Hellion (3 page)

“I am happy to know that, Hugh, for I should not like to see the talented line of Merlin-sone disappear. Your family has always bred the best hunting birds. Did you know that my father first met your grandfather when he came to Normandy
years ago to enter a competition with his birds? That was when Lord Cedric was first won over to my father’s cause. His loyalty to my father after King Edward died, and his effort to quiet the Mercian countryside, were greatly appreciated.” The king smiled at his companion. “I am taking up too much of your time, Hugh, and you have much to do before you leave for Langston.”

“I should like your permission to take Rolf de Briard with me, my liege,” the knight said.

Henry nodded. “Aye, he is a good man to have guarding one’s back, Hugh. Take him with you.”

Hugh stood, and then kneeling before the king, placed his folded hands in the monarch’s. “I am your man. I will faithfully hold Langston for you as long as I live, sire,” he promised.

The king raised Hugh Fauconier up, kissing him on both cheeks. Then he gave him a small carved wooden staff, signifying that Henry had passed Langston formally into his vassal’s possession. Bowing, Hugh departed the chamber.

Behind him Henry smiled, well pleased with his day’s work. He had knighted Hugh Fauconier himself many years ago. His childhood friend had pledged his loyalty to him. His fealty to William Rufus, of course, took precedence to such an oath; but when Henry had become king last summer, Hugh had renewed his vow, and now once again for Langston. There are few I can trust like this man, the king thought. There are others who consider themselves closer to me; others richer, and certainly more powerful than this knight; but none are more loyal. There is no malice in him. The king drank down the wine remaining in his cup, and went to join his wife.

“Well?” demanded Rolf de Briard as Hugh rejoined him. “What have you been given, my friend, and is it worth the trip?”

“I have no idea as to the land involved, but there is a relatively new keep of stone, Rolf, not timber and earth. And I have to marry the girl. All in all it’s not a bad bargain.”

“
What girl
?” Rolf exploded. “There is a girl? What’s her name? Is she pretty? Better yet, is she rich?”

“She is Isabelle of Langston, the daughter of the previous tenant, and I haven’t the faintest idea if she is rich or pretty, Rolf.” He went on to explain the history of Langston to his friend, and the king’s concerns over his bride-to-be’s unwillingness to swear fealty. “The maid is probably frightened by the situation, and still mourning her father and brother. She is gently bred, and helpless in this matter. I’ll set things to rights in short order, and have the little bird singing a song of love by spring.”

Rolf laughed. “The little bird will be closely chaperoned by her mama, my friend, and that good lady may prove a problem. She will have an influence upon her daughter that you will not, being a stranger.”

“Once she is my wife,” Hugh Fauconier said seriously, “Isabelle has no choice but to answer to me first. If the mother proves difficult, I shall send her off to her stepson’s in Normandy, Rolf.”

Bold words, and a bolder plan of action, Rolf de Briard thought, but then Hugh Fauconier had always been a direct man. Each had been sent to court at the age of seven to be raised there. Neither had any real prospects. Hugh was an orphan, and Rolf a younger son. They had immediately become fast friends. Queen Matilda had raised and educated them with her youngest son, Henry. They had traveled regularly back and forth between England and Normandy with the court, learning first as pages, then as squires; finally being knighted just before the first King William had died. The good queen, as she had been known, had predeceased her husband by four years.

The court of the second King William was a totally different affair. William Rufus had little respect for overpious and pompous churchmen. He was a direct, forthright man who rewarded loyalty with loyalty and generosity; and disloyalty with a swift, harsh hand. His was a totally masculine court of
young men in splendid costumes. There were rumors, none of them proved, that the king preferred pretty boys to pretty girls. The king smiled and neither denied nor confirmed the rumors. As no one man emerged as favorite, rumors were all the Church had. Yet the king never married, nor sired any bastards.

There were tales, Rolf thought, that he and Hugh could have told, but they never did. The king was simply a man’s man. He had no time for softness. Rolf and Hugh did their duty and bided their time. It was the only life they had. Now, however, Hugh was to have land of his own. Rolf, whose heart was a good one, was delighted by his friend’s luck.

The two knights departed for Langston two days later, accompanied by their squires and Father Bernard, an older man of surprising vigor. They rode for four days, crossing Essex, and then went on into Suffolk. The January weather was cold, wet, and uninviting. They saw no one along their route but an occasional farmer driving his livestock from one pasturage to another. The priest had arranged for them to stay at night in the guest houses of the religious orders scattered about the countryside. A small coin gained them a hot supper, a safe bed, and oat stirabout, bread, and cider after mass before they left in the morning. There was no breakfast without attending mass, Father Bernard warned them.

“I haven’t been so well-churched in years,” Rolf said with a grin as they rode along on the last morning of their journey.

The priest and the squires laughed, but Hugh only smiled, more interested in the countryside about him. The area was said to be flat, but although it lacked the hills of his childhood home, there was a gentle roll to it. There were broad meadows, and fine stands of old trees. The buildings they saw were timber-framed and plastered, the roofs thatched neatly, for there was no building stone of note in the vicinity. There was an air of comfortable prosperity to the region, as well there should have been.

There were small ports that were home to fishing fleets and
also welcomed trading vessels from the Baltic and Dutch states. The landscape was rich with cattle and sheep. The Suffolk area of East Anglia had been the most populated Saxon region in England owing to a law called Partible Inheritance, which allowed a man to divide his estate equally between all his children. This was not the custom in the rest of England.

As the road wound through the gentle terrain, Hugh realized that they were curiously isolated from the rest of the world. None of the large, important roads ran through the area. The air was cold and damp, the silence almost overwhelming. Away from the court and its distractions, he realized that winter was a colorful time. The branches of the trees were black against the gray sky. In the marshes the reeds and grasses ran the gamut of color from reddish-brown to gold, springing from the rich, dark earth or the ice-edged marshlands of the rivers and streams that seemed to crisscross the landscape.

The countryside, he could see, was good for pasturage, as well as for growing crops. He wondered exactly how much land Langston possessed, and whether it had enough serfs to work it. What did they grow? Did they have both cattle and sheep? A mill? With every step his horse took, Hugh Fauconier was more and more eager to see his ancestral lands.

“There, my lord, just ahead, and across the river,” Father Bernard said. “It is Langston Keep, if I am not mistaken.”

They were on a small bluff overlooking the Blyth. Hugh scanned the countryside. “There is no bridge,” he noted.

“Then there has to be a ferryman somewhere,” Rolf replied practically.

They directed their mounts down the incline and along the riverbank until they were almost directly opposite Langston Keep. There they saw across the river a flat, bargelike vessel, but there appeared to be no one about. Then Hugh’s squire, Fulk, spotted a post hung with a bell on the shore. Nudging his horse over to it, he rang the bell vigorously, and a moment later a figure was seen running to the ferry.

“Good lad!” Hugh praised the young man. Then he looked
across the Blyth to Langston Keep. It was, the king had said, situated upon the site of his grandfather’s old hall. It was indeed of stone; and he was curious as to how the stone had been obtained. The keep was rectangular in shape, two stories high. It was set upon a motte, an earthworks mound, as was customary; giving it added height from which to spy upon the countryside about. The motte was surrounded by a wide, deep, water-filled trench. The top of the motte was enclosed with a wall, and from within the enclosure rose the keep. A wooded drawbridge stretched across the water to the keep’s entrance gate. It is very impressive, Hugh thought.

Then the ferryman was upon them, and there was no more time for contemplation as he waved them aboard.

“You cannot take all of us,” Hugh said, noting the size of the vessel. “Fulk, Giles, you will cross after we have, for you have the pack animals in your charge.” The two squires nodded.

The river was not broad, but while it looked smooth as glass, there was a strong current to it. The ferryman was obviously an expert at his task, and soon had them on the other side. The two knights and the priest made their way up the bluff, across the drawbridge, and through the barbican into the keep’s bailey. Within they could see the entry to the tower itself, and a stables. A young serf boy ran to take their horses. From the dwelling an elderly man came to greet them. Upon reaching them, he stared hard at Hugh Fauconier, moving closer to peer into the knight’s face.

“My lord Hugh,” he said in a trembling voice. “How can it be? They said you died at Hastings, and your sons with you.” Tears welled in the servant’s eyes, running down the grooves age had made in his old face. With a shaking hand he reached out to touch Hugh. “Be you real, my good lord? Be you real, or some ghostie come back to haunt us?”

“What is your name, old fellow?” Hugh asked the servant.

“Why, I be Eldon, lord. Do you not remember me? But then I was but a lad when you marched out to fight the Norman invader,” came the reply.

“And I, Eldon, am the grandson of your Lord Hugh. Do you remember my mother, the lady Rowena? When she fled Langston after the great battle at Hastings, I was but newly planted in her belly. I am named for my grandfather, and my father.”

Understanding dawned in the servant’s eyes. “You look just like your grandfather,” Eldon said. “Welcome home, my lord Hugh! Welcome home to Langston!” He shook the younger man’s hand vigorously.

“Will you bring me to the lady of the keep, Eldon?” Hugh said.

“Aye, lord, and right proud I am to do so,” was the answer. Eldon turned and led the three men up the steps of the keep into the dwelling.

The first floor of the building was below them. Hugh knew that it would be used mostly for storage. This main level was where the lord and his family would live. They were in the Great Hall, and Hugh could see several doors that opened off of it leading to other chambers. The hall had several attractively arched windows running down one side of its length. Opposite the entrance was a raised wooden dais upon which was set a fine table covered with a snow-white linen cloth. There were two large fireplaces. Next to one of them a pretty woman sat at a loom, weaving.

“Lady,” Eldon called out as he approached her, bowing. “Here be Lord Hugh come home to Langston.” He gave no further explanation.

The woman arose. “Welcome, my lords,” she said in a sweet voice, “although I do not understand what old Eldon’s words mean. He has a tendency to wander a bit these days, but he has always served this house loyally, and so we make allowances. I am the lady Alette de Manneville. May I ask, my lords, who you are?” She turned before they might answer. “Eldon, wine for our guests,” she ordered, then turning back to the three men, smiled prettily.

“We thank you for your gracious welcome, my lady Alette.
I am Father Bernard, the king’s chaplain,” the priest introduced himself. “I have come from King Henry with several messages for you. The young man is Lord Hugh Fauconier. His companion is Rolf de Briard. We have ridden together from Westminster.”

“
King Henry
?” The lady Alette’s pretty face was confused. “Does not King William Rufus yet reign in England?”

“King William died this Lammas past, lady,” the priest answered her. “Did you have no word of it?”

“Nay, good father, we did not,” she said. “We are very isolated here at Langston, being far from any roads of consequence.”

“But did you not receive a royal messenger twice in the past few months? In early September, and then late November, I believe it was.”

“Aye, my lord, we did,” the lady replied. She was a lovely creature with sky-blue eyes and rich blond hair that was neatly braided and covered with a sheer white veil. “But the messenger did not say from which king he came. Perhaps he did not think it necessary, nor did we think it necessary to ask.” She shrugged lightly.

“Did you not read the message, lady?” the priest continued.

“Nay, good father, for the messenger said ’twas for the lord of Langston, and my husband is away with Duke Robert on crusade. Besides, I cannot read. I gave the bearer hospitality, and put the documents away for when my husband returns.”

The priest looked at Hugh, who said, “This whole matter has come about through a misunderstanding, Father. The messenger in his arrogance did not inform this lady of one king’s death and the other’s ascension. What shall we do?”

“The confusion changes nothing, my son,” Father Bernard answered. “King Henry’s orders still stand.” He turned back to the lady. “Seat yourself, madame. There is much I have to tell you. My lords, pray be seated also.” The priest settled himself on a bench opposite the woman. “Your words tell me, lady, that no one has come to inform you of your lord’s death last
August in a battle called Ascalon. Your stepson, William, also died.”

She grew pale for a moment, crossed herself, and then taking the goblet of wine offered her by Eldon, sipped it slowly. Finally she spoke. “No, good father, I was not told of Robert’s death. Richard, I assume, is now Sieur de Manneville? Of course, he would be.”