Lady of Fire (32 page)

"Even at the peril of your immortal soul?"

"Aye."

"Robert, how long has it been since you were confessed?"

"I don't know."

"You know, do you not, that to force yourself on an innocent maid whilst she was under the abbess' protection was a grievous sin—a blot on your soul?"

"Aye, but 'twas not my intent when I went there. In truth, I could not help myself—I could not look on her and not have her. I only wanted to see if she were whole and unblemished, I swear."

"But you forced her."

"After she had already pledged herself to me. We were contracted to wed!"

William felt a surge of power over the hated Robert of Belesme. If the man told the truth, the Church would be bound to stand with him in demanding the return of Eleanor of Nantes, but William would exact a price for his support.

"You understand that I must send to the abbess and request her to prove or disprove your tale—this must be thoroughly investigated and the Lady Eleanor will have to be questioned." His lips pursed disapprovingly as he surveyed this enemy of the Church. "You have not been overzealous in your observation of the faith, my lord, and I would have some token that you mean to reform ere I begin. It goes against my very nature to compel a Christian lady to live with you."

"I mean her no harm, excellency. I would treat her well and care for her as the mother of my sons," Robert defended. "Aye, I would be good to her." He knew what William Bonne-Ame was thinking and it rankled him to give in, but he could think of no other way to get what he wanted. "Aye, I have built a place for her at Belesme—I will rebuild the chapel also for her and her chaplain."

"And for yourself, my lord? Do you confess for the good of your soul?"

"I bear the burden of all I have done."

"But do you ask for forgiveness and for God's healing grace?"

"Nay!"

"Confess yourself to me, Robert." The hairs on the archbishop's neck rose at the sight of Belesme's hand involuntarily going to his sword hilt, but he did not waver in his determination to win some concession from the count. "Repent and let God remove this burden of sin you carry."

"At what cost? You would raid my purse ere you would give me what is mine by rights!"

"You make it difficult to believe in your sincerity."

"You want my confession?" Robert's voice sounded harsh even to his own ears. "You have not the time, excellency, to listen to all I have done. I have killed, I have maimed, I have ravished, and I have blasphemed—aye—but, wherever I go, men fear me and bend to my will because your fires of hell frighten me not." Belesme's green eyes were cold and unwavering. "Aye, excellency—I'll give you my confession if you have the stomach to listen."

"Confession is only part of it, my lord, and well you know it. Absolution depends on repentance and penance."

They stared at each other for a long minute. Finally Robert reminded himself of his purpose in seeking out William Bonne-Ame, and he went down on his knees before him. Slowly he began the barely familiar ritual by intoning, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…" His voice was clear as he began the enumeration of some of his more well-known transgressions. He spoke as perfunctorily as possible, neither glossing over nor gloating over what he had done. He had little interest in turning his own request for aid against himself, but he found it necessary to compromise with the churchman by playing William's game. When he finished what he judged to be enough sin to satisfy William's requirements, he stopped and waited.

Stunned by Robert's dry accounting of his own cruelty, the archbishop had difficulty finding his voice. Finally he managed to chide Belesme, "You should confess more often, my lord, and not save the sins of a lifetime for one confession." He sighed heavily. "I find it difficult to believe in your sincere repentance without some sign. Perhaps there is some proof you can offer God of your intentions?"

"I leave that to you, excellency."

"Ah, well… perhaps the building of a church for the people of Belesme and the endowment of a monastery to aid in the repose of your father's soul."

"There are not enough prayers in all of Normandy to raise my father from hell," Robert snorted.

"Nay, you forget—I knew William Talvas. He was a hard man, Robert, but he had his virtues."

"He beat my mother nigh to death." Robert averted his eyes again. "And what you ask would beggar me."

"Nay. You are a wealthy and powerful man, my lord. Share with God, and your gift will be returned to you tenfold or more. And," he added significantly, "I will grant a conditional absolution."

Belesme considered it blackmail, but he would have to at least appear to agree to William's demands if he wanted the archbishop's very necessary support in his quest to have Eleanor's marriage to Roger declared invalid. "So be it," he answered soberly.

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The garden was still and peaceful with the somnolent sounds of a late-autumn morning. The air was crisp and cool and the leaves of a half-naked tree fell like a golden rain over the stone benches, narrow rock walk, and hedgerows below. Dew still glistened on the rows of herbs and the late-blooming flowers as Eleanor brushed aside a place to sit in this, her haven from the bustle and noise of the great fortress. It was here that she came to meditate in peace each morning before beginning the tasks she set for herself as interim mistress of Harlowe.

Earl Richard had written that he'd found Glynis and they'd renewed their vows of years before. He expected to bring her home to Harlowe by Christmas feast, but first he intended to go to Normandy's court and plead Roger's case with Curthose. Eleanor sighed and fingered the many keys that hung from an iron ring at her girdle, the symbols of her temporary authority in Harlowe. She could scarcely wait to give them up to their rightful owner. It had been difficult, nearly impossible at first, for a girl out of a convent to manage the housekeeping duties of a castle that amounted to nothing short of a small walled city. But now, when she and Roger were able to return to his own lands, she felt more than competent to run the household of the Condes.

Earl Richard had made no mention of her father, but then she supposed he could not be expected to have had any contact with Gilbert of Nantes, given the situation with Glynis. Certainly Gilbert had not deigned to reply to her letter telling of her marriage to Roger, but she could well imagine his reaction. Ah well, she consoled herself, he had been an unnatural parent and he had never loved her anyway.

Her thoughts turned to Roger as she offered a brief prayer of thanksgiving for his love. After all those years of loneliness and misery, she had not believed it possible to be so happy. Each day seemed to bring her some new discovery of his goodness, his kindness, and his love. And he valued her for more than being a woman. Less than a week before, he'd sent her with Harlowe's officer to render the lord's justice in the local court while he rode to Stamford to meet with William Rufus.

Only two nagging fears still weighed on her mind. The first was the feeling that she had not heard the last from Robert of Belesme—there'd been no word at all as to his reaction to her marriage, but she could not believe he would accept such an insult gracefully. In her heart, she half-expected to wake up one morning and find him camped with an army outside Harlowe. And the other nagging fear she harbored secretly was that she was barren. In two and a half months of marriage, her courses had come three times. Roger's attitude puzzled her in this—he just shrugged and said he was glad enough she hadn't conceived.

The gate creaked behind her and the noise brought her back to the reality of the day's business. It was Ralph d'Escrivet come to receive her orders for the running of the household, and if he thought it ironic to consult a young girl about things he'd done since before she was born, he was more than diplomatic about it. He was fatherly, he was patient, occasionally he offered suggestions—but he always followed her orders to the smallest detail. "My lady." He knelt on one knee by her bench. She reached to grasp the heavily veined hand. "I wish you would not do that, Sir Ralph." She smiled. "Come sit beside me and tell me what it is we do today." She brushed the leaves off the bench next to her.

"Well," he began as he eased his old bones up and took the place she indicated, "there's the supplies for winter. I have brought the list of what we have of each item in the stores, Lady Eleanor."

She took the pages of figures and studied them briefly before turning to him. "But you are better able than I to determine the needs, sir, for you have wintered here many times."

"And you are the lady of the house," he reminded her with a gentle smile. "Here, I have brought a list of what we used last year for comparison."

To Eleanor, her sessions with the steward seemed to be lessons in management. Bending herself to the task of checking this year's supplies against last year's usage, she joined Sir Ralph in making up a list of things to be ordered or procured from some of Harlowe's other properties. By the time they'd settled on everything from candles from London to barrels of lampreys from the south and wine from Aquitaine, the sun waxed high in the sky. The old man took meticulous notes on her wishes and nodded his approval as he went over them.

"You've a fine mind in that pretty head," he told her admiringly. "The nuns taught you well."

"Nay, 'twas Roger and you, my friend. The nuns did naught but beat me for my impiety." She watched him roll up his papers. "What about the cloth merchant? If he does not come soon, there will not be enough time to make the Christmas robes. I would not have it said that everyone did not get at least one change of clothing."

"He comes today, my lady, and I have brought girls in from the village to assist in the sewing once the materials are chosen and the patterns are cut."

"Aye. And I would have some martin and vair for the lining of cloaks for my lord, Earl Richard, Lady Glynis, yourself, Brian, the bailiff, and the sons who foster here." She counted them off on her fingers.

"And for you."

"And for me." She nodded. "Aye, but first I need to find from Roger how much he can afford for that."

"Lady, Earl Richard would expect to buy your winter clothes…'tis little enough he could do for the service you give him here. Besides, you are of his family now and he takes pride in you. Order what you would have and be generous with yourself…'tis what he would tell you if he were here."

"Nay." She shook her head emphatically. "I will not be one of those wives who are said to squander their husbands' substance, and I will not hang on the sleeves of his relatives. Let me find out what Roger will pay before I order."

Privately, Ralph thought that the young lord would spare no expense for his lady, so plainly was he besotted with her, so the steward had little fear that she would lack for anything. He rose to take his leave, his notes rolled in his hand.

"Nay, I'll walk with you, sir," Eleanor decided, "for I have sent the women out washing the linens while the weather still holds warm enough." She tucked her hand in the crook of the old man's elbow. "I ought to see that they do it all."

"They will." He opened the garden gate for her and drew her along the wall where they could see workers cutting the fresh rushes for the floors. "Do you want them woven or scattered in your chamber? I've ordered them scattered in the hall because they are easier to sweep up if need be and Earl Richard cannot abide the stench of rotting food beneath his feet. We clear them away several times before the spring sweetening."

"Aye, so we did at Nantes."

"The lime-washing should be complete before supper and the rushes will go down in the morning."

"Well, I think I prefer to have them woven into several mats for the solar so they can be picked up and aired on pleasant days," she decided.

They walked along until they reached the open yard that swarmed with activity. The sounds of the blacksmith's hammer, rolling carts, herded animals, and newly arriving riders vied with the shouts of orders between masters and workmen to create a cacophony that made normal speech impossible. Eleanor had to lean against Sir Ralph to listen to his explanations of various projects. Suddenly she stiffened as she made out shouted insults across the way, and then she picked her way purposefully through the crowded yard toward the altercation. A puzzled Ralph followed and tried to shout a path clear for her.

"You!" she called out to one of the youths gathered in a corner. "What is the meaning of this?"

The boy, taken aback by her sudden appearance, stammered something unintelligible. She turned to another and demanded, "Well? I thought I heard something I did not like."

"We were teasing the stable bastard, my lady—that was all," someone off to the side explained.

"All?" Her voice rose in incredulity. "Nay, I will not stand for it! Do you hear me? I will not stand for it!"

"Lady—" Ralph was taken aback by her anger at so small a thing and sought to calm her.

"Nay!" She shook off the hand he placed on her shoulder and bent to examine the young boy whose grubby hands were rubbing away tears. " 'Tis no light thing to torment someone for what he cannot help. Here…" She offered a corner of her gown to rub at the smudges on round cheeks. The other boys milled around her in disbelief that she would soil her gown on the dirty child. Rounding again on them, she demanded, "Whose child is this?"

"Eadgytha's."

"His father?"

"She is a Saxon slut—who can tell who his father is?" the boldest boy ventured sullenly.

"Silence! Your countess is Saxon, fool!" Eleanor railed. "My lord's mother is Saxon!" She turned to the steward. "Do you know this boy?"

"Aye—his mother is one of the village girls we bring in here to do the laundry. She's a pretty thing and too often some of the noble sons here try to make sport of her."

By now the child had determined that Eleanor meant to champion him and he clutched her skirt with his dirty fingers. She brushed back his hair for a better look at his face. "He's a pretty child."

"My lady," the boldest boy spoke again, "he's a bastard."

"Don't ever use that word in my presence again! Listen to me! Once my lord was being tormented for being a bastard, and do you know what happened? I'll tell you—William the Conqueror chanced on it, and do you know what he did?" Without waiting for anyone to guess, she went on, "He had the boys thrashed and he took my lord into his service. If he had not done that, my lord could have been a stableboy too, and would never have discovered that he was the legitimate heir here."

"Humph! Well, he's not legitimate." the unrepentant boy pointed at the child clutching her gown.

"Nonetheless, I will not have him called names." Eleanor had mastered her anger now as she smoothed the tangled crown of dirty blond hair. "Each of you will be birched ten times."

"But I didn't call him anything!" one of the boys in the group protested.

"And you did not stop it, either, did you? Nay, if you were part of the tormenting, you can take your punishment," she pronounced flatly. "Sir Ralph, will you see that my orders are earned out?"

"Aye." He called out the name of each boy and ordered them to the practice yard. "I'll have the squiremaster do it."

Roger had seen much of the incident from where he had been at the armorer's. At first he'd been inclined to intervene, but Eleanor had reached them before he could get there and his heart swelled with pride at her swift disposal of the problem. His memory harkened back to that other incident so long ago and he had to smile. His Lea had not forgotten.

"Well done!" he called out before he reached her. "Jesu, Lea, but you have not lost any of your fire." He turned to the steward. "Whose child?"

"His mother is a Saxon villager, my lord, and his father is unknown. Before the boy was born, she claimed to have been ravished by one of the squires sent here for training. My lord Richard offered her justice if she would name her attacker, but she would not." The old man let out an expressive sigh. "We thought we knew who it was, but without her charge there was nothing we could do. Earl Richard gave her money and sent her back to the village, but once the boy was born, she came back. Now we suspect she lies with most of the young men."

"How awful! Roger—"

"What?"

"He is not an ill-looking child—can I not take him for my page? I mean, he would have to be washed and dressed and trained, of course."

"Aye, he would that."

"But William thought you bastard-born when he took you into his train."

"Aye. Lea, if it pleases you, do what you would. He seems over-young to me."

She knelt again at the
child's side. "Your name?" When he just blinked and did not answer, she tried, "How are you called?" Again, no answer.

"Lady Eleanor, you cannot have a speechless page," Sir Ralph protested. "Let me find him a place with the monks."

"Nay! Roger, ask him in Saxon what his name is."

Roger repeated her question and was rewarded with a mumble of sorts. He leaned down and tried again. This time they heard a barely audible "Garth." Roger straightened up and grinned at Eleanor. "If you would keep him, you'll have to learn enough Saxon to talk to him until he can be taught French."

"You speak the tongue, and there are others about who do also—I am sure we can manage. Tell him what I have decided and see if he would like to live with me."

Roger bent to translate her message and was rewarded with a stream of Saxon spoken so fast he was hard put to understand. He said something else to the child and received another answer.

"Well?"

"He says he would like to stay with the pretty lady. Apparently he is small for his age, because he says he is nearly six."

" 'Tis young, my lady."

"Aye, but age is something that can be remedied with time, Sir. Ralph. By the time he learns the language and the manners, he will surely be old enough. Until then, he can roll a pallet by my door." She looked down at the grubby hands that still firmly held her skirt. "But for now, would you see him cleaned up? Aye—and get his head deloused and trimmed."

"Your charity does you honor, my lady," was about all Ralph could manage as he disengaged the boy called Garth from Eleanor's gown and led him off.

Roger watched with an amused expression on his face. He draped an arm about her shoulders and pulled her against his side. "You cannot know how proud I am that you are mine, Lea."

It was midafternoon before the cloth merchant had spread his wares and she had chosen what she would have from the large assortment he brought. She collected swatches of each selection and made her way to her solar. On the morrow, she would go over what was to be made into what with her women so they could cut the patterns. She was satisfied with herself over the purchases she had made, purchases which included rich materials for new bed hangings in Earl Richard's chamber. They would be her gift to Glynis.