CHAPTER EIGHT
“You are sure that you will be all right Athelfreda?” enquired Reasea somewhat concernedly.
“Yes, of course. your friend the Abbot has arranged for these five stout men at arms to accompany Elle and myself, so that no further harm may befall us. On our earlier journey Osric, our baggage-man and guide was mysteriously taken ill and we had to leave him recovering in an hostelry on the way. Now I wonder how much Godric, supposedly our other stay and help in trouble was responsible for that mishap. It gave him his opportunity for mischief and Longsword trusted him so.”
“Good, nevertheless watch-out for trouble, and you know you have new friends now if any problem ever arises again.” smiled Reasea.
“For which I’m grateful. You take care as well dear Reasea I hope that our paths will cross again in the not too distant future.”
Athelfreda waved Reasea farewell and the little troupe quickly rode away into the distance. What fortunes or otherewise attended their steps, had destiny something interesting in store for them? Only time with its infinite variety of possibilities would answer that question.
The
half-Saxon, half-Norman lady felt much more secure now. She thought to herself
why did she think of Saxon/Norman blood. Why even the monarch and his family
was something of a mixture. King John’s great-grandfather Henry 1, the old Lion
of Justice had married a Saxon, or rather a half-Saxon/half-Scot. Henry’s queen
was the daughter of the saintly Queen Margaret of
Time
did begin to weigh heavily on Athelfreda although the slightly milder than
usual Spring weather made the noble lady seem more relaxed. At the same time
she was keen to get back and forewarn William Longsword about the machinations
of the devious Godric. Where would the rogue be now? God, he was a man to be
cautious about, capable of anything. No crime would be out of limits for him,
she thought. He had an obsequious manner overlaid with willingness and
implied
efficiency that could persuade some people that he was a useful instrument.
Behind this was a cold-blooded determination to exploit a position to his own
purposes. If crossed he was a vengeful enemy, with no milk of human kindness
evident even in the smallest degree. Athelfreda shivered, inspite of the
improving Spring climate, just to think about him. To the wary and observant he
produced that response. Stay away from him if you were sensible, get to know
him closely at your ultimate peril.
“What was that?” enquired Athelfreda as she sensed some slight movement almost a sound in the distance.
“Some small wild animal stepping on twigs or branches I shouldn’t doubt, milady” responded one of the men-at-arms.
“Sorry” apologised Athelfreda “my nerves are rather taut at the moment. I’ll be glad when the journey is over, although, of course, I should not fear having such brave fellows as yourselves to guard over me.”
“That’s our privilege my lady” enthused the crusty but kindly disposed soldier who had first answered her “rough hewn in appearance we may be but reliable to the last man. Why if you cannot trust us, damned if I know who you can rely on.”
Athelfreda smiled kindly on the doughty warrior but this changed quickly to a look of puzzlement. The man suddenly stumbled forward his eyes staring ahead of him. The noble lady put her arms out to steady the guard uncertain as to what had caused his maladjustment. The weight of his body was almost unbearable but as she sought to straighten him up to almost an upright position her right hand moved to his back. The hard metal shaft that she felt protruding from him told her all she needed to know, he had been hit by a carefully aimed arrow. He truly was indeed a body as all life had sadly flowed from him.
“To me, men” screamed Athelfreda “your leader is dead, we are under attack.”
To
her utter astonishment no-one moved. As the brave woman looked round she saw
all but one of her guards lying on the ground with tell-tale arrow-shafts deep
within each one. What a clinically precise attack! Who had planned this? The
sole remaining soldier had drawn his sword but as he advanced towards the
bracken Athelfreda now heard for the first time a whirring sound, the temporary
stillness and
quiet attuning her ears better to her surroundings. She gasped incredulously as
she saw her last hope of defence go down clutching an arrow firmly embedded in
his throat. With a snarling death-rattle of a groan he rolled-over, the last
ember of life leaving him - where a few seconds ago he had been all watchful
vitality, now he was in another world.
“My lady what shall we do?” This was Elle, Athelfreda’s woman-servant clinging desperately to her mistress. ‘Indeed’ thought the noblewoman ‘what was the best move in these horrendous circumstances?’
“My game I think” sneered a too familiar voice as Athelfreda gazed woefully at the savage figure of Godric. Stepping from the forested area he appeared more of a swaggering varlet than ever. However, as comfort and support he had at his back a dozen vicious looking armed men. They looked too hungrily, to Athelfreda’s mind, at the two defenceless women. Elle almost swooned to the ground and it took all her mistress’s self-control to maintain her own equilibrium.
“I wish that I had killed you both” snapped Godric “you’ve forever been a trouble and pestilence to me. You’re no good to me, more likely to foil me in all my potential adventures. What a pair of trussed-up pheasants you would make - just right for the plucking eh?”
“Well then what’s stopping you?” retorted Athelfreda “two helpless women, what’s preventing you and your cut-throats from finishing off the job?”
“I believe that I am the person responsible for that decision.”
Athelfreda
turned to see another figure approach from the bracken. This time, however, the
newcomer was not a bit like the savage warriors from hell that already
confronted her and Elle. He was of a quite prepossessing appearance, handsome
in a strangely quizzical and almost noble manner. A deeply etched scar down his
left cheek, ending under his chin. spoilt the overall impression. The most
mesmeric of his features were his fine clear hazel eyes which spoke of an
integrity which did not exactly tie-in with his association with Godric. The
stranger was semi-cropped almost in the old Norman fashion and he stood before
the assembly sword in hand like a warrior who knew exactly how to handle
himself. The man’s garb was, however, little different from that of his fellows. a mail-shirt being the only
distinguishing feature. If
he had been of noble birth he had certainly fallen upon hard times.
“Who sir are you?” responded Athelfreda now at least slightly more reassured at the appearance of someone, if not kindly disposed nonetheless of a civilised disposition.
“A man like any other man, on the look-out for the main chance.” This was enunciated in almost courtly tones inspite of the sardonic message conveyed.
“Do you command here, sirrah?” almost demanded Athelfreda drawing herself up to her full height.
“I lead these men” spat-out Godric swaggering almost up to within a couple of inches of the noble woman.
“You have become rather presumptuous for a country bumpkin, fellow!” snarled the mail-shirted stranger.
Godric reddening deeply put his hand on his sword, and with barely concealed hate glowered at the man who had belittled him. For a moment Athelfreda thought that a fight would start but the vengeful Godric was if anything prudent especially in respect of his own welfare. Smarting deeply within he bit his lip and muttering sourly turned on his heel.
“In response to your question, madam I command here. I must apologise for these ill-looking fellows, although by my faith I am scarcely much better disposed these days. Once I bore knightly arms but because of some slight indiscretion I was struck-off. No longer Sir Rolf de Claimont but now plain Rolf the outlaw, Rolf the pirate call me what you may, the title probably fits.”
“Pirate? Are you a sea-farer also?”
Rolf laughed almost a boyish laugh evocative of happier-days doubtless. “Madam you will find that I have several talents. At least I can keep this band of ragamuffins together. Godric here and a few, a very few I might add, of his recruited cut-throats told us that there might be some advantages to waylaying you. Where he was going to get the money from to pay us, and whether you had sufficient possessions on you to justify such an attack was debatable.”
“Why
then did you bother to interfere in my life? What have you got from killing-off
my escort and rendering Elle and myself at your mercy? Do we have
anything to offer you in terms of property, possessions, wealth? What exactly
is there of benefit to you - you were once a knight with some honour Rolf de
Claimont?”
“Your good self lady will fetch a fair price. You will see that we run a number of different ventures here, but enough of this discussion we must proceed to our destination. There are horses here and therefore no problem of transport and I know that you will not be so foolish to attempt an escape. Why any one of my ruffians here can aim an arrow straight to its mark. You have already seen the results of their handiwork..”
“So, so” whistled Athelfreda “it’s a ransom you want?”
“Not from Longsword” snarled Godric “I don’t want the women giving all my actions away....”
“Of course not Godric” snapped Rolf “we have already had our discussion on that little matter. I know a source that will pay a pretty price. You know that you stand to gain as part of our expedition, you are still agreeable to our bargain though? It’s all in your own interests, remember!”
“Yes I suppose so” grated Godric “but when exactly do I get paid? After all I needs must make contact again with William Longsword, doubtless he will be wondering about my movements.”
“It would be helpful if you and your ill-begotten associates separated yourselves from myself and my comrades.
“What for? What is this all about” croaked Godric,paling considerably
“Well, my friend I must at last be honest with you. There is no place for you in our operation. I suggest you run as fast as you can before our arrows reach you. A servant is always worthy of his hire, payment should be made for service delivered.”
Godric looked round incredulously as he noticed Rolf’s men begin to place their sharp edged flighted missiles between their fingers. and pull back their bow-strings to their fullest taut extent. The vicious Saxon saw his villainous associates start to sprint-off already minded as to the danger from their short-time comrades. Their agility was not sufficient for the purpose because soon all three were lying dead, victims to astute and very accurate marksmanship.
“Well
Godric see if you can survive where your fellow rogues failed” Rolf smiled as
the Saxon blanched deeply but nothing if not determined to live, self
survival being basic to his every instinct the varlet sped like a stag into the
recesses of the forest.
“Ah good, something of a challenge” grinned the foremost of the archers. Godric seemed to have dived and dodged and weaved to great effect and the bowmen were showing some signs of agitation. Had the prey evaded them to scurry out of their range of fire and live to fight another day?
“I see him, over there” shouted one of their members. “Quickly before he has gone, strike home my comrades.”
Godric’s cold cowardly eyes stared at his would be killers but again he was on the move darting with amazing alacrity through the grass. He was almost through the next obstacle, he had almost moved behind a stout oak-tree, safety not quite at last, but at least something, another yard or so then.... “Oh God!” gasped Godric as he felt an arrow strike him in the back just wide of his left shoulder. The pain, the sheer agony, the arrow had gone in deep, he fell crashing crazily forward, falling his full length and hearing ringing bells as the consciousness left him.
“ Shall I follow-up with the final death blow, Captain?” snarled the successful archer “or should I use the knife on him?”
“No man!” snapped Rolf “let’s have at least some kind of honour here. I was a knight in my better days. He’s half-dead already. Leave him to the wild animals, or even the cold night air, he will not survive for long, he’s seen his last days, blast him.”
“Athelfreda came running-up to Rolf with some urgency. It was at first not too apparent what her emotions were. She shuddered as she looked around the scene of devastation. What was this man Rolf, what motivated him, what exactly had he next up his sleeve, what sort of impression was he making on her, did she really know herself? Athelfreda was wound-up, how could she take in all that had happened to her, and in such a short time.
“Are you alright?” enquired Rolf looking quizzically at the noble lady. He pulled back stung more by surprise than annoyance when the subject of his enquiries brought her right hand crashing against his cheek.
“Hell what was that for?” he gasped.
“For being a swine.”
“But I rid you of a great
irritant in your life. Surely you are grateful for that.”
“God have you got any sensitivity at all, Rolf?”
“Well I suppose I never really did understand women. Let’s leave it at that.”
Rolf smiled ruefully as Athelfreda turned on her heels as if in total control of the situation. “Well” he thought “she will have to learn some manners, after all her future is entirely in my hands.”
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