Catherine Coulter (16 page)

“Like Elaine’s Eric, I eat,” said Tulia, who carried a bowl of almonds in her large, rough hands. She handed them around. All the women laughed.

Merry kicked a pebble at her foot. “Other than eating, what is our different way?”

Lisle, whose hands were busily smoothing a huge ball of gray wool, said, “Mayhap our ways are different because men have always drunk all the ale and left none for us.”

More laughter, some of it from a few men who had drifted close.

Miggins said, “All ye little peahens, listen to me. We wring our hands, we weep hot loud tears, we shriek our woes to the heavens when something bad befalls us. I ask ye, can ye see Lord Garron wringing his hands? Mayhap crying on Aleric’s shoulder, bemoaning what the fates have dumped on his head?”

Merry sighed, rubbed her bottom again. “Nay, I cannot imagine that.”

Miggins said, “Lord Garron is a good man, not crooked like his brother, but straight in his body and in his thoughts. He is very young, mayhap not quite ripe enough, yet he is a dandy lad. He cares about all of us, Merry. He cares. Look around you. There is life again at Wareham, life and a future for all of us. What is a mug of ale when compared to what he has wrought?”

“Next you will call him a god.” Merry walked back into the weaving shed. She turned and asked, “Was Ulric your husband, Miggins?”

Miggins gave her a huge toothless grin.

 

 

A
n hour later, Sir Lyle and Aleric told Garron and Burnell that the new smith Garron had hired in Winthorpe, Ronsard his name, was gone, all his belongings with him and he’d stolen a horse.

“I wonder,” Burnell said, “if the Black Demon will slit Ronsard’s throat when he finds out he failed.”

G
arron’s men returned with good news. Neither Furly nor Radstock had been attacked. Garron wasn’t surprised that neither Sir Wills nor Sir Gregory had heard about the Retribution at Wareham, for who was there to tell them? They had, appropriately, sent back a dozen men to help make repairs on their lord’s castle, surely a good sign as to their intentions. The men were immediately put to work building beds.

Garron stood on the ramparts and contemplated his good fortune in the face of what could have crushed him. Not even a fortnight had passed since Tupper had managed to winch up the portcullis, and now, instead of twenty-two starving ragtag people, there were, in addition to Robert Burnell’s men, close to sixty-five people in Garron’s great hall, all of them drinking from the dozens of wooden mugs Merry had bought in Winthorpe. Merry had told him at dinner, “The old woman informed me proudly that she had all the mugs I could need, as few could afford to buy them since they lasted forever.” She handed him a hunk of bread and goat cheese. “When I told her I would take the lot, she broke into song with her scrawny old husband, and the two of them danced a jig. So maybe I really wasn’t outbargained, since I will never forget their fine performance.”

Garron laughed. He realized as he scanned all the open land between Wareham and the Forest of Glen that he couldn’t recall having laughed so much in a very long time.

By the following evening there were four new trestle tables and eight new benches, all stout and sturdy, ready for a good hundred years of men’s arses. Garron realized there were no more dark corners in his great hall. It wasn’t the burning rush torches in the wall sconces that cleared the shadows, nay, it was the pulse of so many breaths and the pounding heartbeats of so many people.

As for the jakes, he wondered if maybe thinking about problems whilst he sat there wasn’t such a bad idea.

He and Burnell were leaving the following morning for Furly, then onward to Radstock, another half day to the north. He did not want to leave Wareham and so he tried again to convince Burnell that since Sir Wills and Sir Gregory had sent men to help, it surely meant they were eager to swear their fealty to him. Surely, a visit from him could wait.

Burnell speared a piece of baked hare on his knifepoint. “I am relieved your two keeps were left unharmed. I am pleased they sent men. It means, of course, that this Black Demon believes Arthur’s silver to be here, nowhere else. Still, the king believes that since neither Sir Wills nor Sir Gregory knows you, you are best served looking each man in the eyes as you accept his homage.”

There was no hope for it. Garron said, “We will quickly discover if either of them is stupid since with you at my side, they know the king’s shadow sits close by. If ever they considered falling out of line, they will quickly fall back in.” He began tossing his knife from one hand to the other, a fine exercise he’d always found. “If there were not so much to be done here at Wareham, it might be interesting to have Sir Gregory balk a bit. I’ve heard he’s a stubborn stoat, full of conceit and aggression. I wonder what he will do in the future? Truth be told, sir, I’m itching for a good fight. I think the king enjoyed fighting with me because I learned quickly enough to duck under those long arms of his. I tried to teach him to kick out with his big feet, but he never got the knack.”

“I watched the two of you once. My brave, agile king clouted your head and sent you flying into some yew bushes.”

Garron remembered his head had pounded for two days. “Aye, that was before I learned to leap backward, fast as a goat.”

“Did you not get your fill of fighting when you saved that kidnapped boy in the Clandor Forest?”

“There really wasn’t much to it. Because his destrier was near, their leader escaped me. You told me you couldn’t think of any lad in the vicinity who might be worth taking for ransom.”

“When I return to London, I will inquire.” Burnell drank some more ale, then softly belched.

Garron continued after a moment. “I wonder if the boy is still alive. I must doubt it, given he was alone and black-hearted men abound on God’s earth. It’s a pity, the lad had grit.”

Burnell pointed toward Merry, who was laughing at something young Ivo said to her. Her head was tilted and one of the small braids had worked itself loose and was lying against her cheek. “You told me you disciplined her—a good lesson, I say, to all the women, although I doubt your punishment will lead any of them to mind their tongues in the future.” Burnell sighed. “Women will not change, so our glorious queen assures me. She says it is simply not in their natures. The king agreed—I well remember the placid look he gave her when she spoke—but who knows? Stranger things have occurred, like the story of God raining locusts upon Egypt.”

Garron laughed, bit off a chunk of bread with his strong teeth, looked over to where their new miller, Arno, sat stuffing down his own bread dripping with gravy. The fellow certainly knew what he was doing; there was not a single piece of grit in the bread to break teeth.

“What think you, Garron?”

He shrugged. “As long as our women do what I tell them to do, why should I care about their natures?”

“Do they always obey you?”

“They do whenever I’ve sought one of them out for enjoyment.” Garron thought of Lady Blanche, one of the queen’s ladies, who’d enjoyed coming to his small bedchamber in the middle of the night and awakening him with kisses on his belly. He shuddered with the memory.

Burnell’s lips pursed. “You speak of carnal matters, my lord.”

“Like every breathing man I know, I find it a satisfying subject, sir.”

“You are young,” Burnell said, his voice sour. “Curses upon all young men, I say. But there is more than lust, my lord, at least there is later in life when all good things have waned.”

Aye, he thought, there was more than lust, even for young men. Garron saw Merry in his mind’s eye, bargaining with a leather merchant, and said without thought, “Sometimes women are competent and cocky and stubborn as any man.” He laughed. “Aye, sometimes they are warrior brave.”

“I find it interesting your bastard makes lists like our queen.”

His
bastard? Was that her laugh he heard? “Mayhap it is common amongst women who know how to read and write.”

“Most churchmen believe women are simple creatures, here only to birth men’s children and see to their needs. You look at me like I’ve lost my wits. Are churchmen right, I wonder?”

“Simple creatures? A man would have to be a hermit to believe such nonsense. Have you seen Merry’s writing? Have you noticed how she has gathered all the women together here at Wareham and set each to specific tasks, the men as well? The men respect her and defer to her. Aleric searches her out to ask her opinions. Now that she has Book One of
Leech Book of Bald
, I know she will become an excellent healer. She is many things, but she is not simple.”

Burnell chewed on another chunk of hare, dripping rich, thick gravy on his chin. He remembered in the last century, Eleanor of Aquitaine—that contentious witch with her hellhound sons—had written beautiful script. King Henry had kept her a prisoner for more years than some men lived, and look what she’d wrought. Endless plots against her husband, murdering his mistresses, setting one rapacious son against the other. Ah, but he’d heard she’d written and recited poetry to make a man’s heart bleed.

And his own precious Queen Eleanor. She read and wrote. She made lists, volumes of lists, each one to the point, each one useful. She advised the king. She kissed his bruises and bit his ear once, then kissed it, when she didn’t know anyone was about. Burnell said, “Take care, Garron, mayhap this redheaded wench will oust you from Wareham and set herself up as lord.”

Garron smiled, his eyes drawn yet again to Merry, now sitting next to Borran, doubtless discussing the repairs for the looms. Her braids were clean and shining in the rush lighting, from her own soap. She’d told him the soap she’d found at Winthorpe was too dear, and so she’d bought ingredients to make Wareham soap herself. Jasmine, she’d told him.

Garron knew, as he suspected every single man alive knew, that women were not simple. He also knew the queen was right—women would not change. They were eager when it came to passion, if a man wasn’t a lout; but during the long days, they’d criticize and nag a man until he went off to fight a war or he keeled over dead to escape.

On the other hand, he didn’t believe men ever changed, either. They coveted what wasn’t theirs, they always found reasons why what they wanted should belong to them, and they stole and hacked and maimed. Mayhap like the castellans of his Radstock and Furly keeps, Sir Gregory in particular—a man’s loyalties had to be reinforced, constantly, else he might slide off the path. Women as well?

T
hat night, after he had lost two games of chess to Burnell, Garron couldn’t sleep with all the snores surrounding him in the great hall, and so he woke Gilpin, who could sleep through a raging storm, and they moved their goose-feather mattresses to the lord’s bedchamber. Garron spent a long time listening to Robert Burnell snore like a stoat, his man Dilkin sprawled on his back on the floor on a mess of blankets, snoring as loudly as Burnell, in harmony, it seemed to Garron.

He left, yawning and blurry-eyed, with Robert Burnell the next morning and ten men, all of them armed to the teeth. He left Aleric in charge.

Merry stood on the ramparts and watched them ride into the Forest of Glen, Aleric standing at her elbow. Garron had merely nodded to her and given Aleric a nice long list of instructions to give to her, which he did once the line of men had disappeared from sight.

It was a sunny morning, shining down on Aleric’s bald head. “You seem worried, Aleric. Do you believe either Radstock or Furly will resist swearing fealty to Garron? The men Sir Wills and Sir Gregory sent seem content to be here and eager to work. Do you think their masters sent them here to spy out our weaknesses?”

“Nay, I do not think that, but I do believe it wise for Lord Garron to have Robert Burnell with him. No man with a brain would resist King Edward. Sir Gregory of Furly, now that little spittlecock has more ambition than brains, but Garron will see to him. The men each man sent are workers to build, not to spy, and they can fight if they must, so that is a relief. Hobbs told me both Sir Wills and Sir Gregory were relieved to hear Garron is not like his brother. To have their new lord the king’s man is of value as well. Pali and Gilpin will speak to the men within the keeps. They will see the truth of things very quickly.

“Worry not, mistress. Despite his few years, Garron is a leader, he has taught me strategies over the years. He is a man to trust. He has a brain, bless the beneficent Saint Simian, who gave away his sandals to a beggar. He then cut his foot on a rock, and died screaming in pain a sennight later, so it was said. If there is something of value to learn in that tale, I have yet to find it.”

Merry wondered why Simian hadn’t been smart enough to consult a healer. “How do you come to be Garron’s master-at-arms?”

Aleric’s face split into a huge grin. “Now there is a tale to boil the blood. It was all about a thieving merchant, a milking cow, and a hapless gypsy. Another time, mistress. Garron will keep his possessions safe, and if Sir Wills and Sir Gregory have any brains at all, they will hold steadfast to him and his authority.

“Look yon at our magnificent cattle. Garron allowed me to select them myself since my father was a master herdsman. I could help birth a calf and milk the mother when I was just a lad. Now, the cattle will continue to graze outside the keep until this afternoon. Then we will bring them in, the dairy maids will milk them, and we will winch up the drawbridge and lower the portcullis and be snug within, fifty cattle mooing in our ears, their sweet milk warm in our bellies.

“We don’t have that many trained soldiers but we do have a lot of healthy workers. We will be fine.” He massaged his shoulder, since his muscles pulled and cramped because he’d carried more stacks of cut wood than he ever had in his life the day before, and he wasn’t a lad of twenty anymore, cursed be the passing years that simply never stopped to let a man catch up.