Free Shield of Three Lions by Pamela Kaufman

Michael had gone there once so I knew it existed.
    Enoch pursed pleased lips. “Newcastle. That be rich lond, on the right side of the oatline.”
    “Yes but—you recall that Master William has two brothers?”
    “Do ye think I be an ass? Of course.”
    “The one in York, where I’m headed now, and his name be George and he’s the youngest, well, he wants to support me in my inheritance. But the middle one whose name be George—”
    “Ye just sayed the youngest was George.”
    “Aye, you’re making me befuddled. The middle one is Gregory. Gregory is challenging my claim and wants me dead.”
    “I see. And where do Magnus Barefoot fit this muddle?”
    “Magnus Barefoot?” I’d forgotten him entirely.
    “Aye, ye mun know the squire since he’s giving chase. He claims he serves a knight called Roland.”
    “I know naught of any Roland, but I’ve heard of Magnus,” I prattled. “He works for George.”
    “George?”
    “I mean, Gregory. Aye, for Gregory. He’s a—a—I’m not sure what you call such wights, but he’s been offered reward to kill me.”
    There was a long silence as Enoch stirred the coals.
    He laughed then, a harsh dry hack. “I, too, be the youngest of three brothers. And I war steward at one time.”
    I didn’t comment, not certain whether that meant he believed me or no.
    “Tell me true, Alex-Tom-Want, how much do ye think Magnus would pay fer yer hide in one piece? Mar or less than George?”
    I was shocked out of my wits by his black crass soul, though it confirmed what I knew of Scots. I sought desperately to find good reason he should spare me. “George—is—has—money, methinks. He’s something to do with York Cathedral. Also—he says we can win in Assize.”
    “Assize?” There was an unexpected interest here.
    “Aye, that’s what he said.” I couldn’t recall exactly where I’d heard the word
Assize
, but my father’s spirit must have supplied it to me.
    “A decision by court. Aye, that’s where the future points, mind me, Alex.”
    “Aye.”
    “And Gregory?”
    I thought of my fathers description of Roland de Roncechaux. “He claims to be a knight but is a common brigand. He has no money, I know.”
    “Wal, Alex, ye hae struck a dale. I’ll git ye to George in York, and ye’ll git me reward, or the Devil take thee.”
    A log broke on the fire, shooting sparks upward so that the Scot’s eyes glinted red.
    “Aye,” I whispered.
    He squeezed my shoulder hard. “Swear.”
    “I swear.”
    At last I was permitted to squirm deep in furs with my wolf’s warm body next to mine. One day and a night since my parents had died and I was in the clutches of a thieving, murdering Scot, but he was dense as well,
Deo gratias
.
    And I was still alive.
    Before I could think of my situation more, I fell asleep.

I WAS WAKENED BY A RUDE SHOVE FROM A BOOT.
    “Get up, dawdle-bones, before the craws pick at ye.”
    At first I knew not where I was but then it came back, how he’d been willing to trade my life for gold. Bile rose in my mouth, which I swallowed: he was a giant, I was a dwarf. Sulkily I staggered to my feet. An iron-gray lid hugged the earth tight and ’twas hard to say if the sun had risen or no.
    “Take the animals to drink,” the Scot ordered, “and see ye make haste. Ye’ve held us up long enow as it is.”
    Stop grucching, I thought, as I dragged the animals with me, for we’ll part this day as soon as possible and you can fly straight as awarlock to Hell. I bent over the stream and splashed the sleep from my face.
    Then I sought a private bush and squatted. Much refreshed after a time, I reached for a handful of soft young oak leaves to wipe. When I tossed them aside, I noticed that their green had turned red. I’d stood and begun pulling up my tights before the meaning struck me!
    Again I squatted and wiped; again I saw red. Red blood? Holy Mother of Christ, I’m bleeding! From my crotch, aye, where Maisry got it, aye, and my mother, too, though