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Friend Or Foe?
The officer in charge of Adelina’s guard set a brisk pace, calling a halt to feed and water the horses and the mule every hour or so. She and her maid appreciated the opportunity to dismount and see to personal needs.
They entered a village at dusk, just in time to see merchants closing up their stalls at what appeared to be a fairly large market for such a small place. “I wonder where we are?” Adelina mused aloud.
Glenda merely shrugged as she dismounted.
It was too much to hope some gallant soldier would help her dismount, so Adelina slid off her horse, gripping the saddle when her knees threatened to buckle.
If they traveled the same distance every day, she’d be a wreck by the time they arrived—if she made it all the way to Cumbria. Not that she cared. The only thing keeping her from shrieking like a madwoman was the promise contained in the note she’d received.
Soon the local folks were nowhere to be seen. Four of the soldiers in her escort set about pitching tents dragged off the cart. One busied himself unloading pots, water-skins and sundry other items, all the while coaxing a campfire to life. Two disappeared, probably to hunt or pillage food. Since the men were part of King John’s army, Adelina deemed the latter more likely. It wasn’t surprising the locals had disappeared quickly upon the troop’s arrival.
To her surprise, the officer left off supervising his men and approached her. “Lady de Quincey,” he said with unexpected courtesy, though he failed to bow. “You and your maid may take the first bell tent as soon as it’s erected. A meal will be brought. I would ask you not to wander about in these unknown parts.”
In other words, she was confined to the tent which was beginning to take the shape of an inverted bell.
“What about our personal needs?” she asked, embarrassed she was obliged to pose such a question to man she didn’t know.
It was too dark to tell, but she sensed he was blushing when he cleared his throat. “You’ve been provided with a chamberpot,” he said.
A chamberpot! Not even the luxury of privacy from the maid. Exasperated, she demanded, “Where exactly are we?”
“Leeston, my lady,” he replied. “A market town since the time of the Conqueror.”
“And your name?”
“Mandeville, my lady,” he replied, bowing for the first time. “Major Harcourt Mandeville, of the Sussex Mandevilles.”
As a native of Sussex herself, Adelina recognized the name, but was unacquainted with the family. “I should be flattered the king has provided a high ranking officer as my guard,” she said, watching Glenda scurry into the tent followed by a soldier carrying Adelina’s trunk.
She assumed all of the maid’s belongings were in the battered leather satchel slung across her body.
“I am your escort, my lady, not your guard. I bid you goodnight,” he replied curtly. “We depart at dawn on the morrow.”
He strode off to enter the second bell tent. The remaining soldiers, except the one she assumed was the cook, finished setting up the third tent then disappeared inside.
Pondering the major’s assertion, Adelina entered her assigned tent. Was Mandeville friend or foe? The same uncertainty shrouded Glenda who stood with legs braced and hands on hips, her face a mask of fury. “Not even a bedroll, nor furs to keep us warm,” she hissed. “We’ll see about that.”
She nigh on flew out of the tent, seemingly intent on haranguing the soldiers. Her strident voice soon drifted to Adelina’s ears. She pitied the man who thought to argue with the harridan.
Five minutes later, Glenda returned carrying a bundle of furs which she spread out on the bare ground. It wasn’t what Adelina was used to, but it was better than nothing. Perhaps Glenda was an ally after all.
* * *
“We’re following the northern coast of the Cotentin,” Roland explained to Terric, keeping a close eye on the cousin who stood beside him at the stern of the galley. Terric wanted to learn how to steer, and was so far doing a creditable job of it. “Once we get to the tip of the peninsula, it becomes more tricky.”
“How so?”
“The island of Auregnais lies only ten miles off the tip, right in our path. King John has lost Normandie, but still holds the islands in the Narrow Sea. Auregnais is the most northerly. It’s largely uninhabited, but John may have fortified it since it’s so close to the coast of Normandie.”
“We’ll go around then,” Terric replied.
Roland nodded. “We have a choice. We can go further north where we risk encountering English patrols, or we can run L’Raz.”
Terric frowned. “Sorry, I’m not familiar with it.”
“The channel between Auregnais and the Cotentin is known as The Race,” Roland explained, his Viking blood already heated by the prospect of challenging the treacherous currents in the narrow strait. “When the wind and the current flow in opposite directions, waves can be as high as the walls of Montbryce. On the other hand, when the wind and the stream flow in the same direction, the sea becomes calm. We won’t know which is the case until we are in the strait.”
