One
September 28,1066—Coast of England
"Maman,come look! There are hundreds of ships," cried the small boy as hestumbled into the house. "Come look,Maman!Never have I seen somany."
LadyVedette of Pevensey could feel all the blood drain from her cheeks, and shegrabbed her excited young son by his thin shoulders and shook him slightly."Calm yourself, and tell me, most carefully, what you have seen."
"Ships.A very great lot of them," the tousled-haired boy of eight replied,pushing his blond curls off his round, flushed face. "They are fine, strongships filled with horses, men, and supplies."
"TheDanes?" she whispered, but a cold knot of fear had settled in her bellyand she knew in her heart that it was not the Danes who now threatenedEngland's shores.
"No,Maman," the boy said, wriggling out of her hold. "'Tis not theDanes. I saw the banners and remembered what my father told me. 'Tis Williamthe Bastard." He cried out in shock and pain when his mother suddenlyslapped him on the cheek.
"Neversay that again, Ethelred. Never again. Do you hear me?"
"Yes,Maman."
Shepulled the tearful child into her arms and hugged him close for a moment thengently but firmly pushed him away. Her heart in her throat, she peered out anarrow window toward the sea. Everything Ethelred had said was true. There wasno time to soothe the child.
"Gatheryour belongings, Ethelred. Do it now. Gather only what you most need and whatis most valuable." As her son hurried away to do as he was told, LadyVedette turned to her daughter, who sat at the table silenced by confusion andfear. "You must do the same, Averil. Gather together only what is mostdear and necessary to you and what is most costly." When the pale Averilstood up but did not move, Lady Vedette gave her thirteen-year-old daughter alight push toward her sleeping chamber. "Run, girl. There is very littletime left to us."
Evenas Averil rushed off to obey her mother, Lady Vedette began to hurl commands ather frightened bondslaves. One hurried away to prepare the cart while the othertwo helped her throw her belongings into sacks, baskets, and anything else theycould find. All the while she gathered what she could, Lady Vedette prayed Godwould give them the time to flee safely. She concerned herself only with thethings that would allow them to remain a family of means no matter where theywent or who ruled England.
Asthey tossed all they had collected into a cart, Ethelred cried out, "Whatof Eada?"
Vedettegrabbed her son when he tried to jump out of the cart and yanked him back in."Eada must fend for herself," she said, tightly gripping the roughedge of the cart and staring blindly in the direction she had watched hereldest child walk earlier in the day.
"Mother,we cannot just leave her behind," Averil whispered, tears thickening hervoice.
"Wemust. Look to the boats, children," she said, pointing toward the seashorewhere the lead boats of the huge force were already cutting through theshallows. "If we wait or try to search for her, none of us will getaway."
Asthe cart began to move, Vedette looked toward the hills. "God protect you,Eada. I pray that those hills you so love can now hide and protect you."
Eadalaughed as she watched her hounds play together. They loved to escape theconfines of the town as much as she did. Although Eada did not actually dislikeliving in Pevensey, every once in a while she felt a strong urge to escape fromthe people, the noise, and the smell. She also liked to visit with Old Edith, awoman who had been banished from Pevensey years ago and lived alone, althoughshe never told her parents about that. They would never approve.
Asshe rounded a corner and cleared the trees, Eada saw the old woman in thedoorway of her small cottage and waved to her. Edith's return wave was weak forthe pain in her joints restricted her movements. Eada sighed as she hurriedtoward the cottage, sadness weighting her heart and stealing some of the joy ofbeing free for a little while. She knew that Old Edith would not live muchlonger. Even now, the knowledge of that was clear to see in the old woman'seyes. What helped soften Eada's grief was knowing how calmly Edith accepted it,had even begun to wish for it as it would put an end to her constant pain.
"Youshould not be standing out here," Eada gently scolded Old Edith when shereached the woman's side. "There is a chill in the air."
Edithnodded, stepping back into her cottage, Eada close behind her. "Winterwill soon he upon us. I feel a need to watch its approach for I know that Iwill never live to see another spring."
"Iwish you would not speak of it." Eada sat crosslegged by the centerhearth.
Wincingas she lowered herself to the hard, dirt-packed floor, Edith asked, "Why?Death is but a part of life. I am in the deep winter of my years, Eada. My bodyis worn and my soul begs release from its crippled, pain-ridden confines."
"Doesit hurt so bad?" Eada gently placed her small, soft hands over Edith'sgnarled ones.
"Iweep from the strength of it at every dawning, wondering why God is so crueland what I have done to make Him so angry that He forces me to endure for yetanother day. Come, my pretty flaxen-haired child, you cannot truly wish me tolinger when I suffer so."
"No,I do not want you to suffer, but I shall miss you, dearest friend."
"AsI shall miss you. That is my only regret. Now, how fares your prettyfamily?"
"Theyare well." Eada frowned, her full mouth turning down ever so slightly atthe comers. "All save for my father. I fear for him, Edith. He went tojoin with King Harold to battle Harald Hardrada and Tostig."
OldEdith shook her head. "Your father will gain naught from that save for thecold, bitter taste of steel."
Eadashivered and wrapped her arms around her slim body. In all the years she hadknown the woman, she had never grown accustomed to the way Edith spoke so lowand firm at times. It was as if the woman saw things no mortal could. The factthat her pronouncements almost always proved true only added to Eada'sdiscomfort. She could almost understand what had prompted the people ofPevensey to banish the woman.
