Immortal Warrior Read online

  “’Tisn’t nonsense,” blurted Wat, adding, “My lord.”

  “You are a believer, Reeve?” asked Ivo, and at his nod, “Then you tell it.”

  “But my lord …” began Geoffrey.

  “No hurt can come from listening,” said Ivo. “Go on, Wat.”

  Looking as though he wished he’d kept his mouth shut once more, Wat glanced toward Oswald, who gave him a nod. The reeve still hesitated. “I do not like to tell it, my lord. My pap would hardly speak of it, for fear that speaking would raise the evil.”

  “It never rose when Bôte told me the story,” said Alaida. “Pray, tell it for my amusement, Wat, if for nothing else. It is a good tale, and I have not heard it in years.”

  “But my lady …”

  Ivo leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out, hooking one foot over the other. “This would be the time to talk, Reeve.”

  Wat turned red beneath his bruises, making him look like an overripe plum. “Aye, my lord.” Giving a nod to Alaida, he began. “There was a great and awful beast, my lord, in the old days before the time of King Alfred.”

  “What sort of beast?”

  “I do not know, my lord, but it was said to be fearsome, a she-beast that wrought its evil over the whole of the kingdom, until a hero, a brave knight named Sir Egbert, came riding out of the north upon a winged horse. He found the beast and did battle with it and struck it down. Aye, he ripped the heart from its very chest—and yet the beast lived.”

  Despite his reticence, Wat had quickly fallen into the rhythm of his story. Ivo was reminded of the old days, listening to Ari spin tales around the fire. He caught Brand glancing up at the raven on its perch and saw the same memory reflected in his friend’s eyes.

  “The beast rose up and ran off, and Sir Egbert chased it up hill and down dene, all over the land, until it found a great hole and hid itself,” continued Wat. “When Sir Egbert saw he had the beast trapped, he pushed a great rock into the hole, so huge that no other man would ever be able to move it, and he marked it with signs so that no man would ever try.”

  “The standing stone,” volunteered Alaida. “I have seen the markings myself.” Eyes dancing with enjoyment, she put aside her needle and came to take her chair, and even though Ivo knew she did so only to better hear, having her by his side of her own will pleased him. “I have long thought the beast must have been a great dragon. An immense red dragon with eyes of amber fire. Beautiful, but deadly, as a she-beast should be.”

  She was having fun with Wat, who responded in kind.

  “Perhaps it was, my lady, or perhaps not, but whatever sort of creature it was, its heart still beat in Sir Egbert’s hand. He threw it, intending to hurl it into the sea for the fishes to eat.” Here, Wat acted out his words, heaving an invisible heart toward a distant ocean. “But it fell short and landed in Alnwick, which was barely a vill then. Where it landed, it left a deep hole, and at the bottom of the hole, a spring rose up, so sweet and pure that a well was built to catch its waters. Sir Egbert was named champion and the people heaped gold and silver on him, and the lord here-abouts, whose name was Bisbright, gave him his daughter for wife. Sir Egbert put her before him on his winged horse and carried her away to his own land.”

  “Man after my own heart,” said Brand. “Slay the enemy, ride off with the woman.”

  Everyone laughed at this, and Wat waited for the merriment to die down before he went on.

  “All was well until the next new moon. Then the hill of Alnwick began to tremble and the well to make strange noises. The people cowered in terror and cried out for their lord to save them. When Lord Bisbright saw what was happening, he sent a priest up the hill to pray for relief, but the priest was a craven man without true faith, and he came down white with fear and ran away.

  “Then Lord Bisbright sent for a wise woman, a healer of the old ways who lived in the forest nearby. She stayed upon the hill for three days and three nights, and when at last she came back down, she told Lord Bisbright that the beast had crawled through the earth in search of its heart, all the way from the hole where it had gone to ground, and had come up within the hill. The woman said Alnwick would be safe only if Lord Bisbright built his manor on the place where she touched her staff to the ground—here, that is—to defend the well and keep the beast at bay. She warned that if the beast ever joined with its heart again, it would come back to life more powerful and evil than ever.

  “So Lord Bisbright founded his hall upon the very spot, and he made a covenant with the villagers to keep the well and to protect them from the beast, and they promised to serve him faithfully so long as he did so. When the beast found she could not reach her heart, she settled down to wait.

  “And there she still lies,” finished Wat, “curled up within the hill, sleeping until the day when men forget and she can awaken and reclaim what is hers.”

  The room was silent for a long moment, even Alaida subdued by the dark magic of the ending.

  “Well told, Wat,” said Ivo finally. “Well told, indeed—but how much is truth?”

  “It is what my father told me, and his father told him, and his father before that.”

  “A peasant’s tale,” scoffed Geoff.

  “We already know your thoughts, Steward,” said Ivo. “What of you, Oswald? You say you’ve seen and heard enough to make you believe.”

  “Perhaps believe is too strong a word, my lord, but I wonder, at the least. I heard the story years ago and never gave it weight, but then one midnight, I grew thirsty and went out to draw myself a drink, and …” The marshal hesitated, scratching at his grizzled chin.

  “What?”

  “I am unsure, my lord. I heard something in the well—a deep drumming, like. Shh-thump … Shh-thump …” He sounded the beats slowly, dragging out the long pauses between, then shook his head. “I would not credit it, had I not heard it for myself.”

  “And do not forget the hill,” said Wat. “There’s certain places on it as you can hear the beast breathing.”

  Ivo looked to Oswald.

  “I have heard that as well,” admitted the marshal a little sheepishly. “Or at the least some noise that sounds like a great animal breathing. I’m no longer certain.”

  “What of the rest of the villagers?” Ivo asked Wat.

  “They are like those of us here, my lord: some believe, some do not, some are unsure,” said Wat. “Those who do believe fear that building on the hilltop might waken the beast, and that there would then be no manor to stand guard on the well. And even those who don’t believe ask if the new lord of Alnwick intends to break the ancient covenant.”

  “There is no record of such a covenant, my lord,” said Geoffrey.

  “Just because it is not written in your Latin letters does not mean it doesn’t exist,” said Brand. “I have heard stranger tales than this that proved true.”

  “As have we all,” said Bôte, echoing Ivo’s thought.

  “Build here, my lord,” urged Oswald. “Use the manor yard as bailey. Guard the well and keep the freemen of Alnwick content. ’Tis a simple enough thing.”

  “How content would they be if the castle were built only to fall to Donald Bane or whoever comes after him?” asked Ivo. “Malcolm was killed barely a league from Alnwick’s gate. The Scots will be back sooner or later, and building on this spot leaves the highest ground to the enemy.”

  “In all the years the Scots have ridden on Alnwick, not once have they kept to the hill past one day,” said Oswald. “They ride up, but when the next morning comes, they’ve abandoned it. Something drives them off during the night.”

  “The beast’s foul breath,” muttered Bôte. Alaida hushed her.

  “No, let her speak,” said Ivo. “You’re the oldest here, Bôte. What do you know of the monster?”

  “No more than Wat, my lord. As my lady said, I told the story to keep her away from the well as a bairn—but I do believe it.”

  “Then what of this covenant between manor and village?
”

  “I have heard that Lord Gilbert affirmed it when he first took lordship of Alnwick, but I wasn’t there to see it.”

  “Because it did not happen,” said Geoffrey.

  “Your sureness confounds me, Steward, considering you weren’t present either,” said Alaida. “You are neither that old nor Alnwick-born—even I recall when you first came to us.”

  “True, my lady, but over the years I have examined every record. There is no mention of any covenant regarding the well.”

  “Perhaps the previous stewards were not as careful as you.” Ivo turned to Wat. “Who are the oldest men of the village?”

  “Céolsige, who lives by the meadow, my lord, and Drogo the Blind.”

  “Bring them on the morrow to speak with the seneschal about what happened in Lord Gilbert’s day. They will swear on the Gospel book and you and two other freemen of your choice will be witness to what they say.” Ivo gave Geoff a hard look. “And this time it will be recorded, whatever is said.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Geoffrey and Wat together.

  “I must consider all of this. It is not a decision to be made lightly or without all the facts.” Ivo pushed to his feet and the manor men rose with him. “For tonight, though, I give you all thanks for speaking your thoughts. Geoffrey, what do we usually pay to a jongleur for an evening’s entertainment?”

  “Board and bed and two deniers, my lord.”

  “Then see similar value is given to the reeve in seed of his choice, for tonight he played jongleur and did it well.”

  “No need for that, my lord,” said Wat.

  “Take it, Wat, for you not only gave me valuable information, you made my lady smile. That is worth a great deal to me, as is a good reeve.”

  “Then my thanks, my lord. I am not entirely a fool.” Wat grinned so wide his lip split afresh. He dabbed the blood off on his sleeve, but the grin remained as he headed downstairs behind Geoff. As the door shut behind them, Ivo glimpsed Oswald clapping him on the shoulder. There was one mistake repaired.

  The other was watching him in that guarded way of hers. He chose to ignore her for the moment. “Some chess, Brand?”

  “Only if your lady will aid me. I’m still no good at the game.”

  “Of course, messire.” Alaida rose and signaled Bôte and Hadwisa to move the chess table into position. “Though Oswald told me you beat him all on your own last night.”

  “Only by chance, my lady. I blundered into his king without realizing it.”

  “Then let us see if we can improve your blundering.” She began setting up the game. Ivo didn’t help: seeing her handle the pieces was already enough to throw him back into that foul night, both the good and the bad of it. He studied the toes of his boots until she had finished, then took his place as Alaida settled in near Brand.

  They were well into the game before Ivo broached the subject. “So, what do you think?”

  “It goes against all I know of war to set a fortress at the base of a hill,” said Brand.

  “Aye.” Ivo touched a finger to his queen’s knight, then reconsidered and moved the neighboring rook instead. “And yet the manor has long survived here. What about you, my lady? You’ve said nothing about the castle, though I suspect your interest runs deeper than bloodred dragons with eyes of amber fire.”

  His attempt to make her smile failed miserably. She nodded to Brand as he reached for a pawn, then looked up at Ivo with infuriating blandness. “’Tis your decision to make, monseigneur, not mine.”

  “It may come down to you to defend the castle in my absence. Where would you rather it be?”

  “The hilltop would be easier to defend but it is too far from the village. If the Scots came on us suddenly, the people would not make the safety of the walls. And there is the problem of water.”

  “Ari suggests a cistern to catch rain.”

  “Even in our wettest years, it would run dry with the village and an army and all its horses drinking from it. The Scots could wait us out, drinking from our good well as we shrivel up like last year’s apples.”

  “There are no springs or seeps on the mount at all?”

  “None that I know. Bôte once said the dragon’s fire must have dried up all the water.”

  The nurse chuckled over her stitching. “You had barely four years on you when I said that, my lady. How do you recall such things?”

  “My lady wife is quick, Nurse, as you should well know.”

  “Aye, m’lord, quick to learn, quick to anger, and to all our fortune, quick to forgive—except when she isn’t. Then she is stubborn and slow to forget what you wish she would.”

  “So I’m learning.” Ignoring yet another sour look from his wife, Ivo jumped his knight onto the bishop Brand had brought out. “Check and mate.”

  Alaida sat up, startled out of her snit. She studied the board with Brand. “My apologies, messire. I fear I have been the one to blunder this time. I should have seen that knight riding down on you.”

  Grunting, Brand tipped his king on its side and reached for his ale. “As should I. Perhaps I should play merels instead.”

  “And perhaps I should join you,” said Alaida. “I clearly have no head for chess tonight.”

  “Do not give up so quickly, wife,” said Ivo. He began resetting the board. “Take Brand’s place. He can play merels with Bôte.”

  “I would prefer not, monseigneur.”

  Ivo merely smiled and motioned for her to take the white. Her huff was audible and Brand’s warning look dour as he moved her chair into position.

  “You cannot force me to play,” she muttered when Brand moved off to challenge Bôte.

  “True. Here.” He handed her the white bishop he’d taken.

  “I will lose quickly and go back to my stitching.” She set the bishop in place and handed him the black pawns Brand had captured.

  “All right.” He lined up his pawns. “You start.”

  She pursed her lips stubbornly and pushed a pawn out. He did the same, then proceded to mirror every move she made, refusing to take a single piece, even when she offered her queen for sacrifice.

  She glared at his similarly proffered queen as though it were an insult. “You play better than this, my lord.”

  “God’s toes, I do hope so.”

  Arching one eyebrow, she looked him over like a horse she was buying. “What are you up to?”

  “Making the game last longer.”

  “Why do you want it to?”

  “I have made peace with Wat. I wish to do the same with you.”

  “I do not trade my goodwill for a measure of seed.” She realized the double meaning of what she’d said and clarified, “Grain.”

  “Neither does Wat.” Ivo let her mistake pass without comment—difficult when she was blushing so temptingly—and started moving the chessmen back to their starting positions. “We both exceeded our bounds. He paid with his lip. I paid tonight with seed and a good word before the steward who is his superior and the marshal who is his friend. We are back to a proper balance as lord and reeve. Now we will set about earning each other’s trust once more.”

  “I doubt it is that simple, my lord.”

  “It is, and it must be, lest every misstep bring down all. Wat and I understand that. He’s content with how things now lie. You saw his smile.”

  “He smiled because you gave him seed.”

  “He smiled because I gave him his due.” Something he owed her as well, though he couldn’t yet see how to give it. “Your move.”

  She looked at him thoughtfully, then pushed out the same pawn she had the last game. He responded with more reasoned tactics, and they played in silence for a while. It quickly became clear she was playing seriously this time—she soon captured both of his castles and threatened his queen. Ivo put his full attention on the game and managed to fend her off for a dozen moves, but she eventually backed his king into a corner.

  “Check and mate, my lord.” She rose, done with him now that she�
��d beaten him.

  “One more,” he insisted. “Sit.”

  With a purpose in mind, Ivo played the third game even more deliberately, dragging it out until her eyelids drooped and she began to stifle yawns behind her hand. Then he kept her at the board a little longer yet, making sure she was truly exhausted and ready for sleep—and that he was ready as well.

  Finally a man came in to bank the fire. As he left, Ivo rose and stepped around the table to take Alaida’s hand. “We will finish tomorrow. It is time to retire.”

  Her eyes flared at this, whether from anticipation or anger, Ivo wasn’t certain—not that it mattered. He was not bedding her—and so he reminded himself several times as he handed her over to her women.

  Brand rose and took the raven off his perch. At the door, he turned and gave Ivo a hard look. “Are you certain of this?” he mouthed in Norse.

  Ivo nodded once, and answered aloud in French. “I will see you in the morning.”

  “Mmm,” said Brand doubtfully. He dipped his head to Alaida, “Good night, my lady.”

  “God’s rest, messire.”

  The door shut, leaving Ivo to deal with the sight of Bôte and Hadwisa stripping his wife. It conjured up his wedding night, but this time he could not permit himself to grow excited.

  He did all right, too, until they started brushing out her plaits. Then the sudden memory of how her hair felt spread over his skin sent blood pounding into his groin with such fury, he near groaned. He dropped into his chair, fighting to get his body under control before his reaction became evident to all.

  Curse it, he needed to do this, to pass an occasional night with Alaida in order to keep the talk down. Brand had warned him once more on the way home that it wouldn’t be easy, but no, he’d been sure of himself, confident that all the times he’d found release by his own hand during the past week had blunted his desire. But here he was, the front of his clothes sticking out like he’d shoved a marrowbone down his breeks. He leaned forward to further disguise his state while the women finished with Alaida. The bed creaked as she crawled in, setting off visions of her naked in the bed, followed by another rush of arousal.

  Her women left, and it was just him and Alaida and a mad desire to bury himself in her no matter what the consequences. She lay in bed staring up at the draperies as if she were trying to decide something, then rolled to her side and rose up on one elbow.