LITMIR.BIZ

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Serine ordered. “Bring bread and meat and a plaid to keep you warm. We know not how long we will be gone. Those who cannot keep up will stay behind. Now, be off with you. We must make all haste. We must steal back our children.”

      The women nodded and hurried off as Ursa, Hendrick’s nurse, entered the hall.

      Serine saw the misery in the woman’s eyes and held out her arms.

      Ursa ran to her. Tears streamed down her face. “They took my whole brood,” she said, “and your Hendrick, as well. I could not stop them, but I know where they camp.”

      “Then they are still on English soil?” Serine exulted.

      “I followed them to the place where the boats wait. Apparently ours is not the only village they raided. It looked as though they were expecting more children to be brought in before they sail.” Ursa held Serine at arm’s length. They had been friends since before Serine had married. To Serine, Ursa dared speak her mind. “You must go to Lord Baneford, your overlord, and ask his help. He is pledged to defend you while your husband is away.”

      “There is no time,” Serine said. “The invaders will be gone before help could arrive.”

      “But surely the Celts won’t sail off into the night,” Ursa protested, crossing herself against the dangers of darkness.

      Old Ethyl shifted the bow on her shoulders and spoke with authority. “Dark or light, they will sail with the first tide after they have achieved their purpose. When they go, your childer will go with them.”

      “How do you know this?” Ursa asked. “Even the elders cannot recall a raid other than through the dim memory of childhood.”

      “My late husband took me from the Celts and brought me here as his bride,” she said quietly. “I know how they think. They strike and take what they want, then disappear into the mist. They have done it before and will again.”

      “Then you must have some idea from whence they came and where they will go,” Dame Margot said hopefully.

      “Celts are a marauding breed,” Old Ethyl told them. “They have planted their seed from Cornwall to Scotland and from France to Ireland. Most have seen the advantage of blending into the land in which they chose to live, but some, like those that invaded us today, care little for convention or civilization. Our lady is right. The only hope we have is to follow them and try to ascertain their origins.”

      Serine cast a sharp glance at her. Old Ethyl’s association with the Celts would explain many of the woman’s idiosyncrasies, but before Serine could question her they were interrupted by the clanking of weapons, clumsily carried, as the women came again to the hall, dragging their ordnance behind them.

      “Take nothing that you cannot lift or use,” Old Ethyl told them. “You must be able to carry your own weapon and move rapidly and silently at the same time.”

      The women nodded and placed much of their assorted equipment on the ground as they made ready to leave.

      * * *

      The women crept through the darkness and came to rest on a rocky cliff. Below them a row of small boats sat waiting at the edge of the sea. Some little distance away the children huddled together, guarded by the fierce men.

      “There they are.” Ursa pointed. “Thank the Lord they haven’t yet gone.” She pressed her hands to her heart. “There is my little Dickon.” She turned with a suddenness that made Serine fall back. “What is the plan?”

      “The what?” Serine strained her eyes as she searched the pensive little faces for that of her own Hendrick and paid no mind to Ursa’s words. Surely if Dickon was there, Hendrick must be close by.

      “The plan! The plan to save the children! You promised we would save the children. You must have a plan.” There was an edge of panic in Ursa’s voice, for the Celts were more numerous than the fingers on both hands and they were but a few desperate women.

      Serine swallowed hard. “Of course,” she managed to say. “The plan.” She glanced around and was heartened by Old Ethyl’s steady gaze. “Old Ethyl, will you walk with me? The rest of you stay here.”

      “If there is any danger I’ll whistle like a bird,” one of the young women volunteered.

      “If there is any danger, I’ll shoot him with my arrow,” Old Ethyl said in a flat tone that defied dispute. “What do you propose?” she asked Serine as soon as they were out of earshot.

      “I have no plan,” Serine confessed. “But I knew the women would refuse to come with me if I told them I had no idea what I would do, and I cannot save the children alone.”

      “I thought as much,” Ethyl said without reproach. “Perhaps inspiration will come when we get nearer.”

      They watched as the guards milled around. The good English ale and the food they had stolen made them negligent as the small boats moved slowly, carrying provisions across the water toward the ship moored farther out.

      “They came by water,” Old Ethyl observed. “Worse luck! If they leave our shores we’re like to never see them again.”

      Serine clutched the older woman’s wrist.

      “If there was a fire on the ship they would rush to put it out and we would be able to steal back our children,” she whispered.

      “Alas,” Old Ethyl commiserated, “the ship floats on deep water.” She narrowed her eye, carefully gauging the distance. “Perhaps I could get close enough to send a fire arrow to pierce the side.”

      “To hit the ship you would need to stand on the shore. It would mean your life if you were caught,” Serine reminded her. Then, without giving the other woman time to reply, she continued. “Watch how often the little boats run back and forth. If I were to take one of them it is unlikely anyone would notice. I could secure the small boat to the ship and set them both on fire. Once they begin to burn, you and the women can loose your fire arrows, each from a different place so the Celts will think we are many. In the confusion take the children and escape.”

      “But how will you get back to shore if you burn your boat?” Old Ethyl’s eyes shone with admiration mingled with concern for the determined young woman she had learned to admire.

      “I can swim...some,” Serine told her. “It does not look so far.” She was not a strong swimmer, having done little more than paddle around a lake near her childhood home. “I can think of no other way.”

      Old Ethyl hitched up her skirt and shifted the bow on her shoulders. Her eye narrowed as she evaluated the situation. “Have you flint and steel in your bag?” She pointed to the bag Serine carried looped over her shoulder.

      “Aye,” Serine assured her. “And rags soaked in fat I thought to use in case we needed to light a fire to warm the children after we stole them back.”

      “Good,” Old Ethyl observed. “The other women can launch the arrows. I’ll go with you. I can swim well. Between us the deed shall be done.”

      Serine gave Old Ethyl a little hug. Tears filled her eyes as she realized how inadequate their weapons were against the might of the Celts. “Should I not return I charge you and Dame Margot with the care of my son.”

      “You have my word,” Old Ethyl promised, knowing that it was possible neither of them would live to see another dawn.

      Serine went back and conveyed the plan to the other women. Ursa and several of the youngest, swiftest women took their places behind the rocks above the camp, as Serine and Old Ethyl then made their way to the water’s edge.

      * * *

      Rory moved among the children, offering dried meat and fire bread as well as drink. “This will soon be over,” he told them in a soothing voice. “You will come to a land that is rich in beauty. You will learn skills denied you here. You will be loved and cherished. You will grow to be free men.”

      “You

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