Read Online Shield of Three Lions by Pamela Kaufman - Free Book Online Page B

shelter. At last the Scot gave up searching and followed a twisty ridge downhill above a rushing stream. Occasionally I could glimpse valleys far below and thought the moon must ride at eye level tonight. Round and round we wound in the thicket, till at last Enoch dismounted and continued on foot, leaving me shivering alone under the shrill sough of a northerly wind.
    “Cum, bairn, I’ve found as good as I can.” He pulled Twixt forward. “Knarry knotty trees give little shelter, but ’twill do.”
    His camp was a narrow dry area under a rock ledge with two strong pines before it. Sleet now hit our faces and I huddled as close as I could to the wall.
    The Scot regarded me with unfriendly eyes. “What do ye think ye’re doin’?”
    “I’m cold and hungry,” I whimpered, “and tired.”
    “Ye’ll be a good deal worse off if ye don’t help, fer I’m not feeding no sluggards. If ye want to eat or sleep with shelter, ye’ll move yer arse. Gather firewood in the wald by the gorge, and take the animals for water.”
    Gruffly he handed me the mule’s bridle and I stumbled down a bank of hideous stubs to the raging water. When I returned, I had to rub the beasts, find fodder, then help tie furs to the trees for windbreaks. The skin on my hands broke into blisters.
    “Ye’re muckle soft for a steward’s son,” Enoch observed, “or did yer foster mother make a milksop of ye?”
    I looked the murder I dared not express, for I’d never worked so hard. He didn’t even notice.
    Kneeling by the pile of wood I’d collected, he fanned twigs with a pan of charred tow and started a blaze. He arranged several pans of food on top, plus a kettle of water with birds in it, then liberally salted the lot.
    “Cum, let’s wash.”
    He dragged me to the stream again where we splashed our faces and hands. By the time we sat by the fire, I hardly cared whether I ate or not. He poured a horn of hot ale.
    “Here’s yer methier,” he said. “Wassail.”
    I savored the warm drink and quickly took another. The food that followed was passing strange, but food nonetheless: we ate raw pressed venison, cocky-leeky, eel porridge, red cole-wart and cabbage and finally our last course, haggis. Haggis was the worst of the lot, being a sheep’s stomach filled with oatmeal, liver and lights, but I choked down every crumb. I knew Enoch had a speculative look, but I didn’t care.
    At last I settled back, groggy with warmth and the hot food in my stomach, secure behind our fur curtain from the driven drench of fine sleet.
    “Now what do ye think it would be worth for Magnus Barefoot to know yer whereabouts?” Enoch asked softly.
    And I turned chill as a corpse. “I don’t know what you mean.”
    “I think ye do,
Tom
. Mayhap there’s a reward on yer head, mayhap ye’ve run away from yer rightful owner. Suppose ye tell me sooth why a lad called Alexander what speaks Latin pretends to be plain Tom, the steward’s son.”
    “My master—er—William by name, was the oldest of three brothers,” I said feverishly, then stopped.
    “Aye, gae on,” the Scot prodded. “I want no invention.”
    “And he had a son named Tom who was milk-brother to me; our nurse was that same Dame Margery you saw with me today. And our kind master, William that is—”
    “I can remember a name fer two heartbeats. Get on wi’ yer tale.”
    “… educated us as if we were real brothers. Then when my own father died—of the pox, as I told you—Master William adopted me. Then his own son Tom caught the pox as well and I was made heir by the father, William. Then William himself was struck down.” I paused, wondering if so many people would die of the pox.
    “How big an estate? Where?”
    I became confused. “Well, I believe it has—er—twenty good fields.”
    “Fiefdoms?”
    “Aye, yes, that’s what you call them.”
    “A good halding. Where?”
    I racked my brain. “Close to—Newcastle.” I had no notionwhere Newcastle might be, but Father