Chapter Four

            A soft rap against the sturdy oak door resounded throughout the long corridor, breaking the peaceful silence. “Enter,” a gruff voice croaked from behind the thick wood. Creaking on its rusted hinges, the door opened stiffly, and Jane’s round face emerged from around the corner. An aged, wrinkled hand beckoned her to step forward. Easing the door shut, Jane walked cautiously toward the old man’s desk, her footsteps muffled on the worn rug.

            The room was so dark it appeared to be night. Several candles, placed randomly about the room, flickered as Jane walked by, their light casting long shadows upon the walls. The Earl sat hunched over in his high-backed chair, looming like the clock tower over his balding head. The grand mahogany desk stretched out before him, nearly rising to the height of his chin.

            He wheezed softly as he inhaled, his hands shaking with age as he tried to write. The Earl’s body was pale and his skin sagged, his spectacles falling to the tip of his weathered nose. With great effort, he lifted his head and sat up straight, his tired blue eyes resting on Jane, standing a few feet away. She curtsied and bowed her head respectfully.

            “You… wished to speak to me?” he rasped, his chest heaving with each breath. Jane nodded slowly, mentally kicking herself for distressing the dying man. He raised a wrinkled hand, motioning for her to come closer still. She concurred, her skirts swishing around her feet.

            “Speak,” he huffed, leaning back in the tall chair, folding his thin hands across his belly. Jane’s own hands found the edges of her apron, her fingers nervously playing with the folds on her skirts.

            “A strange man rode into town today, Sir. He stopped me and asked for you.” She hesitated. “I believe he was a knight.”

            The Earl’s eyes widened with surprise and he leaned forward, his weak elbows resting on the arms of the chair. “What is this? A knight, you say?”

            Jane nodded, her eyes falling to the floor. “Yes, my lord.” She stole a glance at the Earl’s face; his eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes thoughtful. He raised a hand to scratch at his chin. Jane bit her tongue, but found herself unable to hold back her questions. “What does this mean, my lord?” she blurted out.

            “Oh, Jane,” he sighed, calling her closer with the crook of his finger. She was beside him in a matter of seconds, kneeling on the floor beside him, grasping one of his wrinkled hands in her own. “This can only mean… that the destruction of the war has risen. The King… frets over our losses. A knight… sent to recruit more men… more soldiers…” The Earl took a long, ragged breath. Tears sparkled along the rims of his tired eyes, his voice wavering uncertainly. “Not again,” he whispered to himself, although it was loud enough for Jane to hear. “How many wives must be separated from their husbands? How many children raised without a father? How many shopkeepers forced to close down…” He closed his eyes and leaned back, sadness evident in every line in his face.

            “My lord, we cannot allow it! This stranger will take all able-bodied men, and then what is to become of us? How shall we survive?” Jane’s voice shook with rage, her free hand clenched into a fist.

            The Earl simply waved her away with a bony hand. “Calm yourself, child. He will not take everyone. The older men will be of no interest to the King. The young and strong, they are the men that he needs to fight.”

            An image of Geoffrey’s face immediately popped into Jane’s head. “Your Grace, what shall we do?” Jane whispered fearfully.

            He opened his eyes and frowned at her. “Nothing. We shall go on living as we always have, we will make do. Little Wenham has seen much worse. Run along now, and fetch Geoffrey for me. I should like to have a word.”

            Jane bit her lip to keep from shouting at the weak old man. He was giving up, he was not even going to try and stand up to this knight! Hatred flared in her eyes, but she nodded and grit her teeth. “As you wish, my lord.” She stood and curtsied; there was no argument to be made, the determination was set in the Earl’s grey eyes. This was no longer their battle to fight.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            Jane heaved a great sigh, and then another, until her chest felt as if it would collapse. Her head was resting heavily in her dirty hand, her elbow placed upon her knee as she sat in deep thought. She glanced up at the sound of a rusty wooden door creaking on its hinges. Alas, only a chambermaid stepped through, a large woven basket full of linens balanced on her hip.

            Jane’s eyes drifted upward, toward the sun blazing high in the sky. It was nearly midday, and the Earl had been speaking with the mysteriously handsome knight since before dawn had broken over the horizon, melting the clouds with its golden rays.

            In her melancholy withdrawal, Jane hardly noticed the busyness going on around her. Slumped over on a stack of hay, she was ignorant to the children running through the cobblestone streets, the horses prancing and pawing in their wooden lean-tos, the hustle and bustle of the shopkeepers too swept up in their daily lives to suspect that anything out of the ordinary was about to happen.

            Suddenly the sun had disappeared, and the slightly warm autumn day turned a bit colder. Jane looked up into the shadowed face of her dear friend Isabella.

            “Sittin’ on your arse all day won’t change a thing, ye know,” she said bluntly, her Irish drawl spilling from her mouth. She placed her hands on her hips in exasperation. “They be draftin’ the men whether ye like it or not.” She pushed Jane lightly with her fingertips and sat down beside her as Jane scooted over, obviously annoyed.

            “You know I love you, but ‘tis not a swell time to be a bother,” Jane grumbled, sitting up straight. A cool wind blew through the girls’ hair, and Jane shivered under her thin dress.

            “He goes by the name of Hans. Sir Hans of Darthmuor.” Isabella twirled a strand of her silken honey hair, smiling to herself. “Oh, what I wouldn't give to be courted by such a man!”

            Jane stuck her tongue out and scrunched up her face in resentment. “Surely you cannot speak of that dreadfully maddening knight.”

            “But I do,” her friend sighed dreamily. “He was blessed with the face of a cherub, and the eyes of a God.” She giggled and whispered softly, “Not to mention the physique of a warrior.”

            Jane rolled her eyes at her friend’s petty and shallow observations. Jane herself had seen so much more in “Sir Hans”. He was incredibly handsome, there was no denying that, but his voice was seductively deep and low, and his eyes danced when he spoke to her. And when he moved… it was as if the entire world moved with him, revolving around his striking aura.

            She shook her head fiercely. ‘Stop it, Jane!’ she mentally berated herself. Departing from her inner thoughts, Jane caught the last bit of senseless drivel that seemed to be flowing from Isabella’s fluttering mouth.

            “- shame women are not permitted to be enlisted,” Isabella sighed, picking the dirt from underneath her fingernails. “Otherwise, I’d be tempted to join meself, just to be near those handsome nobles!”

            An idea popped into Jane’s head, and she gasped aloud at the abruptness of the thought.

            “What ‘tis it, dearest Jane?” her friend asked, leaning forward curiously.

            “Do you remember my father, Isabella? You recall how he died?” she replied in a hushed voice.

            “Like the back of mine hand. He was killed at war, fightin’ for the King.” Isabella shrugged. “What be your point? Sir Hans hast no interest in such affairs.”

            “You have given me a most intriguing idea, dear gal.” Hands shaking in anticipation, Jane pulled her hair up and away from her face. “Could I pass for a man?” she asked eagerly.

            Isabella frowned. “I suppose.”

            Jane grinned. “Don't you see, Izz?! I could disguise myself as a man, and join the King’s armed forces... and finally prove myself to my father,” she said softly, a wicked gleam in her eye.

            Isabella grasped her friend’s hands, perplexed. “Aye, but the punishment, Jane! Ye know as well as I that the penalty for impersonatin' a soldier be death!” she whispered frightfully. “I cannot let ye go!”

            “Izzy, you said it yourself, you would do anything to be near Sir Hans, just as I would do anything to slay the man who killed my father! What’s more,” she said, giving Isabella a weak smile, “I could put in a good word for you with Sir Hans.”

            The wind blew softly across Isabella’s pale face as she contemplated the proposal. Her life was on the line as well as Jane’s. Even listening to a person speak of impersonating a member of the King’s army resulted in death, or worse, lifetime enslavement.

            Jane watched her closest friend intently. She had known her for the majority of her life, seeing how they were the only two women in the village around the age of eighteen. There were few female children, and even fewer babies. Poverty stricken villages such as that of Little Wenham seemed to be a dying breed.

            Tilting her head back to let the warm sunshine illuminate her freckled face, Isabella closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Listen to me, Jane, and listen good,” she finally spoke. She brought her head back to its normal position and stared straight into Jane’s cerulean eyes. “Ye must promise that ye will do ev’rything in your power to keep your identity a secret.” Jane nodded vigorously. “And promise me,” Isabella whispered, cupping her milky hands and cradling Jane’s chin within them, “that ye will be safe.” A single tear fell over the rim of Isabella’s eye, and she collapsed into Jane’s arms.

 

            Horrified, Jane tried to console the weeping woman. “Izzy, townsfolk will see! Raise your head and wipe away your tears, silly girl!” she commanded, wrenching Isabella’s body out of her embrace and slapping her lightly across her wet, tear-stained cheek.

            Regaining her composure, Isabella cleared her throat and raised her chin in a dignified manner. “I shall meet again with ye soon,” she said loudly. Brushing her lips along the length of Jane’s own cheek, she swept up her skirts, curtsied, and carried herself promptly back to the Earl’s house.

Author's Note

I'm sorry if the dialogue seems... choppy, I guess. I'm not used to writing in this old fashion >.<

Reviews

[Tania Leigh]

This is getting really good....Jane has quite a road ahead of her...

Once again, excellent imagery and good command of the old language....it shows that you have done your research :-)

Great chapter!