The Red Wolf's Prize Page 16

  From where he sat on Belasco, hundreds of knights and men-at-arms circled the red walls. Arrows rained down from the battlements on those close enough to be within range. In response, William’s archers launched a blast of arrows tipped in flaming oil. The sound of the flying shafts was like a rushing wind. The odor of the pungent oil rose to his nostrils.

  Some of William’s men attempted to scale the walls. From this distance, they looked like ants climbing over a mound of earth, only to be repelled by the defenders at the top with kettles of rocks and scalding oil. Shrieks of men sent plunging to their deaths reminded him of the ugliness of war. Though it had been his life for nearly two decades, he longed to see the end of it.

  It looked as if William was throwing everything he had at the English rebels, yet still the stubborn walls stood.

  Surely there must be a way…

  “Look! There lies William’s tent,” shouted Geoff over the tumult.

  Renaud turned his attention to the golden leopards on a field of red flying above the largest tent in the middle of those housing William’s army.

  “Have Sir Alain and the men find a place for our tents while you and I report to William.”

  Geoff passed the orders to the banner man as Renaud made his way toward the tent displaying the royal standard.

  He dismounted as Geoff caught up with him. They entered the striped tent together to find William, wearing his hauberk, standing over a table. Several of his closest advisors and knights huddled around him as the king studied a drawing of the walled city.

  “Sire.” Renaud dropped to one knee and Geoff followed suit.

  “Ah, the wolf comes!” said the king. “Rise, Lord Talisand. We are glad you are here. We have need of you and your men.” With a nod to Geoff, William continued. “As you have no doubt seen,” he gestured in the direction of the city, “we assault the walls of Exeter and yet the stubborn English remain, over two thousand of them defying our request for their oath of fealty and payment of tribute.”

  “I am surprised they refused,” Renaud said. “After all, you have conquered half of England.”

  “Humph. We have been up and down with that,” said William. “First the chief citizens sent a message saying they would not swear allegiance to us, though they would condescend to pay a tribute ‘according to ancient custom’. We suppose they did not get our message when we sacked the towns of Devon on our way here.”

  Renaud heard the sarcasm in his king’s voice and knew well enough the citizens had made a grievous error ignoring such warnings. William would show them no mercy if they persisted. “Surely they could not be thinking to hold out against you.”

  “Well, they did, mayhap spurred on by the English who joined them from Somerset and Dorset. Then there is Gytha, the mother of Harold Godwinson, to consider. No doubt she has stirred the Saxons to a fervor in their rebellion.”

  Renaud remembered Serena’s words describing the woman’s urgent request for her son’s body. A request William had denied.

  “We told them their offer of tribute according to ancient custom does not suit,” the king continued. “We will not have subjects on such conditions. We will have no conditions at all!”

  “And what of your army?” Renaud asked, incredulous. “Did not the English fear so many?”

  “Oh, yea,” said William. “When they heard we had an army, they changed their course. The elders of the city came out to meet us, crying peace, offering hostages and swearing they would do all we asked. But the good citizens within must have disagreed for when we approached the city, we found the gates locked against us. We had the eyes of one hostage put out, and another hanged, all to no avail. The stubborn English have tried our patience overmuch.”

  Renaud inwardly cringed at the memory of revenge he had seen William exact when his will had been defied.

  “So we brought our army to the city and laid siege. Yet, as you see, the walls still stand. We must have those walls down!”

  It was clear to Renaud the affair had put his sire in a most foul mood. The siege must be brought to a successful conclusion, and soon, if any of the English behind the walls were to be spared. He did not want to tell Serena of another bloodbath.

  “One of the English had the audacity to insult the king,” said the knight Renaud recognized as Sir Baldwin de Meules, “dropping his chausses and loudly breaking wind.”

  The dour look on William’s face told Renaud it had been the final insult.

  “How long has the siege gone on?” Renaud asked.

  “We ordered the siege begun nearly two weeks ago,” said the king. “The English have manned the walls continuously ever since. Their missiles have taken a toll on our army. With God’s help, I mean to see them pay.”

  “How many have we left?” Renaud asked Sir Baldwin.

  “Two hundred on horse and more on foot. Some over-hasty assaults early on by enthusiastic knights led to many losses.”

  William shrugged at the news of the men he had lost.

  “You are just in time to lead a task we’ve in mind,” said William, his mouth set in grim determination. Renaud had seen that look before. It did not bode well for the Saxons behind Exeter’s walls.

  “As you wish, Sire.”

  The king was in his element. His sun bleached brown hair was in slight disarray beneath his crown as he fingered his mustache. His intense blue eyes focused on the parchment spread before him. “We’ve been studying this drawing with the idea of undermining the walls from beneath,” said William, shoving a chart toward Renaud. “What think you?”

  Renaud carefully examined the drawing, remembering what he had seen as he’d scrutinized the old walls on his approach. Pointing to the East Gate, he said, “It seems like this might be a weak place worthy of your attention, Sire.”

  “We thought so,” said the king with a gleam in his eye. “But we are glad to have you confirm it. That is where the dry moat lies.”

  “We’ll need protection from their arrows and boiling oil, of course,” Renaud said, speaking his mental list aloud, “and your engineers to dig the tunnels. But it can be done.”

  “His Grace has ordered the protection you speak of and his engineers stand ready,” offered Sir Baldwin.

  “See to it, Lord Talisand,” ordered William. “We want those walls down!”

  The last thing Renaud wanted was to slay more English. The people of Talisand were now his people, their lady soon to be his lady. If he could undermine the wall, the city could be taken with fewer casualties and William might be persuaded to grant clemency.

  It took nearly a week before they began to see the progress in the tunnel that Renaud had been hoping for. In the meantime, William’s army continued the assault with the utmost force, Renaud’s own men joining the attacks on the English stationed on the walls while the engineers supervised the digging to provide them access from beneath.

  The thirty-foot siege tunnel under the East Gate was nearly complete when Renaud thought to add another, smaller tunnel, this one under the wall itself. It might weaken the structure enough to bring down the wall. It had just been completed this morning.

  “M’lord, ye must see it!” said Jamie excitedly as he ran to where Renaud was honing his skills in the practice field. “A huge cloud of dust rises where the wall has collapsed from yer tunnel!”

  Handing his shield to Mathieu, Renaud signaled Geoff to follow him. “Aye, Jamie, I will see it.”

  The two knights ventured forth, Jamie running before them. As they neared the red walls, his page pointed and shouted, “See how the wall caves, m’lord!”

  In the distance, Renaud saw the remnants of the wall laying in a ruble and the cloud of dust settling over the debris. At that moment, he heard the launch of arrows from atop the city walls. The lad ran ahead, unaware of the danger that streaked toward him.

  Geoff shouted, “Jamie, no!”

  Renaud yelled, “To me, Jamie, to me!” The boy turned to obey his lord’s command. Sensing his page would n
ot be fast enough to outrun the arrows streaking toward him, Renaud broke into a run, his longer stride quickly closing the distance between them. He leaped upon the boy, dropping them both to the earth just as an arrow sliced through Renaud’s mail into the back of his arm.

  He flinched as the jolt of pain reverberated through his body. Only a bodkin arrowhead could have pierced his hauberk, but the English had learned the importance of such arrows at Hastings and now used them to great effect. Realizing Jamie’s slight chest was beneath his arm, Renaud gave thanks his action had kept the arrow from the boy’s heart.

  Grunting in pain, he rolled off the boy who sat up and stared in confusion. With Geoff’s help, Renaud rose from the ground.

  The arrow had gone through his arm, the tip just piercing the other side. “Break it off!” he commanded Geoff. His knight obeyed as Renaud bit down on the leather sheath of his scramaseax.

  “Come, Ren,” Geoff urged. “A doctor of phisyk awaits in yon tent to pull the arrow through. It must come out.”

  Jamie was distraught, pacing alongside Renaud as he headed toward the tent that had been allocated to the healers. “M’lord, I am so sorry. ’Tis all my fault.”

  “Next time you will know, boy,” Geoff scolded. “You’d be dead if it were not for your lord’s sacrificing himself.”

  The page dropped his head. Renaud reached out with his uninjured arm and placed his hand on the lad’s shoulder. “We’ve all had to learn such lessons, son.”

  Jamie looked up at him with adoring eyes. “Yea, sir.”

  While Renaud suffered the ministrations of the king’s physic, the city elders, seeing the walls collapsing, had shouted their surrender. Over the objections of Geoff, who had brought him the news, when the stitching was done and the wound bandaged, Renaud traveled the short distance to the king’s tent. He had to do what he could to spare the English his sire’s wrath.

  Still smarting from the wound in his arm, Renaud entered the tent just as the king was preparing to leave for the city gates.

  “Sire, might I suggest a gracious act of mercy to the English if they but concede to your demands?”

  “We will consider it,” William said, looking doubtful. “First we must see for ourselves what groveling the good citizens of Exeter may offer to appease our anger.” They walked out together, the king’s retinue following. All sounds of the battle had ceased. Renaud found the quiet after so much noise unnerving.

  Glancing at Renaud’s arm, the king observed, “Our sympathy for your arm, Lord Talisand. We heard you saved your page a more grievous wound.”

  Renaud acknowledge the king’s words with a shrug. He was not without some feelings of guilt for the actions of the untrained youth who had followed his lord to battle.

  The king’s entourage approached the city and the gates opened to allow a procession through the wide opening. Included among the party coming to greet them were beautiful young maidens dressed in colorful silk gowns, their long hair flowing down their backs. These were followed by the elders of the city, and Bishop Leofric and his clergy, carrying sacred books and holy ornaments.

  Prostrating themselves at William’s feet, they begged for mercy. “My Lord, we beg you to swear a holy oath on the Bible that you will not harm the city and its people.”

  With a glance toward Renaud, the king let out a deep breath and relented. “Rise. Since you make such a grand display of your repentance, we grant you the mercy you seek.” When the clergymen stood, William gave them a stern look. “Every last man will swear fealty to us and you will pay the new tribute we demand.”

  The city fathers were quick to nod their heads in agreement.

  “And henceforth you will have our royal presence within the city,” announced William.

  The city elders looked startled but wisely chose to say nothing.

  Later, Renaud discovered that Gytha had escaped through the Water Gate, taking the River Exe to the sea. It was only when her safe escape had been assured that the city’s leaders had surrendered. By the time the king learned of this, he had already granted clemency and, to Renaud’s relief, did not withdraw it.

  William posted some of his soldiers at the city gates so his army would not be tempted to plunder the hapless English. This pleased Renaud for he did not wish to answer Serena’s questions as to what transpired after the siege only to have to admit his fellow Normans had raped and pillaged.

  The siege had lasted eighteen days from its beginning to William’s victory, which came the day Renaud took the arrow. Smiling to himself as he congratulated the king and walked back to his own tent, Renaud realized it was no longer Normandy that held his heart, but Talisand, and he was anxious to return to his English bride with the violet eyes.

  The day after the surrender, William came to Renaud’s tent where he was resting while his men prepared to leave. His wound had not festered but was still tender and gave him much grief. It would be a while before he could hold a shield with that arm. It could have been worse, he knew. At least it was not his sword arm.

  Still wearing his hauberk, the king inquired, “Is the heroic wolf able to leave his den to help us select a site for our new castle we intend to construct within the city’s walls?”

  “Yea, Sire,” he said, rising. Jamie was at his side, for the boy had not left him since Renaud had taken the arrow. “I will gladly serve you in that task.”

  With Sir Baldwin and Geoff accompanying them, William and Renaud walked to the city gates, which now lay open but guarded.

  They surveyed the possible locations for a castle. Finally, William settled on the northeast corner of the Roman wall lying next to a steep bank.

  Renaud conferred with Sir Baldwin on an idea he had before saying, “Sire, with a deep ditch between the northwestern and northeastern walls and the addition of an internal rampart, you would have a square bailey for the castle.”

  “We think that a fine idea!” exclaimed the king, obviously eager to see his castle constructed. Then looking to Sir Baldwin, “We leave you in charge of razing the homes that stand in the way and building the castle, sir knight. Enough of our army will stay behind to provide a garrison. Henceforth, you shall be our castellan and High Sheriff of Devonshire.”

  Sir Baldwin dipped his head and smiled, appearing pleased at the honor bestowed upon him. “As you wish, My King.”

  And so it was done. The king had his victory and Renaud had lost not a man. Best of all, he would have good news for Serena: Jamie and the men of Talisand were safe. Renaud would not share with her his certain belief that in the future the king intended to give every Englishman’s land to a Norman for William no longer trusted the fealty of those he had conquered.

  Though the Talisand archers had remained true despite having to fight on the side of their Norman lord, Renaud did not doubt their loyalty was aided by the presence of English among the ranks of William’s army. As more and more English fought on the side of the Norman king, the resistance would grow weaker.

  Because Renaud was still healing, William allowed him to return to Talisand.

  “We bid you leave to go,” said the king, “to see our castle built at Talisand and to get an heir on that English maiden we have given you. But know we shall call upon you again. You served us well.”

  Renaud bowed before the king, grateful to be going.

  The next morning, the column of Renaud’s men formed behind him. Mounting his great gray stallion, he gave the signal to move forward and turned his face to the north—and his thoughts to Lady Serena.

  Would his bride be waiting for him? Twice she had deceived him. He could not help but wonder if the magnificently gowned lady who had so mesmerized him the day he had left was yet another of her disguises, mayhap the most devious of all. He had not known Serena could speak the Norman tongue until she had addressed his men. What other abilities had she hidden from him? Was it possible the English maiden who hated all Normans had succumbed to his kisses and would now bow to the king’s decree to become the wife o
f the Red Wolf? Or, had she only been biding her time until he had gone so that she could escape once again?

  Chapter 14

  Serena sat at the high table barely listening to the conversations around her as the evening wore on. Outside, the summer sun still lingered in the sky, its last rays finding their way through the open shutters to pool among the rushes.

  Maugris, who had stayed behind when his master rode south, now joined her for meals, he on her left and Sir Maurin on her right. Since he had learned she spoke Norman French, Sir Maurin often slipped from English, of which he knew only a little, into the language of his birth. But Maugris spoke English nearly as well as Serena. And though his words might be few, what he said was often worth hearing. Serena did not mind his company. The wise one was a gentle soul and so unlike the Red Wolf’s knights with their rough warrior ways, she had ceased to think of him as Norman at all. His tunics were now made of the fine wool woven by Ingrith and Annis, and the children of Talisand looked upon him as a kind of grandfather, eager for the stories he told around the hearth fire each night.

  Her mind dulled to sounds of men eating and joking as her thoughts drifted to the past. So many men were gone from the hall forever, good men who had fought with her father, men who died defending the Saxon king. The ones who remained were now compelled to construct a castle for their conquerors, the timbered structure that was the symbol of the Norman domination. She knew some of Talisand’s men resented being pressed into the work, but others considered themselves fortunate to have a lord who was powerful enough to protect their families from future attacks. They worried only about their crops and feeding their children. She could hardly blame them. To survive was in some way to succeed.

  Looking around the hall, it was as if she could see the ghosts of those whose laughter had once filled the large space: Sigmund, her father, Oswine, the dark-haired young guard to whom she had once given her heart and the men who had followed them to Hastings. She remembered Oswine teasing her for the shorter bow Rhodri had made her. His voice, along with the others, faded now, never to be heard again in the hall, but she would remember their courage and their sacrifice for as long as she lived.