boy with the soft, beautiful woman.”

“Aye,” Jerval said only, but Mark knew him very well. They’d been raised together, after all. He loves her, Mark thought, hence his patience with her. Yet Chandra admired strength, and Mark wondered if Jerval would not more quickly gain her compliance if he simply buckled down and beat her. No, he couldn’t, wouldn’t do that. And if he did, Chandra would probably stick a knife between his ribs. Mark hated that there was nothing he could do.

“You know,” Jerval said after a moment, to all of his men, “I have been thinking. I’m now firmly convinced that Sir John of Oldham is in league with the Scots. We have spoken of it before, but now my father agrees with me, even though he wishes he did not. It is odd that they appear so suddenly, as if they were in hiding near to us. My father remarked upon that first thing when we heard of this raid.”

Ranulfe said, nodding, “Oldham’s keep is but five miles to the east of Camberley, in the direction of the latest attack. I have never trusted Sir John, for he is a greedy man.”

“Aye, and disloyal, I wager,” Mark said. “I agree. He is involved with them.”

“We will know for certain soon,” Jerval said. He paused a moment, then smiled. “I have spoken to Chandra of Sir John and his dealings. She has plans of her own for him.” He broke off, grinning into the fire.

Rolfe called out, “What does your lady wife say?”

“That we should visit Oldham, as well as the other keeps, and introduce her to our people. It is her idea to go sniffing about to see if Sir John is up to anything.”

Mark said. “That is a good idea. A lady is more apt to be allowed to pry and ask questions. Sir John would likely fall all over himself to impress her.”

“Aye. My wife can be quite reasonable. She has a good mind. But I will not let her go with us, for it could be dangerous. After we have dispatched the Scots to hell, we will ride to Oldham.”

“And catch Sir John by surprise?”

“Aye. I look forward to the meeting.”

They broke camp early the next morning and huddled close to their horses’ necks for warmth as they rode, for a cold wind was blowing in from the sea. The demesne farm was naught save smoldering ashes when they reached it, and the peasants had just buried the three men slaughtered by the Scots. They did not tarry there. Jerval pushed them throughout the morning northward toward the border, over terrain that became ever more wretchedly stark and barren.

“Jerval—there is a man trailing us. Lambert spotted him but a few minutes ago.”

Jerval reined in Pith and turned in his saddle at Arnolf’s shout. “Is he alone?”

“For the moment he is. Lambert says he looks English.”

Jerval was silent for a moment. “Still, there is a chance he may be tracking us for the Scots.”

“One of Sir John’s men?” Mark said, reining in his horse.

“Possibly. Have Lambert hang back and keep him in sight. I have no wish for the lot of us to be ambushed. Don’t let the man catch sight of Lambert.”