CHAPTER V

Bradgate Manor nestled among the Midland hills like a pearl in a shell. Elizabeth Woodville waited impatiently in its great room to say some precious last words to her husband before his long journey. Sir John Grey had been summoned to York by the queen. The Greys were faithful supporters of the dynasty, having fought for the Lancastrians in France and at home generations before that. Elizabeth’s mother, the dowager duchess of Bedford, was one of the preeminent ladies of the peerage, her late husband having been an uncle to the king. And since the duchess was French by birth, she was a favorite of Queen Margaret.

“There you are, my love,” Sir John said as he entered the room from the great hall beyond. Elizabeth turned from the window and smiled at her husband. They met in the center of the room and embraced passionately, Elizabeth wanting nothing less than to remain here in her husband’s arms, the moment frozen for all time.

“I can’t bear the thought of you leaving again. How is it that Margaret cannot seem to make a move without you?”

He drew apart, if only to catch his breath. She was a woman of surpassing beauty, with golden blond hair and eyes of deep blue shrouded by long lashes that swept up from her lids and gave her a sleepy, intoxicating appearance.

“I should have left you a note and taken my leave through the back door,” he said with a sigh, kissing her again.

“And not had a final embrace to see you on your way? You wouldn’t have made it past the first oak.” Sir John knew she spoke the truth.

“Nevertheless,” he said with a sigh, stroking her hair, “I must leave presently. When we have put down this rebellion, we’ll take the children and visit the court in London. Would you like that?” He did not have to ask. London was an enchanted place for Elizabeth, where she had spent several years in the service of the queen

“Then come home soon, my love, because I can’t abide the thought of waiting long.”

At that moment, Sir John saw several horsemen coming around the last bend of the drive toward the manor. “Riders coming,” he said as he separated himself from his wife. “Were you expecting anyone?”

Elizabeth shook her head no, and they both went up to the windows to get a better look. As the riders slowly came toward the entryway, Elizabeth recognized them and began to run to the front entrance. “It’s my father and brother!”

The servants of the household began to scurry about, preparing to receive the guests. The steward, Arthur, quickstepped to the front entry, trying to arrive at the door before Elizabeth.

Having just barely beat her, he opened the double doors as the riders were dismounting. Elizabeth’s father, Lord Rivers, and her brother, Anthony, Lord Scales, were accompanied by a handful of knights and retainers, wearing chain mail over their jerkins.

“Father!” Elizabeth ran to embrace him.

“Child, it’s always my greatest joy to see you,” Rivers embraced her tightly.

“We didn’t expect you,” she said without thinking. Suddenly, she pulled away and looked at her father with concern. “Is there anything wrong?”

“Nothing that an end to this rebellion will not cure. We’ve been summoned to York, same as your good husband.” He took Sir John’s hand.

“How did you know that I had been summoned as well?” Sir John asked.

“The same post that stopped here came to Grafton first. He told me you had been summoned as well, and we thought to accompany you to York since there’s safety in numbers these days. And I wanted to see my daughter again.”

Sir John put his arm around Anthony. “You are both most welcome. Please come in. We’ll have a drink before we take to the road.”

The house staff attended to their knights and horses, while the Woodvilles settled into the warm surroundings of the front sitting room.

“Is mother well?” Elizabeth asked.

“She is well and sends her love,” said Rivers. “She hopes you will visit while we’re away on these civil matters.”

“I’ll call on her if I can, but I had hoped that John would not be gone too long this time.” The steward came in and served wine in silver goblets, then stood off against a wall waiting to refill glasses as they drank.

Rivers told the family all of the news from the battles that had recently torn the kingdom apart. It was a time of great danger, he said, and neither side seemed to be able to gain a significant advantage.

Elizabeth asked quietly, “What would happen to our family if the Yorkists were to prevail?”

There was a brief silence. Finally, Anthony stood, walked to the great windows.

“We would survive,” he said. “We would do whatever needed to be done, as we always have.”

Such determination had run in her family, man and woman alike, for generations, and at this delicate moment she knew it was time to be strong again. She took up her glass and raised it before her kin.

“To the Woodvilles! God keep us and give us the will to be strong.”

They all slowly raised their cups in stern agreement. “And let no one come between us,” added Anthony. They all emptied their glasses.

“Come,” said Rivers. “It’s time we were on our way.”

*

Hastings had become impatient with Edward, who, instead of taking his advice seriously, was thinking about the New Year’s celebrations. They had spent Christmas in Gloucester, having raised all the troops he thought possible. The preparations were all made for the trip to Sandal Castle, and now Edward felt he deserved some recreation. But the Earl of Pembroke was in the area with an army loyal to the queen, and Hastings though it urgent that they keep them from joining her forces. Instead, Edward was arguing with a local merchant over how many casks of French wine he could deliver by the next day.

“My men would riot if we had only ten casks,” Edward chided the wineseller. “We need at least twenty or we’ll have angry half-drunk soldiers turning the town inside out for more. Is that what you want?”

“My lord, I shall use all the resources available to me, but I have not been able to locate any more.”

“I know you’ll do your best,” he said, and with a wave of his hand dismissed the man, who was thinking as he left the room that it might prove wiser to gather his family and leave town than to try to create ten casks of wine where none existed.

Edward looked over to Hastings and noted his scowl. They were both seated at a table in the great hall of a townhome that belonged to the Earl of Pembroke. Edward had thought it only appropriate to accept Pembroke’s hospitality while he was off gathering troops for the queen. Clearly, since Pembroke’s servants could not be trusted, he had dismissed them all and substituted his own. Now he felt comfortable for the first time since he had left Baynards Castle. A fire was lit in the stone hearth, radiating heat into the chilly marble-floored room hung with mounted stags’ heads.

“Come, William, I promise we’ll bend all our efforts to dispatching Pembroke tomorrow. But for now, forget these cares. They are making you melancholy.”

“As you wish, my lord, but I urge you to keep your troops from celebrating too much. They will have to be ready to march in two days’ time.”

As Hastings spoke there was a loud knock on the door. The sentry stepped in, waiting to be recognized.

“Yes, what is it?” asked Edward.

“My lord,” he said in an unreasonably loud voice, “a post has arrived from York and wishes to be admitted urgently.”

“Let him pass,” answered Edward uneasily. Why would there be an urgent message from his father? The last he heard, they were safely ensconced in Sandal and awaiting his arrival. The messenger came in, a small man with a red face, clearly out of breath, eyes on the floor as he entered.

“My lord, I beg you give me leave to speak, for my news is grave indeed.”

“You have no need to fear me if you deliver your news truly.”

“Your father, the Duke of York, and his army are destroyed!”

Edward staggered and fell back into his seat. Hastings, seeing that the earl was too stunned to speak, interposed himself.

“Destroyed in what fashion? Speak quickly, man!”

“My lord, Sandal Castle was beset by the queen’s army under Lord Clifford. When the duke issued forth to meet them, they were routed.”

“Issued forth?” Hastings was incredulous. “Why would they leave Sandal, you fool! If you speak falsely, I’ll feed your tongue to the swine.”

“My lord, I saw the results of the battle myself. As God is my witness, it occurred as I have said.”

“My father and brother. What news of them?” Edward’s voice was barely audible from where he sat, still dazed. Somewhere he found the courage to hear the answer that he dreaded. The messenger lowered his eyes, loath to be the instrument of such pain.

“Their heads look down on the town of York from the Micklegate Bar, my lord. Forgive me.”

Edward’s body slumped at the news. Hastings interceded.

“Leave us,” he said abruptly. “I’ll take the rest of your report presently.” The messenger stood to leave, bowing deeply, grateful to be relieved of this duty.

When he had gone, Hastings sat with Edward in silence trying to think of words that would give the earl comfort. Some things, he knew, were simply beyond human capacity. It was Edward who broke the silence.

“William, gather the troops and ready them.” It had taken a great deal of effort to say the words without faltering. He stopped to clear his throat, and Hastings could see that anger began to possess his young friend. “Send out the scouts. I want confirmation of Pembroke’s whereabouts in three days’ time. And send a post to the Earl of Warwick in London. Commend me to my cousin and tell him that we seek to join our commands in London after we have dealt with Pembroke.” Edward rose from his chair. He put both hands on the table, leaning heavily on it for support. “My father’s death will not be in vain, William. I swear it.”

The loss of York’s army at Wakefield, Hastings knew, would deal a severe blow to any hopes that Edward would fulfill his father’s dream of seizing the crown. More personally, if King Henry were to regain his throne, all of the Yorkists would be branded traitors, and the queen would not rest until they were hunted down to the last man. Making quick contact with Warwick in London was imperative, as the Yorkist hopes now lay squarely on his powerful shoulders. Using his vast resources, it may yet be possible to stop the queen before she could retake London and free the king.

“I’ll see to those tasks personally, my lord,” he said firmly.

“Go now, William. We must move with great haste. The queen is undoubtedly already on her way to London.”

Hastings bowed his head and made to leave. At the door, he hesitated. “My lord, I grieve for your loss.”

Edward, his back to his friend, slumped against the table and said nothing. Hastings quickly left the room and closed the doors securely behind him. Inside, Edward’s childhood memories of life with Edmund at Ludlow filled his mind, and he was seized by uncontrollable sobs.

*

When the Earl of Warwick heard of the disaster at Wakefield, he wasted no time gathering his forces. As the dead duke’s most powerful ally, he knew he was the queen’s next target. His most urgent task now was to secure the City of London. It was fortunate that he already had many troops in the city, the remnants of his victorious Northampton army, but the citizens were growing restless and it was all he could do to keep order. He had already sent to his friends in the eastern counties for fresh troops. It had also been fortunate for Warwick that his brother George, the Bishop of Exeter, had escaped from Sandal Castle; he’d brought a detailed account of the Wakefield debacle in only a few days. Now they sat in one of the spacious halls of Baynards Castle on the Thames.

“I tell you plainly, the roads are still almost impassable,” the bishop was telling his brother. “It was only by God’s good graces and the help of many God-fearing villagers that I was able to get here so soon.”

“Nevertheless,” said Warwick, “you are here, and we will make the most of this information you struggled so hard to provide.” George did not miss the touch of sarcasm in his brother’s voice. “The duke’s stupidity and arrogance cost him his life, but I’ll be damned if I let it cost us. We might still be able to prevail.” He thought for a moment. “In fact, the present situation might prove better for us than before. Edward will turn to us for help — he has no one else — and if we are successful, our influence over the throne will be undeniable.”

“You assume that we can defeat the queen, which has now been made unlikely by the fortunes of the duke,” said George. “She is not a fool. She knows that you are her last real enemy, and she is on her way here, have no doubts about that.”

“She will find me a more able adversary than York proved to be. That, I promise you.”

“We must guard against overconfidence, my brother. You also assume that Edward will be as clay in your hands, to be molded as you like. But once a man has attained power he will resist being controlled. Edward will be no exception.”

“He is young and inexperienced, but he’s intelligent enough to know where his strength lies, and that is with the friendship of the Neville family, as it always has been for the House of York. Fear not, he’ll be ruled by our guidance.”

The bishop contemplated one of the tapestries that adorned the castle walls. The one in this room depicted several holy crusaders as they uncovered the mystical Lance of Christ in Antioch during the first crusade. George imagined himself in that place, enraptured by the power of such a relic. It is said the lance — no more than a rusty bit of metal — was brought into battle by the newly inspired Europeans as they routed the Muslim hordes in battle the very next day. The bishop reluctantly brought himself back to the present, and looked at his brother’s ruddy face.

“I keep wondering about something the young Earl of Rutland told me before his death. Something about making a sacrifice for a cause. At the time, I thought he was referring to his brother, though I’m not sure why.”

Warwick was growing impatient with his brother’s musings. “It’s the dream of all young knights to die for what they believe. He was probably feeling his own mortality before the battle. Such feelings are common among warriors.”

“Perhaps,” said the bishop thoughtfully. “But I don’t think so.”

*

Oliver and Samuel huddled under a yew hedge just outside the first cottage on the road into Northwood. It was a cold night with a damp wind that seeped into their bones and made them shiver. Each breath seem to draw the cold deeper into their bodies as they exhaled uneven puffs of vapor. Three men that Samuel could not recognize in the dark were talking and laughing in the street not more than twenty paces from where they concealed themselves. Unwilling to risk being recognized, Samuel had no choice but to wait until they had gone. A far cry, he thought, from the send-off that he was given when he last stood near this place.

Since the nightmare at Wakefield bridge, Oliver had said almost nothing, responding only to direct questions. Samuel feared that Oliver had lost his will to live when he saw his master slain, and as Samuel had led him gently but urgently away from Wakefield on the road to Northwood, Oliver said only that he must go to his master’s brother, the Earl of March. It seemed to be all that gave him purpose. Samuel had to explain that he did not know where the earl was and that they needed a place to hide for a while, for surely Clifford would be seeking them soon. He also wondered to himself what kind of reception the Earl of March would give to a member of Northumberland’s personal guard.

On the road to Northwood, Oliver had moved as in a trance, offering no conversation as they traveled by night. They had depended on the rations that Samuel carried in his small belt pouch that was part of his battle raiment, meager sustenance for three days of constant walking. They had slept wherever they found shelter along the road. Only his bow and half-full quiver of arrows gave him any comfort.

Now, so close to his father’s house, it was maddening to be forced to wait out in this numbing cold. But this was Northumberland’s village, and it was crucial that they not be discovered, as word would surely get back to the earl.

Finally, the three men walked noisily down the road, past the first turn and out of sight. Samuel helped Oliver up and they stepped out into the open. There were three homes on the east side, each with light spilling out from under the doorjamb, which they avoided by keeping low and staying to the opposite side. Around the first turn, the River Tyne came up to just below the lane. Samuel looked to see where the men had gone but saw no sign of them. They quickly crossed over and went down to the river bank where they could go the rest of the way to the mill house well secluded from view.

As the mill wheel loomed before them in the dark, the two exhausted travelers cautiously made their way around the front of the house, looking carefully toward the street for any movement. Satisfied that there was none, they slipped up to the door and listened intently for voices that did not belong. Samuel was adamant that no one but his family should know of his presence in Northwood. Hearing only a quiet conversation between two people, he decided to risk knocking softly. After a moment’s silence, Samuel heard the door bar slide and the door opened a crack. It was his father.

“Who’s there?” he asked holding a candle over his head.

“Let me in, father.”

“Samuel!” His father swung the door open at the sound of his son’s voice, and shouted excitedly to someone within, “It’s Samuel!”

Samuel ushered Oliver in and closed the door behind. As he looked around, he was relieved to see only his family and no visitors.

Emma and Sally jumped to hug Samuel, and even Christopher came over to give him a quick embrace.

“I didn’t expect you so soon,” he said. “Can the battle be over already?” Seeing his brother’s uneasy looks, he became concerned. “The battle went poorly?”

“Give him a moment,” interrupted Emma, leading Samuel to a chair. “Can’t you see he’s exhausted? You just relax for a bit, Samuel, and I’ll get you some ale.”

“Who’s you friend, Samuel?” his father asked.

“His name is Oliver. He was caught in the middle of the battle and

hasn’t quite recovered his wits yet.” He put his hand on Oliver’s arm and continued. “I couldn’t just leave him there, alone and half out of his mind.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” agreed Sally. “I’ll get you both something to eat.”

Christopher had waited as long as he could for the news. He sat across from Samuel while Sally set out two tankards of ale.

“Let’s have it. What happened out there?”

Samuel could not keep the bitterness out of his voice. “You needn’t worry, brother. We destroyed the rebel duke and left no stone unturned in rooting out all who dared to wear his colors.”

Oliver broke down and began to sob in his hands. Emma, seeing his torment, knew that he needed rest to salve some bitter memory. She and Sally took him gently around the shoulders and led him into the back room.

“What happened to him?” Christopher asked.

“He watched as his master was butchered in cold blood at Wakefield bridge,” Samuel said angrily.

“War is an ugly thing. Who was his master?”

“The Earl of Rutland.”

Christopher’s jaw dropped. “The traitor duke’s son? Then we are well rid of him. I’m surprised that you’d care what became of any member of that family.”

Samuel lost control of his temper. “You’re a fool, Christopher,” he said loudly, “and you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Christopher was taken aback. “You’re as insane as he is.”

John Miller stood between them.

“Let’s not have any more of this.” He took his seat again and looked intently at Samuel. “Now then, I think you had better tell us what happened.”

Samuel was still breathing hard. He took a long pull on his ale. Emma and Sally rejoined them.

“The poor lad was asleep before I could get a blanket on him. Lord in Heaven, Samuel, what happened to you?” asked Emma.

“Jeremy is dead,” his voice cracked and the tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Angels of mercy,” whispered Emma, hands to her heart. John Miller placed his strong hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Tell us what happened if you can,” he said gently.

Samuel needed their understanding more than anything at that moment. Laboriously he recounted the progress of the battle at Wakefield, and finally the horrific murders at the bridge.

“I’m so sorry, Samuel,” said Sally, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

“I grieve for Jeremy, as well,” interjected Christopher. “But why in God’s name would you incur the wrath of a nobleman? It’s not our place to question such people.”

Samuel spoke through clenched teeth. “I did what I had to do.”

“We must make this right,” said John Miller. “Tomorrow at first light I’ll ride with you to York. If the earl is still there, we’ll beg for his mercy and for your reinstatement. We have been loyal subjects. He won’t refuse me.”

“I will not!” Samuel pounded his fist on the table. “I want no part of the House of Lancaster, and I’ll not fight for them.”

Christopher was incredulous. “You must make amends, for all our sakes. Where will you go otherwise?”

“I don’t know.” He was feeling cornered. Getting home had been his only goal, as if he would be secure in the confines of his father’s house.

“You’re a deserter! They’ll hunt you down and punish all of us.”

“Christopher!” It was Emma, panicked by the deadly threat to the family.

“Be quiet, woman.” Christopher strode to the door, overturning his chair as he stood. “Don’t be here when I get back, Samuel, or I’ll turn you in to the earl’s men myself.” Not even stopping to put on a cloak, he stormed from the house.

They sat in stunned silence for a while until John Miller finally spoke.

“We must tell Edith of Jeremy’s death.”

“I’ll go tomorrow and tell her myself.”

“I will go, and you will stay hidden here until we find a better place.”

“But I…”

“You cannot be seen here. I know this is hard, but I fear that the worst is yet to come. Let me tend to Edith. Go now and get some rest if you can.”

Reluctantly, Samuel saw the wisdom in his father’s words and nodded his head.

“And don’t worry about your brother,” John Miller added. “He will not betray you.”

*

Christopher’s threat notwithstanding, Samuel and Oliver would not be able to stay at the mill house. It would not be long before Clifford sent out men to find the deserter. John Miller let them sleep for a few hours while he went to Endstreet to seek out his friend Thomas, who had a storage shed behind his house. It seemed a good place for hiding, secluded in a woods and not visible from the road. Thomas was beholden to the miller for not charging him one year when the crops were poor. The miller’s generosity had allowed him to feed his family that year. But it was not a simple request the Miller made. Most townsmen were loyal to the earl. When he heard that Samuel had deserted, Thomas made it known that he considered his debt fully paid. He also made it clear that while Samuel and Oliver could use the shed, he would not help them in any other way, and would disavow any knowledge of them if they were found.

The Miller knew that Thomas would not betray him, but he understood the conditions. He went back to the mill house and let Samuel and Oliver sleep another hour, then woke them before daybreak. They had to be in Thomas’ shed before first light, or there would be few who were not aware of their presence.

They spent the next day in the shed, resting in solitude. Toward suppertime, Sally brought them some warm bean stew and ale, which she carefully hid in the basket she used to gather berries during the fall. She had insisted on bringing the food herself. She had to see her brother before these ill affairs took him away again. Approaching the shed, she looked quickly over her shoulder, knocked and entered. Samuel and Oliver were lying on the ground covered by a thin wool blanket.

“You’ll catch your deaths on that cold ground!” They both jumped at the sound of her voice, Samuel reaching for his bow.

“Sally, you gave us a scare,” he scolded.

“Look at you,” she said, coming over to hug him. “How could this have happened?” Her eyes were sad above her smile. “Never mind,” she continued, digging the food out of her basket. “At least you’re still alive.”

“Hullo.” Samuel was startled by the sound of his voice. “My name is Oliver.”

“This is my sister, Sally,” said Samuel, happy to hear him speak.

“Pleased,” said Sally shyly. “I know who you are. Samuel told us last night. I was sorry to hear of your misfortunes.”

Oliver’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Thanks,” he said sadly.

They hungrily ate the stew and bread while she sat on a stump of wood. “How long can you stay, Samuel?”

“Maybe another day or two, until we can get our strength back again, but not any longer than that. The longer we stay the more likely the earl will catch up to us.”

“The stew is excellent,” said Oliver. “Did you make it?”

“Yes,” she said, “with some help from Emma,” she added begrudgingly. They ate in silence until Sally turned to Oliver and asked, “Do you have family?”

“No, not really. My parents sold me off a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry. Do you miss them much?”

“Yes,” he answered after a pause. “I suppose that I do. But I’ve learned to live without them. At least I have —” he stopped and put a hand over his eyes.

“Tell me,” Sally urged.

He cleared his throat. “At least I had someone who cared about me. But now—”

“You mean the earl? He meant a great deal to you, didn’t he?”

Oliver could only nod his head. Sally took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze, and Oliver managed a tight smile as he looked at her.

How she had grown, Samuel thought, as he watched Sally and Oliver talk. He regretted that he was missing these years of his sister’s life. He wondered that Christopher could not see how fortunate he was.

“I’d better be getting back home,” said Sally, still holding Oliver’s hand, “before I’m missed.”

“Will you be back?” Oliver asked hopefully.

“Of course. I have to bring your breakfast, don’t I?” she responded with a smile. After gathering up her basket, she gave Samuel a kiss on the cheek and smiled at Oliver, leaving him dreamy-eyed as she walked from the shed. Samuel looked at him for a moment.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

*

As promised, Sally did deliver breakfast the next morning, along with another blanket. This time, saying he had to relieve himself, Samuel left her alone with Oliver in the shed for a while. While outside in the woods, he walked some old, barely recognizable paths he’d walked as a child a hundred times, smelling familiar scents and wondering what had happened to those carefree days. He also noticed that for the first time in a month, there were breaks in the clouds, and the sun was streaking through the openings like gilded shafts. Where a beam lit the woods, the ground shimmered gold.

When he reluctantly returned, Sally and Oliver were holding hands again and giggling over some private joke. It was as if a different person had secreted Oliver away and replaced him in the night. They looked up sheepishly when he entered and Sally withdrew her hand, a little red in the face. Samuel tried not to embarrass her any further.

“How are Father and Emma?” he asked, sitting near her on the ground.

“They’re worried about you, and about Christopher.”

“Christopher is not in trouble with the earl. Why would they be concerned for him?”

“Because he’s torn between two masters, and has lost his way. Can’t you see that?”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Don’t be so hard, Sam. He’s too stubborn to tell you, but he was so proud of you when you left to fight. And you know that he thinks our security is tied to the earl’s fortunes. When you said you wouldn’t support the earl anymore, he was devastated. He didn’t know what he was saying.”

“Oh, I think he knew exactly what he was saying.”

Sally could only sigh. She had done what she could.

“I’d better be going,” she said. “I have a lot of chores that have gone wanting since you got back.” This time she left them both with a kiss, and a lingering smile on Oliver’s face.

As she walked away from the shed, she did not even notice Stephen, the Smith’s son, until she heard him speak from somewhere behind her.

“A little late in the season to be gathering berries, isn’t it?”

Sally jumped as she spun, so taken aback that she forgot all her rehearsed excuses for being near the woods at town’s end.

“Stephen,” she was almost hoarse, “please do not sneak up on me like that again!”

“I was just wondering what you were doing out here,” he said defensively. “I haven’t seen much of you recently.” He came up close to her, but she stepped away.

“I do not have to account for my hours to you, Stephen. And now if you don’t mind, I have chores to do.” She left quickly, leaving him wondering angrily what he had done to deserve such treatment.

*

As Sally sped toward the mill house, the unmistakable sound of large horses galloping into town came from the east side. She watched in panic as six horsemen in mail and helmets passed her and rode toward the church. She ran into the house screaming for her father.

John Miller told Sally to stay at home and then ran to the square, where the townspeople gathered near the church. When he arrived, the riders had dismounted, and he saw that three wore the Earl of Northumberland’s livery. Of those, he recognized the earl’s seneschal, Sir Toby Ridgeway, the overseer of all of the earl’s personal holdings. He did not recognize the badges of the other three riders.

When Sir Toby was satisfied that he had made an auspicious enough entrance, he cleared his throat loudly and boomed:

“We seek a deserter who hails from this town.” That brought the crowd to a buzz. “The deserter’s name,” continued the seneschal, “is Samuel, son of the miller.” The buzz devolved into pandemonium. Everyone knew Samuel and could not believe him capable of such infamy. “If anyone has knowledge of his whereabouts,” screamed Sir Toby over the din, “let him come forward now.”

John Miller made his way forward to the knights. As he did so, many of the villagers looked away. “Sir Toby,” he quaked, “my son has not come home since he left to do the earl’s bidding. This news is a dagger in my heart.” He knelt before the seneschal, afraid that his entire life and all that he and his father had worked for were about to come to naught.

After a particularly pregnant pause, Sir Toby said, “I believe you to be an honest man, John Miller.” He turned to the obvious leader of the other three knights. “Are you satisfied, Sir Hugh?”

Sir Hugh stepped toward John Miller and stared down at him as if he were looking at a spider. A recently made scar marred the left side of his face, disfiguring his mouth into a sinister smile.

“Oh, I trust the miller, Sir Toby,” his voice dripping with sarcasm, “but my orders from Lord Clifford are specific. The town is to be searched.”

“As you wish, Sir Hugh,” said the seneschal reluctantly. “You will all stay here until the search is complete.”

“I’ll start with the miller’s house. The rest of you start with the east end of town and meet back here,” Sir Hugh instructed his men.

John Miller was blind with fear, not only at the thought of Samuel being discovered.

As the riders went off to their assignments, a rare insight occurred to Stephen, the smith’s son.

*

Emma and Sally huddled in a corner as Sir Hugh tossed tables and chairs around and ripped down door covers. When finally it became clear that his quarry was not anywhere to be found, he walked slowly to the women and pinned them both against the wall.

“I think you both know where the wretched deserter is. Now why don’t you tell me?”

As strong-willed and defiant as Emma could be, the sight of this man with his leering smile filled her with dread, and Sally was simply too frightened to speak.

“We have no knowledge, sir,” Emma was finally able to whisper.

For that answer, Sir Hugh sent her sprawling across the floor with the back of his hand. Sally screamed but could not break free of Sir Hugh’s grip. Emma lay still on the floor.

“Now will you tell me where he is?” he said, putting his face closer to Sally’s with each word. She could only look at him in terror, as words were simply not possible.

“Sir Hugh?” a voice came from the door.

He looked angrily to see who had interrupted his interrogation. Sir Toby was standing just inside the door, regarding Emma with obvious disapproval.

“Yes, what is it?” Sir Hugh was clearly annoyed.

“The men think that they may have found something.”

“Very well,” he said, then turned back to Sally. “We’ll continue our discussion later.” Releasing her roughly, he left the house with Sir Toby.

Sally ran to Emma and tried to support her as she struggled to shake the dizziness out of her head. Within a few more minutes, John Miller and Christopher came running up to the mill house. Christopher shouted Emma’s name and ran to her.

“What happened?” He was almost hysterical. Emma struggled to her feet with support from her husband and managed to sit up in a chair. She surveyed the damage to her home and tears welled in her eyes.

“This is Samuel’s fault,” spat Christopher, gritting his teeth. “I’m going to tell them where he is.”

Sally grabbed her brother’s arm. “No, you can’t!”

Christopher shook himself loose. “How can you still defend him? Look at what he’s done to Emma,” his voice broke as he said his wife’s name.

“You will not betray your brother,” John Miller said. Christopher stormed from the house.

“Father, stop him, please,” cried Sally. John Miller put his arms around his daughter and gently stroked her hair.

“Your faith must be strong, daughter. In the end, it’s the only thing we truly possess.”

*

At the first sound of the horsemen riding into town, Samuel and Oliver gathered up their few belongings, tried to erase any sign of their presence, and went into the woods to a place that Samuel remembered from his youth. Samuel had seen the livery of Lord Clifford on three of the riders and knew that capture meant certain execution for them both.

Samuel remembered a pair of large boulders between which a small cave had been worn away by a stream over centuries. The cave was secluded behind one of the boulders and made a good hiding place. While the two of them were quite cramped, it would do until sunset.

*

As the last light faded over Northwood, Stephen, the smith’s son, waited at the river just below the mill. He knew that Sally always came out for the evening’s supply of water about this time. When the door finally opened, he watched as Sally came down the path with her bucket. When she was several steps from his hiding place behind a large willow, he stepped out.

“We meet again.” Sally, who had already withstood enough horrors for one day, jumped at the sound and clutched at her breast. Stephen was immediately sorry that he had surprised her so. “I’m sorry, Sally, I really didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Stephen? How dare you sneak up on me?”

“I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” She grabbed her bucket and proceeded to the river bank for the water, knees still weak and wobbling.

“I want you to marry me.”

Sally could not find words to respond. She was furious with Stephen for behaving so oddly, and for being so insensitive to what she had been through that day. On any other day she might have been delighted with his offer of marriage, but at this moment she did not even want to speak with him, much less discuss the possibility of spending their lives together.

“Have you taken leave of your wits? Can’t you see what’s happening to my family?”

“I think that given your brother’s behavior, you’d be better off as my wife.”

Sally was stunned, then livid. “I’ll not marry you now or ever, Stephen.”

He stood before her for a moment as his face turned red with embarrassment and anger. Abruptly he turned to leave.

“Very well, if that’s what you want,” he said over his shoulder. “I have a deserter to report anyway.”

“What do you mean?” A hard lump of fear rose in her throat.

“Did you think that I was too stupid to see where you were coming from this morning? I think that the seneschal will be interested to hear about your little morning errand, don’t you?”

“Stephen, please don’t!” Sally grabbed his arm in a desperate attempt to slow his pace as he continued to climb up to the road. Stephen turned and shoved her back down the hill. Watching as she tumbled and sprawled into the mud near the river bank, he thought for an instant about going down and helping her. She was crying hysterically and still begging him not to go.

“You made your choice,” he said coldly. He looked at her for a moment longer, then turned and ran down the road to seek out the seneschal.

*

Though the stars were out in abundance, it was a moonless night that fell as Samuel and Oliver squirmed to find some comfort in the little cave that had been their hiding place for several hours. When the sun set, it left a cold night, and Samuel knew it would only be worse when they left the cave. He wondered if the soldiers had given up their search. He did not want to leave without saying his farewells to the family, and he was not provisioned for an hour’s outing, much less a long journey. In fact, they had between them only Samuel’s battle pack, which contained no food, his bow and quiver of arrows, and the clothes on their backs.

He had made up his mind that when it was late, he would slip back into town and try to see his father one last time. It was clear that he could not spend any more time in Northwood. They would have to be on their way. He decided that he would be safe enough if he stepped outside the cave to get a breath of fresh air. Trying not to disturb Oliver, who had somehow managed to drop off into a fitful slumber, he pulled himself out of the cave and onto one of the boulders. His legs were cramped and it took several moments to get the circulation back. He stepped from behind the boulder and looked up at the night’s canopy through the leafless limbs of the trees.

He wrapped his arms around himself in a vain attempt to ward off the cold, and decided that it would be safe enough to go back to the shed to find the blankets that they had left in a bundle behind the building. There was an almost imperceptible path toward town that started a few yards away. Since it was only a short distance back, he felt certain that he could find the way there and back without getting lost in the dark. He made his way slowly along the path. When he saw a faint light coming from somewhere ahead, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Here it is, my lord. This is where they’re hiding.” The voice came from the shed, not more than a hundred paces away. He listened over the sound of his heart thumping as several soldiers broke down the door and entered. “There’s nothing here, Sir Toby,” a voice called from inside.

“I swear to you, my lord. This is where they were this morning.” Samuel recognized the voice of the smith’s son, Stephen. He wondered how he had known where they were.

“Look here, Sir Hugh. They were here all right.” The new voice came from behind the shed. Samuel knew that they had found his bundle of blankets and leftover bread. He began to creep back into the woods, taking only four steps before tripping on a raised root and falling with a crash.

“There’s something here, Sir Hugh! Something moved right back there.”

“You men spread out. The noise came from over there.” Samuel did not have to see to know that he was pointing right at him.

“We’d be lucky to find him in this dark, Sir Hugh.”

“I’ll have him this very night, by God. He won’t get far.”

Samuel jumped to his feet and bolted down the path, crashing into trees and low growing junipers. “There he goes!” he heard someone yell. After that, he was oblivious to any other sounds except that of his own thrashing through the deep underbrush. Falling or crashing into trees at almost every third step, he was already badly bruised and cut. Finally, not having any notion of where he was, he stopped for a moment to ascertain how close the pursuit was. Gasping for air, he strained to see if there was any sign of the boulders. There was none. The crashing of the soldiers and their shouting back and forth was only several hundred paces away, and growing nearer. As he turned to continue his flight, a pair of strong arms grabbed him and held him tightly enough to constrict his breathing.

“Be silent, traitor,” a voice hissed in his ear.

Samuel was too exhausted to struggle and was resigned to capture. But the expected shout for assistance didn’t come.

“If you can manage to keep quiet, I’ll show you a way out of here,” his captor whispered

“Christopher!” Samuel finally recognized the voice.

“Be quiet, you fool, and follow me.”

He placed his hand on his brother’s back as Christopher led him silently down a slope until Samuel heard the sound of water running in a small brook. They crossed over, sloshing through the icy water, until they came to a ledge that rose steeply from the brook. Christopher pushed Samuel down so that they were both hidden under the embankment. They waited in silence until heavy footsteps came crashing nearby and a voice in the distance yelled, “Sir Hugh, where are you?”

Just above them, and not more than a few feet from where they cowered, they heard a low snarl and knew that someone was listening for any sound. Samuel felt sure that his heavy breathing could be heard clear back to town, and with his heart pounding in his chest he had an almost irresistible urge to bolt like a rabbit. A moment later, he heard heavy footsteps crunch away from the ledge. They listened as the voices and sounds of snapping limbs drifted farther away.

“Let’s go,” Christopher whispered.

“We have to get Oliver,” Samuel protested.

“He’s already safe. Did you think I didn’t know about your little hiding place? Now shut up and follow me.”

Again Samuel followed Christopher and his uncanny night vision, with one hand on his brother’s back as they made their way through the dark. After walking some minutes, they came to a clearing where a dark shape stood silently.

“Oliver, is that you?” Samuel ventured in a whisper.

“Thank God in Heaven it’s you,” Oliver gasped.

“Christopher, for God’s sake, where are we?”

“The road south out of town is just over there,” he said pointing past a small stand of low shrubs, barely discernible in the dark. He turned and began walking back into the woods.

“Wait,” called Samuel. “Where are you going?”

Christopher stopped. “I got you here, now you’re on your own. As for me, I hope I never see you again.” He turned and disappeared into the woods.

After a stunned moment of silence, Samuel finally gave Oliver a shove toward the road.

“Let’s get out of here.”

He shouldered his bow and quiver that Oliver had brought with him and made their way out of the woods. Keeping to the road’s edge so that they could disappear quickly if need be, they walked quickly to the south.

“I’m sorry, my friend.”

“Why,” asked Samuel absently.

“I’m sorry that, like me, you’ve lost everything that matters.”