Sir Richard’s horse clattered into the cobbled inn yard.

“Will, have you seen Thomas?”

“Yes, Sir Richard. He’s down on the beach seeing to the securing of the fleet.”

“Can you leave what you are doing?”

“I’m finished. I have my troops billeted and food on order.”

“C’est bien! Come along.”

Will called for his charger and his efficient men had the steed ready in minutes. The two knights struck off at a canter.

“What is the problem?”

“My son John rode hard to Dives with the information that Jo-Anne’s pregnancy was in jeopardy.”

“How so?”

“She was bleeding profusely.”

“Oh!” and they rode to rest of the beach trail in silence-each lost in his own thoughts.

“There he is, Sir Richard.” and they swung their mounts toward a unit rolling a small vessel up the skidway. The fleet was all important. It was the only way to breach the English moat. A local farmer with a team of bays with white mane and tail had a double tree chained to the stern and the men added their body strength to the draw of the ship. Not wishing to break the momentum of the dragon ship, Thomas kept his work force at the ropes. The mechanical advantage of the log rollers made it a manageable task. Four men were gathering the used rollers as they emerged from under the ship and were taking them forward , replacing them under the ship’s keel behind the horses. Thomas, of course, was on one of the ropes.

With a final tug Thomas yelled, “At ease, Men!” He mopped his sweaty brow and made his way through the beach detritus to his father-in-law and his brother. “Bonjour Mon Pere, Bonjour mon Frere. Ca va?”

“We are fine, Thomas, but we have some disturbing news.”
Thomas, the clairvoyant, reacted with shock, “Jo-Anne!”

“Yes, My Son. I’m afraid her pregnancy is in trouble. John did his best to inform you at Dives, but you had already embarked for England. In the ships, there was no chance until now to bring you this news.”

“Jo-Anne!”

“Yes, Son, bleeding profusely. Take Will and ride for Rouen. I’ll cover this work and get you clearance with the Duke.”

“Get me to the inn!” and Thomas vaulted up behind Will. Will’s horse leapt ahead in fright, but the two riders were secure. Off the beach they flew and galloped down the connecting path.

“Charles, you sluggard, get Easy Walker saddled. Now!”

The young soldier took no offense. He knew it was part of the method. He jumped to his feet from the task of burnishing weaponry and made for the stable.

Will slid his horse to a halt within feet of the kitchen door. They would need food on the road and a skin of water. Just like Cook, he had the innkeeper’s wife wrapped around his finger. With a few loving taps to the hostess, he left her to pack a saddle bag of food. He charged out the door and caught his sergeant. “Phillipe, look after things!”

“Mais oui, Sir William.”

Thomas was storming through the door. He had thrown off his sweat sodden work clothes and was fighting his way into a dry shift. His belt and dangling weapons, a dirk and his crusader, were providing a distraction.

Will knew Thomas wouldn’t wait. He dashed into the kitchen, kissed the hostess, snatched the saddle bag and leapt through the door in time to see Easy Walker and Charles closing on his brother. He threw the provisions over the horse’s rump and mounted. He was right; Thomas wouldn’t wait. He kicked his heel into the horse and wheeled after Easy Walker.

For all the preparation, for all the loading, for all the weather, they had endured, the Norman army and armada were now only thirty-five miles from Rouen. Neither Will nor Thomas were aware of the distance, but Will did not expect Thomas to stop unless his horse died. At this rate of speed, they would be forced to change mounts. Cailleville, Ste Colombe, Anglequeville, Doudeville passed by in a sort of blur as Thomas kept Easy on the pace.

“Thomas,” Will shouted, “You’ll kill a fine horse!” It must have been that these were the first words spoken as Thomas was far from the road he rode. It slowed Thomas momentarily as they were nearing known territory.

“We’ll trade horses at Motteville.” was all he said. However, he gave Easy Walker a slower pace.

At the tiny Motteville Inn they drew rein. “Horses, Innkeeper, we need fresh horses.”

“Messieurs, I have nothing to suit two fine gentlemen. You had best try the castle.” They left the hosteler choking in a cloud of hoof-raised dust. “Sacre bleu!”

The brothers struck a deal with the elderly count. Each Trivett would get two mounts and their present transportation would be tenderly received as chivalry demanded. Will tried to force some food on Thomas, but he shook his head in negation. Will nibbled away as he rode. Seventeen miles with two horses each was no problem. They soon could discern the walls of Rouen Castle and rode right on the north road to Foret Verte and home.

Mary, their mother, was waiting at the gate.

“Jo-Anne!”

Mother slowly shook her head. The tears welled in her eyes.

Thomas didn’t stop. He pushed through the gate and strode to the door of their cottage. “JO-ANNE!” he screamed plaintively and broke through the door of the house.

Will slowly descended and clasped his teary mother.

“Mother?”

“Dead, Will.”

“And the baby?”

“Yes, Dear!’ she sobbed.

“Shouldn’t we go after him?”

“No, Dear.”

They waited.

Finally Thomas exited the house-no longer a home. He appeared to have just survived a life and death struggle-his hair disheveled, his face a death mask, his shoulders sagged, his chest caved and his legs only finding a place for his feet reluctantly.

“What happened, Mother?” he intoned in a sepulchral voice.

“Oh Thomas, we did our best, but she bled profusely!” Mary tried to enfold him with motherly concern.

“No, Mother. Tell me all.” As he warded her off.

“The doctor came. He thinks the placenta burst open spilling her blood. The baby boy couldn’t get any air and died too.”

“Where are they?”

“We buried them on the hill overlooking the farm. You can see the cross.”

“Will, take Mother home, now”

“Don’t you want our help?”

“Will, take Mother home.”

“Mais oui, Thomas.” He almost whispered.

Thomas hugged his mother and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Thomas then quietly pushed the gate aside and with the same unsteady steps climbed the hill to the rough wooden cross. He turned, a beaten man, to watch Mother and Will depart. He stared after them until they were lost from view in the forest that still stood. He sank weakly to his knees beside the barren home of his wife and child with sod roof just above the surrounding ground. He prayed or admonished God. How could the Deity have taken such a beauty and a male child. Finally, the tears came. The salty droplets runneled down his cheeks and then his body was wracked with sobbing. He couldn’t get his breathe and collapsed over the newly dug grave.

Thomas wasn’t certain how long he had been there, but darkness had fallen and there was a cold dew covering the ground. He rose and turned without looking back. He strode purposely to the barn he had built himself and turned out all the animals. Once satisfied it was empty, he removed his flint from his pocket and gathering dry straw he struck a spark that ignited immediately. Flames licked the summer dried boards and the evening breeze whispered ‘speed’. As the heat increased the fire roared in delight and the boards screamed or crackled at the horror. The demon raced through the structure. Thomas took up a torch of straw and lit it . With decision he approached the house with the burning brands. He threw it into the thatch of the roof and hungry flames ate into the little cottage. As the fire went out in Thomas, the conflagration rose in the buildings. The fingers of fire spread in an ever-widening circle- a mockery of the wedding ring. The heated air rose and caused a rush of lateral wind that whipped through the straw roof and soon the conflagration was complete. The barn was completely engulfed in flames as the fire penetrated the boards. The entire roof of the cottage was ablaze as Thomas mounted the fire- fearing horse. He never looked back. This was the end of the era of love; the barn collapsed; the house gave up its ghosts as rafters of fire dropped into the chintz interior.