Page 65 of Rogue Knight
Unable to sleep and wanting to fill her mind with other, more normal images, she slipped from her bed, donned her clothes and redid her long plaits. Magnus followed her out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen.
As she entered the warm space, Sigga looked up from where she was stirring gruel over the fire. “You are pale, my lady. Is aught amiss?”
Emma sat on a tall stool, still trying to calm her heart pounding in her chest. “I have had a dream…”
“Oh, no.” Sigga stopped stirring and removed the kettle from the fire. She knew Emma’s dreams to be omens of ill and had come to trust the warnings.
“Aye. And I fear what it portends. Something dreadful is about to descend upon us, Sigga.”
Emma’s gaze locked with the servant’s. Both spoke at the same time. “The Norman king.”
Silence hung in the air as Emma faced the one thing that had occurred to both of them. She could think of nothing more terrifying. “Aye, the Norman king and his army, they will come and none in York will be safe.”
“We must be prepared to flee, Mistress.”
“Yea,” she said on a sigh, “but I wish it was not winter we were facing. The Humber is too far and the fields too open to go there. This time it will have to be the forest, where the dense stands of trees can provide shelter and Magnus can hunt.”
“What about that cave the twins discovered last summer?” Sigga asked. “It was in the forest.”
Her gaze met Sigga’s. “I had forgotten about that. Yea, it might serve. We must take the villeins, Jack and Martha, with us. And we must prepare for bitter cold, for winter is nearly upon us.”
Sigga’s brows furrowed. “What about Inga?”
“We will go slow and she can ride Thyra. I will make her a soft pillow to sit upon. But Sigga, we must tell her the truth of it. It may be that her babe, like the Christ child, will be born in a cave.”
***
Geoff awoke to a silence he had not known since they were taken captive. Always there had been the sounds of the Danes coming and going, drinking or loudly speaking in their harsh tongue. In the gray light of dawn filtering in through the boards across the window, a thought came to him and he whispered it aloud. “They are gone.”
“Who has gone?” Alain asked in a sleep-filled voice that told Geoff the Bear was not quite awake. He had recovered from his wound, as had Geoff from his, in the many weeks they were held prisoner.
“Our captors.” He stood up from his pallet and crossed the room to shake the still sleeping Mathieu, the rustling of Geoff’s chains sounding loud in the stillness of the early morning.
They had slept in their clothes since the day of the battle so he did not need to dress. Their mail had been taken from them long ago. By now, what they wore smelled rank, some of it bloodstained. He walked to the door the Danes had kept barred. He tried the latch and it opened.
In the main room, the hearth fire had been allowed to die. The front door stood ajar. “Aye, they have left, mayhap in a hurry.”
“Why?” Alain said, approaching with Mathieu.
“I know not why they have gone, but the better question is why we still live. They could not hate us too much for they have left us our lives. And the keys,” he added, seeing on the table the ring of keys he had seen one of their guards carry.
After several tries, he managed to get the key into the lock. Once he was free of the heavy chains, he quickly unlocked those that bound his companions, the metal rings slipping from their hands and feet.
Alain rubbed his bruised wrists. “Mayhap your widow’s pleas did not go unheeded.”
Geoff shrugged. He did not want to think about Emma. She was gone, most likely with her rebel father.
He strode through the main room to the kitchen of the well-appointed home just off Coppergate where they had been kept prisoner. They needed to eat. “Food!” he exclaimed when he saw the remnants of a meal scattered about the kitchen.
Alain picked up the bread on the worktable and broke off a piece. “They must have left in a hurry and could not take it all.” He brought the hunk of bread to his mouth and chewed. “Not old either.”
“Mayhap they did not think to need this food,” suggested Geoff.
“Looks like they had roast chicken last night,” observed Mathieu, looking at a half-eaten fowl sitting on a side table. “’Tis not what they served us.”
“Well, ’tis ours now. Might as well eat while we can,” urged Geoff, even as he realized food no longer appealed as it once had. The long days of imprisonment with only the memories of the slaughtered garrison and Emma’s betrayal to haunt him had robbed him of his desire for food. But they had to eat to survive and survive he would. “We can carry enough for the next meal while we search the city.”
He ate some of the chicken but his own smell was ruining what little appetite he had. “I want out of these bloodstained clothes. Mayhap they left us water to wash. Mathieu, when you have finished, take a look at the chests in the chambers above. See if there are any clothes we can wear. Since we have not shaved and our hair has grown long, we look more like Northumbrians than Normans.”
