Page 53 of Rogue Knight
Seeing her sad face, he thought to cheer her. “Cospatric asks after you, Daughter.”
She turned her beautiful eyes on him, the eyes of her mother. But her expression was not one of gladness as he had hoped. “The earl is a nice man,” she said with no great enthusiasm. “Please give him my best.”
“I am certain you will see more of Cospatric once York is again ours. We stopped at his estate at Bamburgh on our way sailing south from Scotland. ’Tis a grand place.”
“Would you like to see the twins?” she asked, changing the subject. “They miss you.”
He heaved his large frame off the bench. “Aye, let me at the little mischief makers.” He would have to speak of Cospatric another time.
***
Emma was happy her father was home, at least for a time, but she was restless and unable to gain any peace for her anxiety over the battle that grew ever closer, like a great, roaring beast stalking its prey.
Who would live and who would die? Should she and her little family flee or should she trust her father to guard them? He had many Northumbrians at his command. Surely they would protect her and the children, but what of Sir Geoffroi? And her friend, Helise Malet, and her sons?
When her father suggested they visit the old archbishop together, she leaped at the chance. Mayhap he would have words of wisdom to share.
“Can we go, too?” Ottar asked.
Inga looked up from where she sat on the bench at the end of the garden, the children and hound at her feet. “You and Finna can stay with me, Ottar,” she said, seeing Emma’s shake of her head when the boy wanted to go. “I do not think Emma will take Magnus either.”
“Nay,” said Emma’s father, “the beast stays. We go to the Minster on business. I doubt the archbishop would want the hound sniffing around his sacred relics.”
“You can go with me to Mass, Ottar,” said Finna. “’Tis not as if you never go to the Minster.”
“Oh, all right,” the boy reluctantly agreed. “I would rather hear another tale anyway.”
Emma tousled his hair with her fingers. Then thinking of how young, how vulnerable they still were, she took them into her arms and held them close. “I will be back soon and then we can make some more berry tarts.”
The twins exchanged eager glances and, placated by the promise of tarts, settled down to listen to Inga as she began a tale of a Danish warrior of long ago.
Emma and her father walked to the Minster. They were far enough from the castles where the knights congregated that she felt confident her father was safe from recognition by any, save for his friends.
The sun was bright in the cloudless sky and the day so warm she needed no cloak. Since they went to see the archbishop, she wore a gown of dark green linen finely woven and a belt of cloth embroidered with golden thread. Halden had traded for much fine cloth and she had a store of gowns saved for special days and feasts.
People passed them on the streets, going about their business. Some recognized her father and bid him welcome. He was well liked in York.
“’Tis odd to think that these streets, filled with people plying their trades and shopping for their families, will soon have to deal with thousands of Danes,” said Emma.
“The people will see them as coming to their aid. The Northumbrians and the men of York will join the Danes to defeat the Normans. The people will rejoice at the victory the Danes will allow them.”
When they were nearly to the Minster, it occurred to her to ask, “Why do you want to see the archbishop? Do you seek Ealdred’s blessing?”
“Nay, though I would have it if he offers. My purpose in coming is quite different. Cospatric will meet us at the Minster. We want the archbishop to agree to crown Edgar king, if not of England, then at least of Northumbria.”
Emma knew the archbishop well enough that she did not think he would agree. After all, it had been he who had crowned the Norman king three years before. And it had been the archbishop who had warned against further rebellion.
They ascended the steps of the great cathedral and Cospatric pulled away from the shadows to greet them.
“My lady,” he said taking her hand and bowing over her fingers, “I was hoping Maerleswein would persuade you to come.”
She recognized the noble countenance and the handsome face of the Earl of Bamburgh. She had not seen him since winter but she had long known him. “Earl Cospatric, how good to see you.” Was that interest she detected in his brown eyes? There was certainly something new in his gaze. She believed Cospatric to be a fine man, but she had given her affection to a certain French knight. Once her heart was given, she would not change.
They strolled into the cathedral. Cospatric’s guards waited at the door.
“Do you share my father’s confidence for the outcome of the uprising?” she asked the earl.
“The outcome is not in doubt, my lady. The Danes sail with their hundreds of ships and, not only them, but others have joined our cause from Poland, Frisia and Saxony, even Lithuania—men-at-arms, ready to fight.”
