Ghislaine looked at him then. “Angels of War,” she translated softly. “I have heard of them. I have heard the men speak of Normandy’s Angels but I wondered if they were simply telling stories.”
Jathan shook his head. “They were not,” he replied. “These men have been at the forefront of most of the Duke of Normandy’s wars, going back years. If the duke did not have them, it is difficult to say if he would have even won the battle against Harold Godwinson for, in truth, these were the men who led the charge. You are looking at the front of the duke’s army.”
Ghislaine’s attention returned to the men at the end of the table, feeling some awe now as she looked at them. “Tell me about them,” she asked, sipping at her mead, a very strong drink that was already making her head swim. “They will not speak to me but I would know something of these men I have been tasked with guiding north.”
Jathan’s tongue was loosened by the mead in his veins. Ghislaine was not Norman and he more than likely should not tell her what he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. This serious, solemn lass needed to be aware of the greatness of these men, far greater than any knights she had ever heard of.
Legends in the flesh.
“Their rally cry is et pro Gloria dei,” Jathan said. “De Wolfe is their leader, as you know. He is a descendant of the kings of Breton. The family name is Vargr, which means a monstrous wolf in the Breton tongue, but Gaetan’s father changed the family name to de Wolfe in the Norman fashion. Although born a bastard, Gaetan is the only son of a great warrior father, William, and when his father died, Gaetan inherited the de Wolfe lands and titles. From his mother’s mother, he inherited control of Lorient and the ports, which makes him a very wealthy man.”
Ghislaine was fascinated to learn something of the man she was becoming quite attracted to. “Et pro Gloria dei,” she murmured. “For God and Glory.”
“Aye.”
“Is… is de Wolfe married?” she asked because she found she had to know.
But Jathan shook his head. “He is not married, but he has two sons through a woman who has warmed his bed for many years,” he said. “He also has a daughter by another bedslave.”
Ghislaine looked at him as if shocked by the word. “He has bedslaves?”
Jathan lifted his eyebrows as he took another drink of his mead. “Women he has acquired by conquest,” he said simply. “Much to his mother’s distress, I might add. She wishes him to marry and produce legitimate children. But do not look so shocked; surely Saxon warriors have slaves who warm their bed.”
They did, but Ghislaine didn’t like the thought of a slave woman in Gaetan’s bed. Not that it was any of her concern, but the fact that he had women to service him meant that had no need for another woman. Her.
Sweet Mary, what had she been thinking?
“They do,” she said dully, tearing her gaze from Gaetan and feeling incredibly disappointed now that she knew he had other women. “What of the others? Are they all as wealthy as de Wolfe?”
Jathan nodded. “Being a noble knight is an expensive undertaking,” he said. “De Lohr, the man we seek, comes from nobility. His family owns most of western Brittany. De Russe’s father is from Flanders, the Count of Roeselare, but the family itself is very old and originally came from the realm of Kievan Rus, which is far to the east.”
“He is very frightening.”
Jathan gave her half-grin. “Aye, he is, but there is no man more fearless or loyal in battle.”
“Go on.”
Jathan turned to look at the group. “De Reyne is from Morlaix in Brittany, the son of a great landowner, and….”
“But how do they all know one another? And what makes them so loyal to de Lohr?”
Jathan could see that she was studying the group quite intently, understandably curious about these men she found herself traveling with. But there was something more in her tone, as if she were deeply puzzled by their association because she didn’t understand the kind of bond they shared. Women usually didn’t.
“They all fostered with other knights who fought together on the field of battle,” he said. “That is how I met them, too. I was a knight before I turned to the church. These men go back to their childhood in some cases and bonds were forged that cannot be broken. That is why they go after de Lohr; these men are brothers, my lady. And they will not leave one of their own behind.”
Ghislaine drained her mead, reaching for the pitcher to pour herself more even though she knew she shouldn’t. The buzz in her head was growing stronger and when that happened, it meant she would sleep heavily and wake up with an aching head. But she didn’t much care this night; her world had changed drastically over the past few days and she was trying very hard to make sense of it all. But there was one thing she could already make sense of and that was the strength of the relationship between these men. She wished she had someone who cared about her enough to go after her should she be abducted. But the truth was that there was no one. Depressed, she took another gulp of mead when she heard someone call her name.
“Lady Ghislaine!”
She could see Gaetan waving her down the table to where he was sitting and, startled, she immediately set her cup down and got up from the bench. The great and handsome Gaetan was summoning her and she was more than willing to go to him, if only to be in the man’s midst for only a moment. She was halfway down the table when Gaetan pointed to her as he spoke to his men.
“We have a goddess among us,” he told them. “I am sure none of you knew that The Beautiful Maid of Mercia was our guide. Lady Ghislaine is the sister of Edith the Fair, who was the wife of Harold Godwinson. Truthfully, I have never been this close to a lady of legendary beauty before, although it is difficult to tell by the clothing she wears.”
Ghislaine was horrified by the compliment once again paired with an insult from Gaetan’s lips. He never seemed to do anything else. Wide-eyed, she looked at the Norman knights who were all looking at her quite curiously now. De Russe and de Moray were the closest to her, the men she was the most frightened of, and when she saw them turn to her, she moved away quickly, tripping over her own feet as she did. She stumbled right in to de Lara, who grabbed her before she could pitch into their food.
“Steady, my lady, steady,” de Lara said, carefully righting her. He had noticed her discomfort with the proximity of de Russe and de Moray. “But I do not blame your reaction to those two. See their dark eyes? That means the devil is upon them. De Moray will belch loudly enough to knock cups from the table and, although it is not frequently spoken of, de Russe is known as the Lord of Flatulence to his friends. He will fart a tune if he is drunk enough.”