Arabel could see that he still didn’t completely grasp the situation and struggled not to become short with him. It was as if they kept backtracking on what she had explained to him but then she had to remind herself that the child was only five years old.
“I do not know,” she said with strained patience. “That is why you must run, Hunt. You must find help. I know you can do this. You are a very brave knight, are you not? Perhaps my father will reward you with a real sword for your courage.”
Hunt was intrigued with the thought. “Can I kill someone with it?”
“If you must.”
Hunt grinned. “Then we can have a grand funeral,” he threw up his arms happily. Then the arms came down and he cocked his head. “Are you sure he will give me a real sword?”
“I promise.”
Hunt believed her. He had no reason not to, mostly because Tevin had already given him a new sword so he knew the man was good for such a thing. Moreover, Arabel was sure he could be brave and save them all, and that meant a good deal to his little heart. He wanted to save them.
Scooting to the door, he peeked out of the hole he had made to see that the camp seemed to be very quiet for the most part. With a glance at Arabel, who nodded her head encouragingly, Hunt very carefully pulled open the door. It was dark outside, with trees and bushes of matted foliage around them, but there were no people at all. He could see bonfires in the distance as people moved about and cooked their evening meals, but there was no one in close proximity of their hut. It appeared they had all headed off with his mother and Gillywiss. The vacancy of the immediate area fed his bravery.
“I’m going,” he hissed loudly at Arabel. “I will bring an army back.”
Arabel nodded eagerly. “Remember to keep the moon on the side of your body that does not have the dirt smears. Run until you find someone who can take you to Rochester!”
Hunt just waved her off and quit the hut, pulling the door shut behind him. Arabel lay there, listening to his soft footfalls fade off as the crunching of the earth and grass grew faint. Once the sounds had faded completely, Arabel felt rather hollow and desolate. She wondered what she was going to tell Lady Penden when the woman returned. She wondered what would happen if they never saw Hunt again. He was a very little boy, now out in a very big and dangerous world.
Closing her eyes, she wept and prayed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When Simon and John rode for the Dartford Crossing to carry the news of the new Earl of East Anglia and to assess who currently had charge of the bridge, Tevin took a rather large party towards Darland in search of Cantia, Hunt, and Arabel.
Myles rode with him as the three hundred man army traveled south. He was originally supposed to ride for the bridge but changed his mind. He thought he would be better served riding with Tevin if for no other reason than to keep the man calm. Moreover, Val had asked it of him and he would not disappoint her.
After making arrangements for Geoff to be prepared and delivered to Rochester Cathedral, and assembling the two separate armies, it was late afternoon by the time Tevin’s party left Rochester and he was seriously edgy because of the delays. Fortunately, the day was clear with scattered clouds, making their travel easy enough on the rutted roads. Armed to the teeth, they were prepared for anything. Moreover, Tevin had murder on his mind and the entire troop was aware of it. This was more than a rescue. It was vengeance. Du Reims was out for blood.
As Val had told them, approximately an hour south of Rochester saw them come across the bodies of Dagan and Gavril. Gavril had a knife in his throat while Dagan had taken a big arrow to the body. Tevin stood over the man, gazing down at him, knowing the arrow hadn’t killed him right away. There was a huge amount of dark, gooey blood underneath and around him, suggesting he had slowly bled to death.
Sickened, terrified for Cantia and his daughter, Tevin struggled to keep a level head as he had a few of his men take Dagan and Gavril back to Rochester. Meanwhile, he pushed himself to focus on finding whatever trail the attackers had left behind because he found it easier to cope with his feelings if he focused on finding any evidence of their departure. Somewhere in this expanse of grass, weeds, mud and trees had to be clues. He was determined to find them.
Eventually, he had about a hundred of his men carefully combing the area for any signs of Cantia, Arabel and Hunt. Tevin, Myles, and the remainder of the army remained on the road, studying it for hoof prints or any recognizable pattern, but eventually realized that it was a futile quest because the hard-packed road wasn’t easily giving up its secrets. Whatever foot of hoof prints there had been had dissolved or blown away long ago.
After a half-hour of inspecting the countryside, a few of Tevin’s men found what they thought was a trail leading off to the south. Spurred by the discovery, Tevin lead the entire brigade south until they came to what they believed was the trail’s end. A small village with a rather large church sat along the banks of a gentle creek and Tevin showed no mercy as his men plowed into the quiet little berg.
Peasants were roused, bullied and terrified as Tevin’s men did a house to house search. The weeping of women and children could be heard as the town’s priest intervened, begging to know why the men were raiding the town. Tevin explained, as calmly as he could, that he was looking for his family and would burn the town to the ground if he did not find them. At the moment, he was not permitting his men to do anything more than roust people and search houses, but that would very quickly change if he did not get what he wanted.
The priest, sensing death for his flock if they did not comply with the enormous warlord who had yet to fully identify himself, began shouting to the people as to the reasons behind the raid. Trembling and uncertain, the word was passed until two young men eventually came forward and produced a pair of well-made weapons.
Myles, who was on foot as Tevin sat upon his charger to supervise the raid, inspected the dirks in the shaking young hands.
“Where did you get these?” he asked.
The priest, standing next to the young men, nudged the one closest to him. “From… from a dead knight, m’lord,” a skinny youth choked out a reply. “He had a knife through his neck. We… we came across him early this morning when we were searching for a lost lamb. He was already dead when we found him, m’lord, I swear it. We didn’t kill him.”
Myles removed the dirk from the young man’s grasp, inspecting it closely. Then he eyed the pair. “You say he was already dead?”
“Aye, m’lord.”
“What time was this?”
“At dawn, m’lord.”
“And you saw no one else?”
The two young men passed glances. “There was another knight,” the youth said, hanging his head. “We took this other knife from him.”
“And he was already dead, too?”
“Aye, m’lord.”
“You saw no women or children?”
“No, m’lord. There was no one.”
Myles believed him, for one very good reason. The young men would not have appeared with the simplicity of stolen dirks to save their village from destruction had they been guilty of more heinous crimes. At least, that was Myles’ suspicion. Moreover, they didn’t have the look of bandits, and Myles had seen plenty to know. They looked like farm boys. Still, he eyed them both critically, as if his piercing gaze would cause them to break down were they holding anything back.
“Then it must have been your trail we followed,” Myles muttered.
The young men didn’t know how to answer. They kept their heads down as the priest watched Myles very closely.
“Will you please stop what you are doing, my lord?” the pale old man asked. “These are good people. They do not have your women and children.”
Myles looked at the man. “Even so, they are still missing and we will find them,” he said. “If you know anything, priest, now would be the time to tell me.”
The priest shook his head. “I do not, my lord, I swear on our Most High,
” he said earnestly. “But these lands abound with murderers, thieves and bandits. We have to fight them off ourselves quite frequently.”
Myles knew that. It was a wild and lawless land these days and the people reflected that. Everyone lived with fear in their hearts and weapons in their hands. He was starting to feel some despondency as he tightened up his gloves, wondering how he was going to deter Tevin from ripping the rest of the village apart.
“You would not happen to know were any of those murderers are, would you?” he muttered drolly. “Perhaps they are living out in the open somewhere with great bonfires that will guide our way to them.”
The priest cocked his head. “In fact,” he said, “there is a rather large camp of outlaws not far from here. They raid our stores quite frequently and I even caught one of them trying to steal from the church. I told him he would burn in hell and he laughed at me.”
Myles was somewhat interested in what he was saying. “Where is this camp?”
The priest pointed to the northeast. “That way, a few miles. If you take the small trail from the town that leads over the stream, follow it until it ends and keep going. You will run into the camp less than an hour later.”
It was as good an option as anything else. At least it would be something to focus Tevin on other than the innocents of the scared little village. Nodding his thanks, Myles marched back towards his charger, and towards Tevin, whistling loudly between his teeth as he went. When the soldiers turned to him, he issued orders to cease their activities and mount their horses. Tevin, having heard the command, waited impatiently for Myles to come within earshot.
“These people did not take Cantia or Arabel,” Myles said before Tevin could yell at him. “However, the priest has told me of an encampment of outlaws a few miles to the northeast. I suggest we focus our attentions there.”
“How do you know Cantia isn’t here?” Tevin demanded as Myles mounted his horse.
“Because the trail we found was from those two frightened young men over there,” Myles said, pointing in the direction of the priest and a small, frightened crowd. “The men were hunting down a lost lamb and came across Gavril and Dagan. They stole a few weapons off of them. They said that when they found the knights that they were quite alone. No one else was around. The priest suggested we try the known outlaws in the area. More than likely, they would have what we are looking for.”
Tevin wasn’t happy but, truth be told, but it made some sense. Outlaws would more than likely be to blame, as villagers did not usually ambush travelers on the open road. So he allowed Myles to issue commands as the men gathered and sped off to the northeast section of the village where a small footpath led to the stream and then continued on the other side.
The sun was nearly gone as the army raced northeast, tearing up meadows and forests and foliage as they went. Horses thundered and snorted, and the destriers that Tevin and Myles rode, excited by the sense of urgency in the air, charged at the head of the pack and snapped at anything they drew close to. They believed they were heading into battle and for Tevin, too, it was his sense as well. His apprehension and fury were driving him.
Less than an hour into their ride, the group headed into a particularly dense cluster of trees and Tevin and Miles had to raise their visors to see in the weak light. They could see something up ahead. Tevin raised a hand, calling a halt to the brigade, as they sighted the faint flickers of fires in the distance.
As they slowed their pace to study the distant flames, an arrow zinged past Tevin’s head. Startled, Myles snatched the crossbow tethered on the right flank of his horse and lifted the weapon, pointing it in the direction that the arrow had come from. As the men spread out to capture whoever had fired the arrow, Myles caught movement when the man, stationed in the trees and covered with soot to conceal himself, launched another arrow.
This arrow had flame to it, sailing in an arc towards the distant fires. Myles launched his own arrow at the man, hitting his mark and watching the man fall to the ground in a heap. Even though he’d taken out the lookout, the damage was done. The flaming arrow had been a warning signal to the camp and Tevin knew their cover was blown. In the darkness, in the trees, he slammed his visor down and unsheathed his broadsword.
“We have been announced,” he said to Myles. “Make no delays. If Cantia and Arabel really are in that camp, they might try to kill them with our appearance.”
Myles spurred his charger after Tevin, listening to the sounds as the distant settlement began to take up alarm cries. As they plowed through the trees and into the perimeter of what appeared to be a very large encampment, Myles headed in one direction to search and Tevin headed in the other.
He could only pray, for all their sakes, that they weren’t too late.
*
“Your son, my lady.”
Cantia was smiling as she handed over the swaddled, screaming bundle to the exhausted mother. Overjoyed, the red-faced woman accepted the child, weeping as she gazed upon the angry little face for the first time. Cantia watched the joy, remembering well when she had given birth to Hunt and the euphoria she and Brac had experienced. The joy of the successful childbirth was almost enough to ease the fear of her captivity and she took a few moments to forget her predicament.
As she watched the new mother, she began to wonder if she and Tevin would ever be blessed with a child. She had lost one pregnancy before Hunt was born and had not conceived again since his birth, so she wondered if she was even able to have any more children. Brac had never said a word about it although she knew he would have liked more children.
She wondered if Tevin would become disappointed in her if she wasn’t able to bear him a son. It really wasn’t something she’d thought about until now. Cantia was torn between wanting to provide Tevin with more children and knowing any children they had together would be bastards. But she pushed those thoughts aside to focus on the new mother and baby at her feet.
“See if he will suckle,” she encouraged. “Put him on the breast and feed him.”
The new mother moved her shift aside to expose a big, plump breast and put the infant to the nipple. The baby latched on and began to feed eagerly and, at that point, the other women in the hut crowded around and took over, and Cantia knew her job was finished.
She had done what she had been called to do. After initially examining the woman, she realized that the child had been turned about in the womb. She then proceeded to oil the mother’s belly up with grease and massage the child until the baby rotated around so he was facing head-first. She’d seen the midwife at Rochester grease up bellies when babies were facing the wrong direction and, fortunately, her observations had paid off. She’d been able to help.
It was an action she hoped would sway Gillywiss. The man had been seated just inside the hut door during the entire event, his eyes on Cantia as if afraid she was going to disappear. As Cantia washed her hands in clean water, she stole a glance over her shoulder at the man still sitting there in the shadows. With a deep breath for courage, for calm, she made her way over to him.
“I have never known a man to remain in the same room as a woman giving birth,” she said. “You are very brave.”
Gillywiss was gazing up at her from his position on the stool. He was leaning back against the wall of the hut, his dark curly hair wild around his somewhat pensive face. He seemed quiet and introspective. He was just watching her as she dried her hands on her surcoat.
“Where did you learn to do that?” he asked.
She cocked her head curiously. “What?”
He gestured at the woman with the infant. “Deliver a child like that. Are you a physic?”
Cantia finished drying her hands off. “Nay,” she said. “But as the lady of Rochester, people come to me for help. I have learned a few things in my time.”
Gillywiss nodded faintly, still eyeing her. “Then you have my thanks,” he said quietly. “My sister has already lost three children. You have given her new hope.”
Cantia looked over her shoulder at the woman feeding the newborn, seeing the joy on her face. “Hope is what keeps us all alive,” she said softly. “Peasant or nobleman, it is what drives us to rise in the morning and look forward to a new day. Hope is what keeps us bound to our loved ones and wish better things for them.”
“Is that what keeps you bound to Winterton?”
Cantia turned to look at the man, some hesitance in her expression. “I am bound to him because I love him and for no other reason than that.”
“But you can never be his wife.”
“Perhaps that will change one day.”
“Is that what you hope for?”
Cantia paused, her brow furrowing in thought. “Aye,” she whispered after a moment. “I suppose I do.”
“Then why does he not find his wife?” Gillywiss wanted to know. “If he wants you to be his bride, why does he not find the one who deserted him and his daughter? I do not understand.”
Wearily, Cantia sank to the stool next to him, feeling very depressed and exhausted all of a sudden. She had no idea why she continued to share her darkest secrets with a man she didn’t even know. Originally it had been to gain his sympathy. Perhaps now it was because he seemed rather wise as an outsider looking in.
“He does not know where, exactly, she is,” she shrugged after a moment. “The woman’s father thought perhaps she had run off to Paris, but it all happened so long ago. It is quite possible she is no longer alive.”
“But it is equally possible that she is,” he said. “If Winterton loves you, why does he not do all he can to find her?”
Cantia sighed gently, her gaze lingering on the woman and child near the fire. “He will,” she insisted softly. “To be truthful, we have not… well, we have not been together very long. There has not been much time for him to search out his wife. Perhaps he will eventually, provided that… well, provided that I return to him.”
Gillywiss watched the pain and fear ripple across her features. “Is that what you wish?” he asked.