“He should tell her the truth.”
Leofric raised an eyebrow in Finan’s direction.
“Fine, but this time you can tell him so.”
“He would not listen and besides, ‘tis not my place.” Finn looked out into the mist shrouded camp. “I wish Lord Brogan were here, perhaps he could make Rafe see sense.”
“It is possible that it is not needed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe it is our intervention Rafe is unwilling to take, it does not follow that he deems our counsel incorrect.”
“You think he plans to tell her?”
“Rafe knows what he is doing. Until now the course he has chosen to pursue has done more good than harm. Now that the reverse is true, he will set things straight.”
Finan lapsed into meditative silence for a few moments.
“I am not so sure, there was something so strange about him today. His anger against Rand was… I do not know, but it was somehow unlike him.”
“We were all angry, how could we not be?” shrugged Leofric. “And you know that in personal matters Rafe has never been cool headed. ‘Tis only when the argument does not touch him that he is capable of diplomacy.”
“Perhaps… Yet I had the strangest fancy that it was not only Evoric’s death that incited his rage.”
Leofric glanced at his friend sharply, he too had thought that there was more to Rafe’s fury than the happenings of the past. Instead of saying so however he asked what had put such a notion into Finan’s head.
“I do not know; he seemed to resent Rand’s claim on Lady Adele.”
“Would not you?”
“Maybe.” Finan’s eyes met Leofric’s with worry in their depths. “But not so violently.”
“Come, Finan, we both know Rafe…”
“Not like this,” interrupted Finan evenly. “Rafe has a temper and loses it as often as not. Yet have you ever before felt the need to interrupt a fight that he was engaged in, as you did today? We both know that you would never have imagined that you would need to.”
“He had not slept in two days!”
“I have seen him negotiate the most difficult and delicate surrender after two days without sleep. Never once did his anger or impatience get the better of him then. You cannot say that did not touch him personally, for his men’s lives were at stake.”
“This is different; Lady Adele will be his bride, this thing touches his pride and honour.”
Finan did not look satisfied, and opened his mouth to argue the point. Before he could say a word a young soldier called his, or rather Rafe’s, name.
“What is it, Kenric?”
“A messenger from Lord Merrodon, Lord Rafe; he begs that you come quickly to Merrodon.”
“Did he say why?”
“No, my lord, only that it was a personal matter.”
Finan sighed heavily.
“Very well, Kenric, you had best fetch my horse.”
The soldier nodded and left.
“Would you like me to accompany you, Lord Rafe?” asked Leofric, his bow mocking and tinged with irreverence.
“I am meant to be bringing peace, Leofric. A few moments in their company and you would have them at sword point. You only care to use that smooth tongue of yours in the company of women. ‘Tis best you stay here. Most likely Lord Merrodon wishes to see if he can entice me to settle in his favour as he tried once before.” Finan grinned. “I will spare you that sickening display, Fricka.”
Kenric returned leading Finan’s horse, he was followed by a soldier from Merrodon also leading a horse.
“My master asked that you might come quickly, my lord.” The soldier inclined his head a little; he looked impatient to be gone. Leofric watched as his foster brother stoically resigned himself to his fate, and reluctantly pulled himself onto his mount before grinning down at Leofric.
“Considering that the principals in this affair are asleep, I leave you in control of a peaceful camp. Try to keep it that way if you would, Fricka.”
------
The journey to Merrodon was only a matter of some few miles. Finan had made it often enough over the last few days and therefore his mind was only half directed at the path they followed. There were other, far weightier, matters on his mind but it was not very long before he noticed that the soldier who had come to fetch him from the camp was ill at ease.
“Is aught the matter?”
The soldier turned harassed eyes upon Finan.
“’Tis only that we must make haste,” he replied.
Finan looked the soldier over again. Beneath his weather beaten exterior he was pale, and as Finan watched he brought his arm up to wipe the coarse fabric of his tunic over his brow.
There was no sun, only thick mist and there was a decided chill in the air. So why, wondered Finan, was the soldier perspiring so profusely? Perhaps he had misjudged the situation and there truly was something amiss at Merrodon.
“What is so wrong that your master sent for me with such urgency?”
The soldier’s eyes flickered to Finan for a moment, filled with hesitant worry.
“My master charged me only with bringing you to Merrodon, Lord Rafe, he will explain all when we arrive.”
That was when Finan knew.
Lord Merrodon, curse his black heart, had done something very stupid. Stifling the groan that rose to his lips he dispassionately wondered if Merrodon had killed Lord Coughly or only attacked him. Either way there was going to be trouble.
Finan pressed his horse to move faster. His temper, always so easy, was pricked. Why did Lord Merrodon have to be so stupid? Rafe had left this matter in his hands, had trusted him to see it right, and through Lord Merrodon’s pigheadedness Finan felt he had disappointed that trust.
The rest of the ride was accomplished in silence, and they swept into Merrodon’s gates at a canter. Finan reined in his trembling mount, but did not attempt to slide from the horse’s back. The yard was full of men, soldiers leaning upon their spears, their attention focused on Finan.
“I had thought to find you in disarray, Lord Merrodon, yet here I find you in none of the dire straits I had imagined.”
Lord Merrodon rose from the chair he was sitting upon, a smug smile on his lips, languid insolence in every slow movement he made.
“A small deception that was necessary, I would never have enticed you here alone otherwise.”
“My being alone was so very important?”
“Shall we say easier? You see, Lord Rafe, someone does not view you with kindness.”
Finan glanced around at the decidedly unfriendly faces of Lord Merrodon’s men.
“So it would appear.”
“Enemies are an uncomfortable thing are they not?” asked Lord Merrodon with a mock air of sympathy. “Unfortunately yours seem to have caught up with you and they are demanding retribution.”
The ominous shuffle of soldiers shutting off his means of escape accompanied these words, and Lord Merrodon continued in the same self satisfied tone.
“My master wishes you dead, my task is to facilitate.”
Finan pulled his sword from its sheath and raised it so it pointed directly at Lord Merrodon.
“You prove yourself an enemy to King Ine!” Finan raised his voice. “All who fight on Merrodon’s side, fight against this kingdom of Wessex: you will be punished in accord with your error.”
Lord Merrodon smirked.
“Not by you, Lord Rafe, nor by anyone else.”
Hardly had he finished speaking than, with a jerk of his wrist, Finan threw his dagger. The blade flew swiftly through the air, but the distance was far. Finan reflected that if it had been Leofric that had taken aim, Lord Merrodon would even now be dead. As it was, his shot was better than he had expected considering that he had used his left hand, his sword being already drawn in his right. The blade sunk deeply into Lord Merrodon’s shoulder, and the stillness was suddenly broken. Lord Merrodon’s men in charge surrounded their
lord, and the foot soldiers rushed forward to surround both Finan and his mount.
There were numbers on Lord Merrodon’s side, but Finan had the advantage of height. He knew the most important thing was that he kept his seat. In that endeavour he was assisted by the soldiers themselves; for as many as pulled him one way, pulled him the other. Of the mob that engulfed him it was only a handful of soldiers who could actually reach him, and the efforts of these men were greatly hampered by their fellows pressing in upon them.
Merrodon’s warriors received no direction from their superiors, they were still fully occupied with their lord. The men were allowed to continue in confused disarray. Finan was only too pleased that Lord Merrodon had not thought it necessary to ready his archers, and that none of his men had thought to retrieve their bow. He took full advantage of the position he found himself in, and wielded his sword with the precision of an expert. His mount, a large chestnut, showed why his master had named him Brute by kicking and biting any and all in his reach.
It was then that one of the soldiers, suffering from a flash of inspiration brought on, as so often is the case, by observing the effectiveness of Finan’s action, threw his spear.
The spear struck Finan in his side, making him lurch forwards over Brute in surprised hurt, his sword falling from numb fingers. The crowd of soldiers was no longer as tight as it had been. Finan noticed that the men guarding the gate, instead of shutting off his only hope of escape, had surged forwards in to the fray. He gathered up Brute’s reins, urging the horse forwards through the crowd of men and out of the gate.
He knew that he would be followed by Lord Merrodon’s men. His only hope was that there was distance enough between him and them. Maybe he would reach the camp before they caught up with him.
The journey seemed long, he could feel blood flowing from his wound and soaking his tunic. Every movement Brute made jolted him making him feel sick and dizzy. The reins in his hands were slippery. Behind him he could hear the sounds of pursuit. He knew that the soldiers determination would be greater now, and that in their desperation they were likely to be far bolder.
Finan felt a sudden grim sense of victory. It didn’t matter what happened to him, they had already failed in their objective. Even if they did capture and kill him, it would be Finan of Gournay that they murdered, and not Lord Rafe of Valrek.
Finan caught sight of tents emerging from the mists, and within another few seconds he had cantered into the camp. He lay across Brute’s back as the horse stood shaking and steaming in the cold air. Around him he could hear the sound of men running this way and that, shouting loudly to one another. Then he felt gentle hands lift him from the horse, and his name being called as if from a distance. With supreme effort he opened his eyes to find himself looking up into a distraught face.
“Finan, what happened?” Rand held him tightly, choking a little over his words as he spoke them.
Finan found that his mouth was dry and fought to speak.
“Finan, who did this?” demanded Rand.
“Lord Merrodon…” The words were croaked out painfully.
“Lord Rand!” Bron emerged from the mist. “Soldiers, coming from the direction of Merrodon.”
Rand looked down at Finan; his eyes were closed and his breathing shallow.
“Benwick!” Rand called for the page, and gave Bron his full attention. “Go to Lord Rafe’s camp and tell Lord Leofric what has happened.”
Bron had his spear in his hand, his attitude alert and ready for the fight he knew was upon them. At Rand’s words his expression became alarmed.
“But, Master, they approach too fast! You cannot hold them alone!” he objected.
“We could not hold them together either, you must fetch Lord Rafe’s men: now go!”
Bron nodded and ran into the mist, his figure disappearing almost instantly.
“Benwick! Oh, there you are.” Rand turned to find the boy standing at his elbow. “Find someone to help you get Finan into my tent, and see that he stays to keep guard.”
The boy goggled down at Finan.
“Benwick, did you hear me?”
Benwick, his face taking on a sickly pallor, lifted a hand and pointed a shaking finger. Rand looked down and saw the reason for the boy’s revulsion. Rand’s hand and a good part of the sleeve of his tunic, was soaked with blood.
“Benwick, can I depend upon you to get him inside and keep him safe?”
Benwick nodded, gulping.
“Good lad!”
Rand stood, a curiously grim expression entering his face as he pulled his sword from its scabbard. He reached the outskirts of the camp just as the riders from Merrodon emerged from the mist.
The soldiers would never have ventured so close to the camp had they known of its existence. However Lord Merrodon and his men had been unaware of Rand’s arrival, and Rand, in seeking to show Rafe that he meant no harm, had set up his camp a good distance from his and closer to Merrodon. Even Finan had been surprised to find the camp he had entered was not his own.
As it was, the soldiers from Merrodon could not draw back. Seeing that the camp was small they advanced at a gallop, spears levelled.
Rand stood his ground, his feet firmly planted as one soldier advanced towards him. As the horse and rider came abreast of him, Rand caught his arm and dragged him from his mount.
The fighting was fierce, Merrodon’s soldiers outnumbering those that Rand had brought with him. Rand felt that he had never heard a sweeter sound than Bron returning with reinforcements.
At first Lord Merrodon’s men continued to fight. However, as more and more men emerged from the mist, they took to flight. As desperate as they were, fighting off an entire army of men whose master they sought to kill was not a course they had any intention of pursuing.
It was Leofric who had led Valrek’s warriors into the fight. As the soldiers from Merrodon retreated, he and Rand, panting hard, stood together and watched their enemy withdraw. Leofric became aware after a while that Rand’s eyes were concentrated on him.
“What?”
“Nothing, ‘tis just that you really have grown up, Fricka.” Rand permitted himself a small smile. “You know, even as a child you lived up to that red hair of yours. Now the effect is so much more daunting.”
Leofric wiped his blade clean before replacing the sword in its sheath, he turned grim eyes on Rand.
“Where is Finan?”
“In my quarters, come I will show you.” Rand turned and led the way to one of the tents. As he pulled aside the flap that covered the opening, the soldier inside turned brandishing his sword.
“’Tis only I, Drogo,” reassured Rand, raising a hand. “How is he?”
The soldier shook his head.
“More fortunate than I can tell you,” he answered. “The bleeding is heavy, but the wound itself is not deep. The pain will be unbearable though.”
“He will live?” It was Leofric who spoke, his voice rough.
“Yes, sir.”
Rand saw the strained look of anguish leave Leofric’s eyes, and reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. For some reason it moved him greatly to see Leofric as he been in these last few minutes. It had been like seeing a ghost from his childhood. For a few moments, in his fear and worry for Finan, Leofric had been the lonely little boy that Rand remembered arriving at Valrek.
When Rand had left, Leofric had still been a small boy full of mischief and fun. That boy had grown to be a man, and it had shaken Rand to see the bitter hate and vengeance that had filled Leofric’s face as he had emerged from the mist at the head of Valrek’s men. Never had he thought to see his youngest foster brother in the grip of such emotions, they seemed so foreign to Leofric’s character.
It made Rand realise, for the first time, that there was much he did not know of the men whom he had once called brothers. They had known each other so long ago and much had occurred to change them, just as the intervening years had altered him.
“Doe
s Rafe know?”
Leofric shook his head.
“There was no time to wake him.” He moved forward to kneel by Finan’s inert form, shoulders slumped, and the hands he reached out to his friend shook. “Now I am almost afraid to.”
Rand kept silent as he moved a chair beside the fire, turning it so that it faced Leofric and Finan. For a moment he watched Leofric’s anxiety in silence, his own brow creased in thought.
“Fricka, why would Lord Merrodon wish to harm Finan?” he asked at length.
“That was not his aim.”
“I do not understand.”
“’Tis... difficult to explain.” Leofric scratched his head. “Lord Merrodon has been led to believe that Finan is Rafe.”
“Why?” asked Rand, astonished.
Leofric sighed, pushing a hand through his red hair in agitation, and causing the curls to stand out wildly from his head. Rand was struck by an odd feeling of nostalgia, for it was a gesture he remembered well.
“Because Rafe took it into his head that Lady Adele was still in danger. He wished to escort her to Valrek in secrecy, to ensure she would remain safe. He reasoned that if he were known to be here, then no one would expect Lady Adele to be moved.”
Rand was silent as he absorbed this information.
“I see: in order for the deception to work Finan had to be Rafe,” Rand was thoughtful for a moment. “But I do not see why Rafe had to become Finan.”
“I do not think he cared who he became, he only wished to be anyone but Rafe of Valrek.”
“Why?”
Leofric raised his eyebrows.
“Come, Rand; it was a while ago, but surely you remember Rafe’s pride?”
Of course Rand recalled how proud Rafe had always been. Some of his best qualities arose from the pride he had in his family name, from the fact that he sprang from a long line of men who had cared for their people and been loyal to their king.
“He wished her to see him for himself, to like or dislike him for who he was, not for what he had done for her. After your father…” Leofric paused, hesitating and began over. “When Lady Adele found herself in a difficult position, Lord Brogan felt it to be his, and consequently Rafe’s, place to protect her. That was how the betrothal came about. Lord Brogan and Rafe talked it through and decided that it was the best way.”
“The best way?” questioned Rand. “But not the only way?”
“No, not the only way. My father offered her a place in his house as my wife, and I believe that Lord Kyule offered for her too. Lord Brogan refused however. I do not know why, but he seemed to think Lady Adele the responsibility of the House of Valrek.”
“And Rafe? What did he think?”
Leofric met Rand’s eyes gravely.
“He knew his father to be right, but for a long time he was uncomfortable with it. Not so much at first, but later.”
“Ah… I see,” Rand smiled a little. “And yet from what I remember of Rafe he did not seem as though he would become terribly susceptible to fair maids.”
“You mistake my meaning. It was not that, it was more that she brought back the memory of Calis,” Leofric paused thoughtfully. “To be honest I think his fear was as much for her as himself. He has never been one to seek out feminine company, and I believe he worried that Lady Adele would not be happy.”
For a moment there was an uncomfortable silence as both men realised how intimate and unrestrained their conversation had been. It was Rand who broke it, smiling awkwardly.
“Who would have believed that little Fricka would have grown to be so wise and perspicacious?”
“Who would have guessed how good it would be to hear you call me ‘little Fricka’ again after so many years? Just like old times,” returned Leofric, smiling faintly.
Rand’s face shuttered up suddenly. It was not the first time that Leofric had seen it happen, and it was strange to him. Rand had always been open and earnest, incapable of even the smallest deception. Ever since he had re-entered their lives Leofric had seen that the openness was gone. Now Rand controlled that which others saw of him. Rand’s eyes met his, and Leofric was startled by the coldness in their depths.
“Let us be honest, Leofric, it will never be how it once was.”
Chapter Twenty One