Joining (2 page)

“More than a hundred thousand marks?”

“Easily double that,” Walter replied.

“How is it you know this, when it has never reached my ears ere now?”

“’Tis no secret among Lord Nigel’s close acquaintances, aye, even a heroic tale of how he came by this fortune in the saving of your brother’s life. ’Tis just not something he would want spread far and wide, and rightly so, with so many thieves rife in the lands. I only heard mention of it by accident myself, when I heard how much of that fortune comes with Shefford’s bride-to-be.”

“And how much would that be?”

“Seventy-five thousand marks.”

“Unheard-of!” John exclaimed.

“But understandable, since Crispin is not land-rich, whereas Shefford is. Crispin could be land-rich did he choose to, but he is an unostentatious man, ’twould seem, who is happy with his little castle and only a few other small holdings. Verily, few realize it, just how powerful Crispin is with such wealth behind him, the immense army of mercenaries he could raise if need be.”

John did not need to hear more. “And if those two families join in marriage, they would in truth be more powerful than even Pembroke and Chester.”

What he didn’t add was they could be even more powerful than he himself, especially when so many of his barons ignored his demands for
aid, or turned outright rebel against him, but Walter understood that, as did John.

“Then you see the need to prevent this joining?” Walter ventured.

“What I see is that Guy de Thorpe has never denied me aid when requested, has continually supported my wars, ofttimes even sending his son and a well-supplied army of knights to fill my ranks. What I see is this nigh landless Nigel Crispin will now be taxed accordingly. What I
see
is if I did perforce forbid this joining, these two
friends”
—this was said with a full dose of disgust—“would then have cause to still join—but against me.”

“But if something or someone other than yourself prevented that particular joining?” Walter asked slyly.

At that, John burst out laughing, drawing a brief, curious look from his wife across the room. “I would not be the least bit remorseful.”

Walter smiled serenely, for this was what he had counted on. “It would be of even further benefit, Your Grace, if, when Shefford must look for a new bride, you were to suggest one with dower lands across the channel. Tis known he sends knights for your wars in England and Wales, but he sends scutage for your French wars, since he has no personal interest there. But did his son’s wife have dower lands in, say, La Marche, then he would have a personal interest in seeing that the Count of La Marche troubles you no more. And three hundred knights is worth more than the one thousand mercenaries their fees in scutage would bring you, you will agree.”
John smiled as well, for that was indeed true. One loyal, well-trained knight was worth far more than a half dozen mercenaries. And three hundred well-trained knights, which was what Shefford could muster, could mean the difference in winning an important skirmish.

“I suppose you have just such a daughter with dower lands in La Marche?” John asked, as a mere formality. He already guessed the answer.

“Indeed, m’lord.”

“Then I see no reason not to recommend her—if the Shefford whelp does go looking for a new bride.”

It was not exactly a promise, but then King John was not known to keep promises. But Walter was satisfied.

Two

“You know my
feelings on this, Father. ’Twould tax me little to name
many
heiresses more suitable for my wife, one or two I would even
like
to have, yet you have bound me to your friend’s daughter who brings us naught but more coins, which we do not need.”

Guy de Thorpe stared at his son and sighed. Wulfric had come late to his marriage, when he had despaired of ever having a son. His two eldest daughters were already wed ere he was even born. Guy even had grandchildren who were older than his son. But for an only son—at least his only legitimate son—Guy could not truly find fault with him, had much to be proud of—except for his stubbornness, and with it, his propensity to argue with his sire.

Like Guy, Wulfric was a large man, with muscles honed thick from training and warfare. They both also bore the thick black hair and blue eyes from Guy’s father, though Guy’s were a lighter blue, while Wulfric’s a darker hue, and Guy’s thick mane was now more gray than
black. The square, unyielding jaw was more Anne’s, though, and that straight, patrician nose came from her side of the family as well. Still, Wulfric much resembled Guy, was in fact a more handsome version; leastwise the ladies thought him fair to look upon.

“Is that why you have chased after wars since the girl came of age, Wulf? To avoid wedding her?”

Wulfric had the grace to blush, since that was exactly what he had done. But he defended himself. “The one time I met her, she had her falcon attack me. I still carry the scar.”

Guy was incredulous.
“That
is why you have always refused to go again with me to Dunburh Castle?
Jesu,
Wulf, she was just a small child. You carry a grudge against a child?”

Wulfric flushed with remembered anger now, rather than embarrassment. “She was a veritable shrew, Father. Verily, she acted more the boy than the girl, challenging, swearing, attacking any who would gainsay her, no matter their size or age. But nay, that is not why I do not want her. I want Agnes of York instead.”

“Why?”

Wulfric was given pause at the unexpected direct query. “Why?”

“Aye, why? Do you love her?”

“I know I would like to see her in my bed, but love her? Nay, I doubt me I do.”

Guy chuckled at that, much relieved. “There is naught wrong with lust. ’Tis a healthy emotion—if you discount what pious priests say of it. A man is lucky if he finds it in his marriage, luckier still if he finds love there as well. But
you know as well as I that a marriage is not needed to have either.”

“So I am peculiar, to prefer to lust after my wife rather than her serving wenches,” Wulfric maintained stubbornly.

It was Guy’s turn to blush. ’Twas no secret that he bore no great love for his wife, Anne. But he was fond of her, and gave her every respect, including keeping his mistresses out of her domain. Unlike his friend Nigel, who had loved his wife dearly, and to this day continued to mourn her loss, Guy had never known that emotion with a woman, nor did he feel deprived to have never known it. But lust, on the other hand—he’d had many mistresses over the years, too many to count, and if Anne had not heard of them, his son certainly had.

Though there was no censure in Wulfric’s look. He had been wenching himself from a young age, so was in no position to cast stones. Therefore, Guy saw no need to explain how easily lust could be satisfied, whether with one’s wife or not. What a man would prefer was rarely the plate he was served. But then such was life.

He said instead, “I will not embarrass our family by asking to null the betrothal contract. You know that Nigel Crispin is my closest friend. You also know that he saved my life, when my horse had fallen on me, trapping me beneath it so I could not escape, and a Saracen scimitar was within inches of taking off my head. There was naught I could do to repay him—that he would accept—then. ’Twas mostly gratitude that had me offer what was dearest to
me, you, when he at last sired daughters. The joining of our families was secondary. What he could contribute to that joining was of little import—at least at the time.”

“At the time? Mean you to say ’tis important now?” Wulfric said in scoffing tones.

Guy again sighed. “If the king demanded only the forty days service due him, ’twould not be important, but he asks for more than that. If you had given him only the forty days due, ’twould not be important, but you gave him more. Even now you just return from fighting, yet already mention you mean to cross the channel with the king on his next campaign. Well, enough is enough, Wulf. We cannot continue to support our people and the king’s army as well.”

“You never said we were struggling,” Wulfric replied almost accusingly.

“I would not have you worry, when you were off fighting John’s battles. And ’tis not a dire circumstance, just a troublesome one, with too many things occurring in the last ten years to deplete our reserves. The king’s visit here last year with his entire court hurt, but that is to be expected, occurs anywhere he goes, which is why he can never stay long in one place. Those campaigns in Wales hurt more, with not a farm there in sight to feed your men, and the Welsh gone into the hills a-hiding …”

Guy said no more on that account. Wulfric’s expression had gone sour as he remembered how nigh futile was warfare against the Welsh, who would not meet an army on the field, but
would whittle away at it from ambush. Wulfric had lost many of his own men in Wales.

“All I am saying, Wulf, is that what your wife will bring to us—”

Wulfric’s stubbornness reared up again to interrupt, “She is
not
my wife yet.”

And Guy continued as if he hadn’t heard, though he likewise stressed, “Your
wife
brings us what is needful at this time. Powerful alliances we have aplenty. All five of your sisters were placed exceedingly well. Land we have aplenty, though once you wed, more can be bought if needful, more castles can be raised, improvements made …
Jesu,
Wulf, ’tis a fortune she brings us, and that is
naught
to scoff at, whether ’tis needful or not.”

Guy took a long draft of his wine before he mentioned the worst of it. “Besides, you have kept her waiting so long that it would now be a serious insult to beg off, now she’s so far past marriageable age—due to your delays. Well, no more. ’Tis time you collect her and have done with it. See that you leave for Dunburh within the week.”

“Is that an order?” Wulfric asked stiffly.

“It is if it must be. I will not break the contract, Wulf. Tis too late for that when she is ten and eight now. Will you shame me by doing so?”

Wulfric could only reply, albeit furiously, “Nay, I’ll fetch her. I’ll even marry her. But whether I’ll live with her remains to be seen.”

So saying, he stalked from the hall. Guy watched him until he was gone from sight, then turned to stare into the fire in the Great Hearth.

The hour was late. He’d waited until Anne and her ladies had left the hall before he’d summoned Wulfric. Mayhap he should have enlisted Anne’s support instead.

Wulfric never argued with his mother, not as he did with Guy. Verily, he seemed to enjoy ceding to her wishes, for he loved her dearly. And Anne was even more eager than Guy to have the marriage done. She was the one who had nagged him to speak with Wulfric ere he found himself another war to run off to. In anticipation of having her own coffers replenished, no doubt. But at least she could have got their son to agree, without seeing how much he hated doing so.

Guy sighed again, wondering now if he was doing Nigel’s daughter a disservice, forcing his son to marry her.

Three

It was a
day-and-a-half journey to Dunburh, even accompanied by a score of men-at-arms, as well as several knights. These were not for his own protection, but because they would be escorting a lady and likely her retinue of servants on the return journey. And brigands were rife in John’s realm.

Some of John’s own barons, having been exiled, had taken their war to the roads, attacking those still in John’s favor. So even if Guy hadn’t insisted on his taking precautions, Wulfric would have done so. He wasn’t going to have his father accuse him of losing the bride-to-be by carelessness—whether he would like to or not.

The bride-to-be … Just the thought of that scrawny little she-devil had him growling low in his throat. Which made his half brother raise a brow at him in puzzlement.

They had just broken camp on the second day of the journey, were back on the road and making good time. With so many men to find lodgings for, no easy feat, he had deemed it best just
to camp beside the road last eventide. Though he would have to find those lodgings on the return trip, since
she
was like to insist on sleeping in a bed.