Chapter Four
The march to London turned out to be an uneventful one, but Ariel would not have noticed even if a boulder had been dropped on top of her. All she could think of was, with each step, she was getting farther away from Colwyn.
Not knowing how this new role in life would turn out, Ariel had asked her father to help bring Colwyn to London. She could not stand to be separated from her son for much longer. As it stood, he probably would not even recognize her. She had been away from Elmstead for the whole summer instead of the two months she had planned.
The first impression Ariel had when she entered London was the utter size of the city and then the smell. She had never seen so many people living together in one place, which explained why it smelled so bad. In some places, she had to cover nose or she would have gagged.
Osbern, who rode beside her, laughed at her attempt to block out the foul odor. “It is something you will have to get used to.”
“How? The smell seems to be everywhere.”
“Only during the summer months. When winter sets in, it goes away.”
Ariel shrugged. She thought that highly unlikely. The smell was just too strong. They rode the rest of the way in silence. Regardless of the stench, she could not stop herself from drinking in all the new sights. All too soon they arrived at the king’s residence.
It was the biggest hall Ariel had ever seen. She had thought Elmstead’s was large, but this took her breath away. Made out of wood with a thatched roof just as other halls, its size suggested it belonged to a king.
Ariel dismounted with the rest of the group. She nervously adjusted her cloak. A woman stepped out of the hall. Upon seeing the king, she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. As the woman passionately kissed him, Ariel realized who she was.
She was the king’s lover, Edith Svanneshals, or swan throat. Harold had not made her his wife, even though they had been together for twenty years and Edith had given him three sons.
After the embrace ended, the couple turned and went into the hall. Ariel envied them. She wanted to have what they shared. She could not help wondering what it would feel like to have someone love her that much. With that thought, the knight’s face came to the forefront of her mind.
The past month, Ariel had been having disturbing dreams about the knight. They were so intense she swore she felt his body pressed to hers. She could even smell his scent on her skin after she awoke. It was then that she was the most agitated. The burning in her loins left her aching for much more than what a dream lover could give her. Now that she knew firsthand the pleasure that could be had between a man and woman, she craved it. She ceased her musing as a large man approached her and Osbern. She recognized him as one of the king’s house carls.
“You two are to come with me. We stay in a separate barracks. You will be sharing a room.” His words were gruff and not friendly.
As the big man turned to lead them away, Ariel looked at Osbern. With a shrug, he followed the other man.
The barracks had its own small hall with chambers at the back. Their small chamber only had two cots and a chest at the end of each one. It was nothing special, but it would serve its purpose. Ariel chose one of the cots and sat. She undid her cloak and pulled it off as she looked at her tunic and trews. With mud crusted to her boots and up her legs, she wished for a bath along with the much needed change of clothes, but that would not be something she could indulge in.
Osbern cleared his throat. “I will watch the door, lass, if you want to clean up.”
“You do not mind?”
“Nay. I am sure the king will call you to him soon. You need to clean up. I will be in the hall, close to the door. Let me know when you are finished.”
After Osbern closed the door, Ariel reached for her pack and pulled out fresh tunic and trews. She hoped the king did not leave her waiting for long. She needed to know what he had planned for her. Arrangements had to be made.
* * * *
The call did not come that day or the next. The king had been brought to bed with a crippling pain in his leg. Nobody knew what had brought on the attack. Talk of the king did not last long, though. Greater fears preoccupied people’s minds. News reached the court three days after the king had become ill. An invader had come to the shores of England.
It was not Duke William, who they had waited for all summer, but another. The least expected man had come to try to take Harold’s throne. King Harald Hardrada of Norway had landed two hundred and thirty miles away in Northumbria and had burned the town of Scarborough to the ground. They had waited all summer with nothing happening. Now with the fryd dispersed and winter about to set in, they had thought themselves safe.
The king ordered the house carls to prepare to march and confront the invaders. Where Osbern and Ariel stayed was thrown into an uproar. As the men prepared to march the following dawn, they piled their armor and needed belongings in the hall. She had no idea what she and Osbern were supposed to do. She had not yet spoken to the king, and the tests had not yet begun. Not being a member of the house carls, she figured when they marched, she would be left behind.
“What has you so deep in thought, Wulf of Elmstead?”
At the sound of the king’s voice, Ariel shot to her feet and bowed. Osbern quickly followed suit.
“I wondered what would happen to me when the others march out, sire.”
“You will be coming with us.”
“Sire, I have not completed the tests. By rights, I am not a member of the house carls.”
Harold smiled. “Invaders have come to our land. I need every available man I can get. The house carls are only three thousand strong, but I am sure King Harald Hardrada brought much more than that. I have seen you fight. You would have no problem passing the tests. I decree you are now officially a house carl.”
Ariel was unable to speak. When she had left Elmstead, it had never occurred to her she would go so far. “Thank you, sire.”
“Thanks are not necessary. Just do not let me down. I expect you and your man to be ready to march at dawn.”
“You can count on me, sire. We will be prepared.”
Ariel and Osbern bowed once more as the king turned and left the hall. Once again alone, they set off at a run to their chamber. If they were to leave at dawn, there was much that needed to be done.
* * * *
Sweat broke out all over Ariel’s body and her hands grew so damp the handle of her sword kept slipping. She did not know if she could go through with this, even though Osbern had reminded her that she had the skill and was capable of coming out of this without a single wound. Right now, all she could see were the Norsemen on the other side of the bridge, preparing to meet them in battle.
They had marched to Tadcaster, one hundred and ninety miles from London. There, they received news of the Norsemen’s whereabouts. The Norse had headed to York after their first victory. It had made sense when it became known that Harold’s brother, Tostig, was among the invaders. King Edward had been the one to banish Tostig for some grievance. With the banishment, he had been stripped of the title of Earl of York and all that went with it.
The new earl, Morkere, who was ten and six, along with his brother, Edwin, had collected what men they could. The battle had not lasted long, only about an hour, but it had been a thorough victory. The Norsemen had won and taken over York. Once inside, they had demanded hostages. Tostig and Harald had then left, leaving orders for the hostages to be taken to Stamford Bridge. So at this bridge the battle lines had been drawn between the English and Norsemen.
Osbern moved closer. “What you are feeling is natural, especially when it is your first battle you are facing. Once in the middle of it, it will pass. Let your instincts take over, do not think. I will be at your side.”
Ariel gave him a wavering smile and once more wiped her palm on her trews.
The waiting would soon be over. Talks took place between the king, a huge Norseman, and a slightly smaller man. As the news filtered back to Ariel, she found out the identities of the two other men. The large man was King Harald Hardrada and the other Tostig. From her vantage point, she could see the men talking, but could not hear what they said. After a short exchange, Harold rode back to his army. The king dismounted, and the battle began in earnest.
The Norse held the York side of the bridge and the hilly ground on the opposite bank. The fighting began on the York side. As Ariel moved to engage the enemy, she made a silent vow that she would survive this day. She would be damned if she would leave her son an orphan.
Osbern had been right. After she settled into the hacking and slashing motions as she swung her sword, Ariel blocked out everything else around her. The smell of blood, the anguished cries of the wounded and dying, did not bother her. She fought so many opponents she soon had their blood on her face and caked on her arms.
The Norsemen were slowly beaten back across the bridge and into the river. The water became choked with bodies. One large Norseman remained on the bridge and defended it singlehandedly. Hard as they might, the English could not move him. He killed forty men before an Englishman drifted under the bridge in a small boat, unseen, and speared him up through the chinks in the wooden deck. With the Norseman now eliminated, the English charged the bridge and battle began on the other side.
Ariel crossed the bridge with Osbern still at her side when King Harald went berserk. She was in awe as the big man charged out, flailing about him, holding his weapon in both hands. The spectacle did not last long, though. The Norse king ended being brought down with an arrow to his throat.
At the end of the battle, the Norse were defeated. It had lasted from morning until dusk. The last spurts of fighting die down, and Ariel panted. Once awareness set in, she smelled the blood around her. Pitiful wails of the wounded drifted on the wind. She covered in blood. It seeped from small nicks on her hands and from a slight wound on her forearm. She had felt nothing during the battle, but as her system returned to normal, they stung. She reached up to remove her helmet and found her hair stiff with dried blood.
It took all her willpower to swallow the bile that rose to the back of her throat. She would not disgrace herself by throwing up on the battlefield, but looking at the dead lying scattered around and floating in the river almost defeated her.
Someone gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Ariel looked to find Osbern still at her side. She realized he had kept his promise. He had not left her alone in the sea of carnage that had just taken place. He was also covered in blood.
“You did not leave me.”
“Nay, not that you needed my help.” Osbern looked around before he spoke again. “I must say, lass, you have surpassed my expectations. Look at you, hardly a wound on you. If only your father could have seen you fight this day. You have done him proud.”
“I have my teacher to thank.” Ariel raised her sword to salute Osbern. Finding it covered in blood, she stopped in mid-motion and swallowed hard.
He chuckled. “You are blooded now, lass. The next battle will not hit you so hard.”
“If you say so. Right now, I need to wash up before I make a spectacle of myself.”
Osbern draped his arm around Ariel’s shoulders and turned her. “It will get easier. You are a true warrior now, lass. I think a goblet of good mead is in order. Let us go to camp.”
Ariel let Osbern lead her across the bridge. It would take quite a few goblets of mead to make that day unremarkable.
* * * *
She slowly came closer. Her scent wafted over him as she stood in front of him. She smelled like sunshine, flowers, and her own woman scent. It made his body harden even more.
With shaking hands, he pushed his fingers through her hair. It felt like silk. The sun turned it almost white as she pressed her cheek into his palm. Broc closed his eyes and slowly lowered his head until their lips met. At the feel of hers softening under his, he increased the pressure, and she opened her mouth. Her taste almost undid him. He did not think he would ever get enough of her.
He ached for the feel of her. Broc released her hair before he slid his hands down her back and pulled her closer, bringing her flush against him. She had to know how much he wanted her. The evidence of his arousal nestled against her belly, hard and throbbing.
He broke off the kiss and looked into her blue eyes. She smiled. She took his hand and placed it on her left breast. Her heart beat just as fast as his. Then she did the unexpected. She silently mouthed the words, I love you.
Broc bolted upright on his cot with his body covered in sweat and an erection so hard he would be uncomfortable for most of the day. The same dream had plagued him for the last month. He always woke up just as she spoke those words. The Saxon girl had become so much a part of him, she now lived in his dreams. Why she stood out in his mind so strongly, he could not really explain. Making love to her had somehow bonded her to him. He hated to admit that she had become his obsession, but there was no denying that she had. That did not sit well with him.
He ran his fingers through his hair, stood, and stretched. While dressing, he came to the only logical solution to his problem. He had to go to his Saxon girl. She had given him her virginity. How could he not think of her but his? To be certain he saw her again, he planned to ask for Elmstead to be his after William won his throne.
Last night the south wind had finally started to blow once more. After being stranded at St. Valery for two weeks, their chance at England had come again. This evening the fleet would sail. By God’s will, Broc would see the Saxon girl again.
With the darkening sky, the Normans set sail for England. The duke led the way in his ship called the Mora, a gift from his wife, Matilda. The light on the masthead was the beacon for the rest of the fleet to follow. Broc, along with William FitzOsbern, were one of the few who sailed with the duke.
Once underway, the men not needed to sail the ships settled down to sleep on the deck. Tomorrow they would reach England. There was nothing to do but wait.
With the coming dawn, it became clear events had transpired during the night. The Mora was alone with nothing in sight. No coast of England, no other ships of the fleet. The duke ordered the sail lowered and brought the Mora to a stop. Acting as if everything was as it should be, he decided to break his fast.
As time passed, the men began to worry, but the duke showed none of their discomfort. After a sail finally was spotted in the distance, a cheer went up. Broc relaxed. There was another ship behind the first, then another and another. Obviously, the Mora had out sailed the rest of the fleet. Maybe they would make it to England, after all.
By the time the duke had finished eating, the other ships had caught up with them. The Mora once more got underway, and a short while later, land came in sight. They had made the crossing virtually unscathed. Only two ships had disappeared during the night.
At seeing such a large fleet of warriors, the people of Pevensey ran and hid. Some of the Normans leapt ashore, prepared to do battle as others urged the horses to jump overboard. With all confidence, William gained the shore. A gasp of horror went up through the men as the duke slipped and fell forward. He landed with both hands on the ground. William must have realized most of the troops would consider that an evil omen.
He calmly got up and brushed his hands clean. “By God’s splendor, I have seized the soil of England in both my hands.” A cheer went up. The duke managed to turn the tide on a potentially bad situation with guile, making it seem a minimal occurrence.
Finding no opposition, they plundered Pevensey for food and claimed it as their own. They built a fort inside the old Roman walls. After a few days of rest, the duke decided to move farther inland. William divided his army. Some of the troops went by ships, and the knights rode while the foot soldiers marched. Whichever way they traveled, they left death and destruction all the way to Hastings.