Ann of Cambray (28 page)

I thought his father might have stopped his mouth again, but even Guy of Maneth allowed himself the luxury of watching my dismay. I felt myself quail against such malice, unchecked, exultant.

‘So you should thank your Raoul,’ Gilbert was sneering again, ‘for showing us your value. We can use you as bait as well as he can. When they have done with him and his men, then will they listen to our offer. Our friendship will mean as much to them then as Cambray’s. And we’ll take Cambray to boot.’

‘Cambray is still in the Lord of Sedgemont’s demesne,’ I said hoarsely. ‘It is in his gift. You cannot have it.’

‘And if you have a son to inherit, eh?’ said Lord Guy. ‘As by then you shall. A son to the house of Maneth to inherit Cambray. But come, lady, I have a long journey ahead, to France. Be sure I will speak most lovingly of Sedgemont and Cambray, so lovingly that Henry of Anjou will not have the heart to deny me any part of what I want. Think of that as you ride on to Maneth castle. And one embrace before we part, then, as your new father.’

I felt my cheek flare under his lips; his mouth covered mine so I could not breathe. As he drew back contemptuously, I bit at him, feeling the blood start. He reigned back with a muffled cry, then surged forward, almost knocking horse and man over. His hand hit the side of my head so that all reeled and went black.

‘That was foolishly done,’ I heard him say. ‘That, too, shall be remembered. I have not forgotten how you put shame upon me and my son. Murderers, you called us, liars, in front of my men. Nor have I forgotten the little matter of a missing messenger. Died by fire, they say. We shall find out.’

‘I’ll bear Gilbert no sons,’ I said, although the words swam before me as I spoke.

He caught hold of my hair, pulling it back until my neck arched, like an animal’s before you cut it.

‘You will have a son,’ he said in my ear. ‘Shudder at such a thought? Mine or Gilbert’s. Better our get than Sedgemont’s. For I will have title to Cambray, and legally. But you should have picked more wisely when you had the chance. At least I know woman’s ways. I wager that when I return you will look forward to what I can show you.’

He let me go and beckoned to his son; wheeled his horse round and about as if still uneasy, as if undecided whether to leave or not.

‘I must ride fast,’ I heard him say to Gilbert. ‘Anjou will not await our coming. Do not waste time but go on to Maneth. I would she were already penned between the walls before I went.’

‘He is lost in the mountains ere this,’ Gilbert said sulkily. ‘Lost, or the Celts have already killed him for trespass. Who else is there to fear?’

‘This crowns ten years’ work,’ I heard him say again. ‘Such things need care to the very end. Then will our power stretch north and south, greater than any man’s since the death of the Earl of Gloucester. I would have had all safely locked within my keep before I left.’

‘It has already been agreed,’ Gilbert said. ‘You to work to our purpose with the Angevins in France; I, here.’

‘Be careful, cautious,’ Lord Guy continued to exhort him, giving final instructions, clasping his arm about his son’s shoulder while Gilbert sat black-faced upon his horse. Had he heard his father’s whispers to me? Was he being told what he must do?

‘Aye, aye, my good father,’ he said at last, sullen like a boy. ‘There is no danger. Maneth castle is but a few hours’ ride away. I tell you, all will go as you have planned.’

Lord Guy beckoned at last to his men. I heard him order those who stayed behind to ride on as soon as he was gone; then with half-oath, half-order, he wheeled about, riding out to the east, his guard crowding after. The rest waited in the village square, expectant to begin the march to Maneth. It was hot and still. I could hear the flies buzzing about the horses, the same noise that still buzzed within my ears. I could feel the hot sun, smell the faint smell of burnt wood, hear the shiftings of the charred beams as they resettled in the heat. Giles was dead, Raoul most like was dead, and I was prisoner of my enemies.

With an oath, Gilbert thrust himself heavily out of his saddle, calling to his squires to give him aid. He beckoned to the soldier who held me on his horse.

‘Drop her,’ he shouted. The man slashed at the ropes that bound me and I went sprawling to the ground. Gilbert laughed, hands on hips, legs akimbo, slowly peeling off his gauntlets, beckoning to his men to unfasten his mail coat.

On the ground, there’s no telling base-born from noble .
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I lay in the dirt with my green gown torn and stained with blood.

‘Get up,’ he shouted next, and when I did not, he pricked at my side with his heel. ‘On your feet, slut.’

I could not move; the ropes that had bound me so long had deadened my arms and legs so that even when he snarled at his men to haul me by the hair, I could not resist or comply.

‘Into the hut,’ he cried. ‘There’s time before we need to ride on. Maneth castle is not a kingdom away. Let’s see what she’s made of first. Drag her inside.’

There was a mutter at that, either because of what he said or because his orders reversed those given by his father. I think the latter, for his voice changed them. He walked from one man to the next, fingering his dagger hilt, angry yet cajoling at the one time.

‘There’s wine aplenty,’ he said, ‘the day is still young. Time to ride on in the evening cool.’

When they still did not respond, ‘Am I master here?’ he spluttered. ‘By my oath, who thwarts me when I bid him shall pay for it. Lord Guy of Maneth is growing old. He is forever fearful of what lies ahead. Fear and caution are as meat and drink to him. We, who are younger, heh, must look to present pleasure. They say she graced the Lord of Sedgemont’s bed as his page. What say we find the truth of that?’

At last he did raise a laugh among the younger, wilder-looking men. Two of them took me by the arms and dragged me inside the hut, leaving me there propped up against a bench. The place had already been used, clothes and food were scattered about, and there were wine flasks in plenty. The men winked at me as they went.

‘A kind master we have,’ one said, ‘share and share. You’ll see.’ He seized one of the wineskins and they went outside again. I sat against the bench, legs outstretched, hair tumbled awry, bruises beginning to ache and smart. Yet, although my head still reeled under the buffet Lord Guy had given me, my mind began to work again, as if the blow had cleared away some deeper, deadlier hurt. Outside, I heard Gilbert’s snarl raised; saw his pages hurry to tug off the armour that encased his plump body, saw him struggle into gown and fur-lined cape, and slick back his hair before a mirror into a semblance of those fashionable locks that younger men wore. It was obvious he intended to stay here, even against his father’s express command. Well, in that there could be hope. As long as we were not at Maneth, there was still hope. Once within the castle would be time to know that all was lost. I began to remember what people said of this man. Even his father called him fool, and his men, if they obeyed him, did so partly from fear, partly because there was some sly bond between them. ‘He talks too much,’ Lord Raoul had said. Yet his father entrusted him with his most-secret affairs. Perhaps, if I could keep him talking, I could find out what they were. But I was deathly afraid of him, even as I steadied my thoughts with these plans. The father terrified me, but the son much more. I feared him as one fears an overgrown and petulant child who smashes what he wants out of greed . . . What else his father had hinted at, and the old man in the ruined fort, and even Lord Raoul himself, those were things that bore not thinking on . . . Stupid and sly, and evil . . . Lord Guy of Maneth must have thought himself safe indeed if he left such a man to finish what he had begun so long ago.

Gilbert came to the door then, ungainly in his costly robes, belted with chain of gold. A gold purse hung at his side and he tottered on high-heeled shoes. The impression I had had when I saw him before at Sedgemont increased. Underneath the luxury there was something soft, white, unwholesome. His men came crowding after, pushing one another at the door.

‘Outside,’ he said to them, not turning round, waving his hands at them. ‘Wait.’

They laughed, moving back reluctantly like oxen driven from a water hole. And we were left together, Gilbert of Maneth and I. He eyed me furtively, lounging to the table, where he poured himself wine, spilling some in his haste. He swilled it down, wiping at his mouth with his embroidered sleeve. I felt fear and hatred rise up, yet I would not show him what I felt.

‘Faugh,’ he said, making a gesture of disgust, ‘you stink of sweat and blood. Is there no way to clean you first?’

‘It was a good man’s blood,’ I said, my voice husky with pain and horror. ‘No shame to him. And it will be avenged, as will my brother’s.’

He laughed uneasily, although the words came carelessly enough.

‘You speak of things long past, forgotten. Who thinks of the lords of Cambray? They moulder these ten years.’

He poured more wine and drank it eagerly, running his hand over his chin where the black growth showed along the heavy jaw.

‘You should remember things more recent,’ he said. ‘That I hold power of life and death, even over you.’

‘You would not dare kill me now,’ I said. ‘You have already found out that I am worth more alive. The time to have killed me was when Talisin died. Or that first time at Sedgemont. That was bungling indeed.’

He swore then, cursing in vile terms, raising his fist to strike.

‘Better you had drowned at Cambray,’ he said at last. ‘We should have taken all of you at one time. But there will be no more mistakes. We have you. We shall have Cambray. And when your Celtic kinsmen come looking for you, we’ll have them. Let them kill off Raoul of Sedgemont for us first, saving us the trouble. Then we can pick our time and deal wath them.’

‘There speaks your father’s voice,’ I mocked. ‘Have you no say in these plans?’

He drank again, watching me with his narrow eyes.

‘He will be far off in France,’ I taunted again. ‘Will you sit obediently until his return?’

His fist came crashing down at that.

‘Enough,’ he shouted. ‘I am master here. I do what I want. I shall trick the Celts with offers of treaty in return for you, and when they come, we shall be waiting for them. As for Cambray, there are other ways to get it than waiting for your son to inherit. I can take it when I want.’

‘Easier said than done,’ I said. ‘You were the first to point that out to Lord Raoul.’

‘Raoul, Raoul,’ he mimicked me. ‘Without our help, he’d have neither force enough nor skill. But if a handful of Celts could make their way inside by trickery, then Normans can do better.’

‘It is too strong for that,’ I said, taunting. ‘You’ll never overpower the walls by trickery.’

‘Who speaks of taking walls,’ he said with a laugh. ‘True, a handful of men could hold Cambray, but we’ll leave them to watch their walls. When we take Cambray, there are other ways. Your father built it strong, but not wisely. He thought to make it safe as all those Norman castles where he had served in France.’

He drank again. As I hoped, the wine was making him free with his talk.

‘He thought to build as strong a keep as any he had known. But he should have kept his intentions close. We took an old comrade of his to Maneth the other day. He told us enough to make things clear. Or rather,’ and he smiled at me, showing the pointed edges of his big teeth, ‘or rather, we persuaded him to it, poor dog, squealing out his master’s secrets for an hour’s more breath. Your father had ideas above his rank. His pride will be his own undoing, now we have the key to Cambray’s defence.’

He poked his finger at my face. ‘Your precious Raoul does not know what it is. And my father does not know I plan to use it. While he’s away in France. Then shall I be master of Maneth and Lord of Cambray before him.’

His words made greater impact that they seemed to echo some memory.

‘Then you do not need me at all,’ was all I said.

‘Ah, yes,’ he said, ‘because we need an heir to make things legal. A son would set a seal of legitimacy.’

‘That has not bothered you, wherever else you have robbed and stolen,’ I cried.

‘Perhaps not,’ he boasted again. ‘But Cambray is worth more than the rest. And how do you know what we have robbed or stolen?’

I did not reply. For a new thought had come to me.

‘Why is it,’ I asked him wonderingly, ‘that you hate us so much that you would destroy us one by one?’

He suddenly shouted back, ‘You do me wrong. I never hated Talisin. Had we been left to ourselves, he would not have hated me, nor I him. But the lords of Maneth were nothing to you at Cambray, less than hate, of no consequence at all. One among many who fawned on your father and brother. What were they, a poor man and his son raised out of obscurity to little fame? See how the tables are now turned. I tell you I shall be lord of all. I shall take Cambray before my father’s return, and when I have finished with the Celtic lords, I’ll have their lands, too. The whole of the border shall be mine. And all these lands that I have already destroyed.’

His gesture took in the ruined huts, the deserted village, those desolate tracts I had seen.

‘Then will Gilbert of Maneth rank higher than the lords of Cambray. And when I have their sister, daughter, to do what I want with . . .’

He surged towards me, pale-faced, the sweat standing out on his forehead. Before I knew what he was about, he had dragged me away from the bench to the floor.

‘Your father and brother reckoned themselves so far above me,’ he shouted. ‘See how you fall beneath. I have waited all my life to have them grovel for mercy before me.’ 

‘I do not ask for mercy,’ I gasped, ‘not for myself or for their memory.’

He put a hand across his face to wipe the rivulets of sweat that ran from his hair.

‘So looked he,’ he said almost incoherently; then, more rationally, ‘but there was never proof of foul play. Why should you blame me? I warned him of the tides. They knew I hated the water. Talisin ever mocked me for it. Had he not mocked me, had he begged, even then, although I could not swim, I would have dragged him forth, rescued him at my own life’s risk.’