Leofric stepped out of the tent and into the weak sunshine, stretching his aching muscles and closing his eyes against the light. On nights when he hadn’t been able to sleep he saw this moment as his conciliation. It was the most amusing time of the day as the men in the camp staggered around drowsily. These burly soldiers, only being half conscious, were apt to be, at this tender point in their day, as grumpy as bears. To watch them shambling around grunting whatever comments or answers they had to make, and generally betraying greatly antisocial tendencies, could not but tickle ones humour. Provided, of course, that the one observing such behaviour had been awake for some time, and had already waded through the mists of half sleep.
Leofric pulled his cloak around his shoulders and made his way through the tents, leaving Finan to sleep on. He had no destination in mind, but drifted through the camp and on into the forest.
It was still in the shelter of the trees and silent but for the occasional creak of a tree branch. The coolness of the air revitalised him and he sat down on a tree stump, gazing at the beauty all around him. For a long time now the trees had been stripped of their leaves, and their empty limbs reached yearningly for the sky.
It was a while before he realised that he was not alone and, as the revelation hit him, he stared hard at the intruder.
“Who are you?” The tone, even more than the actual words, conveyed a great deal of hostility.
“Your pardon, Lord Leofric, I did not mean to startle you.”
“Whether you did or did not makes no matter to me,” answered Leofric impatiently. “I asked who you are.”
“My name is Tellan of Merrodon,” replied Lord Merrodon, inclining his head a little.
“That explains how you know me, what it does not explain is why you followed me to this place.” A rather martial light came into Leofric’s eyes. “In the answer to that question I am greatly interested.”
Lord Merrodon took a hasty step backwards and away from Leofric, interpreting his movements as antagonistic. In this conjecture he was quite correct.
“I meant nothing by it, my lord, I wished only for a few moments discourse with you regarding the situation that I find myself in.”
Leofric shrugged and waved a dismissive hand.
“I have no interest in the trivial differences of others, I will not take part in this matter. Be assured that Lord Rafe is more than capable.”
“Please reconsider, think a little.” Lord Merrodon’s voice was persuasive. “Lord Rafe is, I am sure, an excellent person, but he has proven himself unable to settle this affair.” Lord Merrodon paused to gauge Leofric’s reaction to this observation and found that he was attitude was stiff, and a hard glint had materialised in his eyes.
“Go on.”
Lord Merrodon leaned forward a little closer, continuing in the manner of a conspirator.
“If you were able to settle this matter where Lord Rafe had been unable to succeed, only imagine the honour and glory that would be yours. Think of how pleased the king would be.” Lord Merrodon smiled smoothly. “Think how proud your father would be!”
Leofric’s fist shot out, catching Lord Merrodon on the jaw and jerking his head sideways. He fell backwards, sprawling on the carpet of leaves. Leofric hauled him to his feet roughly, but forbore to hit him again.
“Go! And be thankful that you still have the use of all your limbs!”
“My lord…”
“I said leave! I will not hear another word of your treachery and if you stay so much as a moment longer, I will give you the thrashing you deserve!”
Leofric thrust Lord Merrodon away from him and watched as he staggered away.
Leofric remained where he stood long after Lord Merrodon had disappeared from sight.
So this was what people thought of him, this was how they expected him to act. They believed he would betray his friends for parental recognition. Did they really suppose that his father would be impressed by such a base action?
Yes, his father wanted him to succeed like Rafe - or even surpass him. However, he would not relish his son’s success if attained in such a way, surely they could see that? Leofric felt a prickle of unease spread down his neck, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. Just a few moments ago he had been happy in spite of his restless night. Now he was filled with a cold, heavy emotion he recognised only too well. He began to make his way back to the camp slowly, the slope of his shoulders conveying with precision the depths to which his spirits had plummeted.
He wanted to pretend that his father would be as horrified as he was himself by Lord Merrodon’s words. However Leofric knew that his father would have had him best Rafe by fair means or foul.
He sighed.
His father had always wanted so much from him. For years Leofric had been pressed to study all of the things in which Rafe excelled, that he might surpass him whatever the cost. Leofric felt somehow responsible for the feelings that now filled his father’s heart, because it was possible that he could have done better if he had tried.
Yet he never had tried.
He had always resented his father’s obvious belief that Rafe was better than him, and for most of his life he had fought his sire in the only way he knew how: by refusing to be that which he wished him to be.
Yet the more they fought, the further from each other they became, and Leofric knew that it cost them both greatly. Now it was too late.
For years they had argued, now they just drifted, each painfully aware of the other, disappointed with the other, but having nothing left to say to each other. Every word that could possibly have been said had been spoken, and now there was only silence and emptiness left.
Leofric stepped out of the trees and wandered back to Finan’s tent. He approached just as Finan, his gaze somewhat bleary, stepped out into the sunshine. Leofric forced a smile onto his face, and lifted his hand in salutation.
“I see you managed to join us. Anyone might think you had been up all night, Finan!” His voice was filled with merriment. Leofric had learnt the art of disguise a long time ago. He almost deceived himself.
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Rafe pulled gently on Valliant’s rein, pulling the horse to a stop.
“Finn? What is it?” Eda asked.
Her customary waspishness had vanished since their conversation of the morning, and now when she addressed him it was with easy cordiality.
“Horse tracks,” Rafe answered.
“Is that bad?”
“It means that someone has passed this way recently.” Rafe looked around at the many hoof prints. “At least six horses with riders.”
“How can you tell whether there were riders or not?”
“I can see where they reined the horses in.” Rafe shifted and, clinging tightly to Valiant, hung from the horse’s side to get a closer look at the tracks. “They passed this way not long ago.”
His voice remained bland, but there was a furrow between his brows that told with eloquence of the worry he felt. Rafe hauled himself upright and looked through the trees meditatively.
It could be a patrol of some kind, if that were the case and they had already passed this way lately it was possible that they would be able to avoid a confrontation. On the other hand it could be a hunt, and if that were the case it was more worrying. A hunt would career madly across the countryside, and such a course could not be calculated and avoided. Rafe urged Valiant forwards to inspect the ground further out between the trees and found evidence of two more horses and riders, as well as the tracks of hunting dogs. He knew that the urgency of their journey was increased greatly, as was the chance of capture.
“Finn?”
It was the first time Adele had addressed him since the sharp words that had passed between them.
“’Tis a hunting party.”
“Then surely we are safe, for they will not come this way again, will they?” asked Eda. Rafe wished he felt such a certainty but did not depress her hopes with his own, less cheerful, reading of the situation.
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“We should continue moving.”
Rafe judged that they were perhaps half way across Lord Gradock’s lands, a few hours more and they would be safe. Maybe Eda was right; it was possible that the hunting party would not come this way again but was now far away.
Still he slowed his pace a little; if the hunt did come this way again, he wished to hear their approach, not lose the warning sound in the frenzy of their own speed. For some time it seemed as though his fears were groundless, and they continued through the peaceful forest unhindered. Then he heard the sound he had been dreading; the galloping of horses and the barking of dogs. He reined in, listening intently with his head to one side.
“Finn, should we not…?”
Eda broke off as Adele’s hand covered her mouth and silenced her. They all sat quietly for innumerable seconds as the sound moved closer to them. Rafe closed his eyes trying to decide from which direction the clamour was coming from.
“This way!”
Valiant seemed to leap forwards suddenly, and Charger followed without encouragement from either Adele or Eda. Both women clung to the horse and prayed that they might keep their seat.
Rafe’s choice of direction was true, but the hunt emerged just close enough behind them to see them disappearing into the trees. Rafe heard a shout go up and then the commotion of the riders turning their mounts in a new direction. Rafe plunged through the undergrowth, swerving this way and that, completely confident in Valliant’s ability to out run the horses behind him. However he knew Charger could not, not when he carried two riders. Abruptly Rafe pulled Valiant to a standstill and, sliding from the horse, reached an imperative hand up to Eda.
“Charger cannot out run those horses with the two of you to carry, you must ride Valiant, Eda.”
“But…”
“Now, Eda!”
Eda found herself obediently slipping from Charger’s back and was the next second firmly seated on Valiant.
“Ride as hard as you can. Merrodon borders these lands, you should be there by nightfall. Follow the old Roman road. Go straight to Lord Merrodon, Lord Rafe’s army will be there.”
“Finn, what will you do?” asked Adele.
“My duty is to see that you are safe, I stay here.”
“But…” Before Eda had a chance to finish Rafe had slapped Valliant’s rump, sending him away at a canter. Eda could do nothing but cling to his mane. Charger followed and soon both horses were out of sight.
Rafe drew his sword and turned to meet the hunting party as they approached. There were seven men, led by a youth probably still short of his fourteenth year. All halted as they came across Rafe standing alone and with sword drawn before him. For a moment all was still, and then the youth urged his horse a few steps nearer.
“These lands belong to the House of Gradock.” His attitude was lazily insolent. “What is your business upon them, stranger?”
“I merely travel across them,” answered Rafe.
“And what became of your horse?”
“It bolted.”
The fair haired youth laughed scornfully at such ineptitude.
“It strikes me that I know you from somewhere.”
“’Tis possible, I am known to some.”
“As what… Bolting Horse?”
A general murmur of amusement rippled through the riders.
“Only by the village half wit,” replied Rafe.
Anger flared up within the youth, flushing his face with vivid colour, and when next he spoke his voice was tight with fury.
“Whip the dog for his impudence,” he demanded.
Three of his men slid from their horses and advanced on Rafe menacingly. Rafe watched them calmly, his eyes alert to their every movement, before suddenly launching upon them a ferocious attack.
As the fight progressed the figures involved became ever more frantic, and with an irritated cry of impatience the youth sent yet more of his men into the breach. Rafe wielded his sword with the desperation of a man who knew his task to be hopeless, but was never-the-less determined to expend his all in defiance of his fate.
Rafe never could understand how he managed to hold them off for so long, but when he found himself face down on the dried leaves he knew he had accomplished his task. Adele had escaped… to him that was all that mattered.
Chapter Fourteen