Rose of Hope (11 page)

“I see.”

Ysane’s grandmother…so that is why she looked familiar.

Fallard suppressed a scowl. Why was he not told of this before? He liked not surprises. They could get a man killed. But his ignorance of the Lady Hildeth was not entirely the steward’s fault. Fallard had never asked for information about Lady Ysane’s relatives. He rectified that error.

“Has the lady other kin living in the hall?”

“Nay, my lord, none at Wulfsinraed. But she has an elder sister, the Lady Gemma, wed to Arnulf du Theil, thegn of Blackbridge Burh, your fief north of London.”

Fallard blinked. “The thegn of Blackbridge is Lady Ysane’s brother-by-law?”

He had known the man’s name, but not his relation to Ysane.

“Aye, and a fine man he is. His father, though Norman, was close friend to Thegn Kenrick. Gemma and Arnulf were betrothed as children through that friendship. Their children are Sigan, Alma and Kinna. Lady Ysane also has another nephew, Faucon. He is the son of her brother, Kennard, and his wife, Meldred. My lady loves the boy deeply. Kennard is dead. He was killed some twelvemonths ago during a stag hunt. Meldred and Faucon live with Arnulf and Gemma at Blackbridge. My lady has other, more distant kin, but apart from Lady Roana, none of them live close and she sees them but rarely.”

“Is there anyone else living in the burh who has not yet offered their oath or been brought to my attention?”

“Nay, my lord.”

Fallard nodded and started to turn away when Ethelmar called him back.

“Umm, my lord, I had almost forgotten. There is another of whom you should know. He is Cynric Master Carver.”

Head cocked to the side, Fallard regarded the under-steward. “And why is it the master carver has yet to come before me to swear fealty?” His voice carried a soft but distinct edge. “Has he some special reason for his disobedience?”

Ethelmar coughed and looked away, but answered readily enough.

“Nay, ’tis naught of that. Cynric is…well, a solitary man, not one to take well with being around other folk. He lives alone in a cottage in the woods some distance south of the burh, and rarely makes an appearance here.”

“If he is the master carver, why then does he not live inside the burh, or at least in the village, like the other craftsmen?”

“’Twas part of his agreement with Thegn Kenrick, my lord. Cynric refused the position of master carver if he was allowed not to live where he wished. Thegn Renouf changed not their pact. When carving was needed, a message was sent to Cynric’s cottage, giving detailed instructions. When the master carver finished the work, he brought it to the clearing and left it.”

“Is this Cynric a ceorl, a freeholder, then?”

“Nay. He is…he belongs at Wulfsinraed.”

Unblinking, Fallard stared at the under-steward. Something here was wrong, and all his instincts clamored. If the man belonged to the burh, he had no right to deny his lord’s command. Who was he that first Kenrick, and then Renouf, would allow it?

He waited until Ethelmar’s gaze dropped and the man began to fidget, then his questions came hard and fast, offering no quarter. “Why then did Thegn Kenrick agree to such a pact? Why allow this Cynric to live in the forest at his leisure? Why did he not discipline the man and put him to work? I understand this not, Ethelmar, and I distrust what I do not understand. I want this man Cynric brought to me immediately. He will swear fealty or he will be locked into the gatehouse until he does.”

Unmistakable alarm blazed from Ethelmar’s eyes. He stammered a reply in a language Fallard recognized not, then seemed to catch himself. He took several quick, deep breaths, and tried again, even as the nape of Fallard’s neck tickled. What was going on here?

“My lord D’Auvrecher, I beg you to understand, ’tis not as it seems. Cynric means no disrespect. ’Tis that he…he is a strange one. ’Tis believed he is the eldest son of Thegn Kenrick, but not of Lady Edeva, if you take my meaning. Cynric was brought here as a boy of four twelvemonths and presented to Thegn Kenrick to be taught a trade, but none knows from whence he came. He lived in the village for many twelvemonths as apprentice to the miller. At first, many remarked on his resemblance to Thegn Kenrick, but the lord never made claim to him and eventually the talk died down.”

Ethelmar grew quiet, clearly not wanting to remark further, but Fallard was determined to learn the truth. “Go on. I want the right of this. What happened?”

“Well, my lord, no one rightly knows,
exactly
. The miller is a fair man, but hard, and ’tis certain the boy was unhappy in his life and took to heart the rumors about his possible relation to the old lord. Late one eve, when Cynric was one and ten summers, he appeared in the hall demanding the truth of his paternity. All thought Thegn Kenrick would set the boy in his place but instead, he put everyone else out of the hall, even the Lady Edeva.

“What was said between them was never told, but ’tis known there followed a terrible argument, for their angry voices could be heard clear to the wall. Suddenly, the doors crashed open and the boy dashed out, his face red, they say, with wrath. He ran out the gates, followed by the old lord who yelled at him to come back, and disappeared into the forest.

“’Twas grown dark by that time and the lord could follow not. But he took horse and went out after the boy the very next morn. He was gone for all of one day and most of the next, but when he returned, he had the lad with him.”

Ethelmar’s voice took on a shade of pity and regret as he continued. “Something happened out there in the forest. None knows for sure, but ’tis said Cynric was savaged by an animal, mayhap a boar or a wolf. He had a terrible wound on his face, below his right ear and stretching almost to his mouth. He lay fevered and nigh death for days, but survived. Once well enough to leave his bed, he and the lord held another long talk, and at the end of it, Cynric walked back into the forest.

“Thegn Kenrick sent men to help him build a cottage, and after that, made sure the boy had food and other needful things. The boy became…solitary. Time passed and most forgot him, for he came never to the burh or the village, and none from the village sought him out. I can say not how he survived, but most likely, the thegn quietly took care of it.

“Then one day Cynric saved the life of the Lady Ysane, when she was but a wee one of four summers. She wandered away from her parents while they were, umm…
together
while enjoying a meal in a forest meadow. They thought she slept. Cynric heard the shouts of those who searched for her and used his woodman’s skills to track her. With his bow, he killed a starving wolf about to attack the child. After that, Thegn Kenrick announced Cynric as the new master carver, but the young man would remain in his cottage in the forest and work would be sent to him there.

“There is naught much else to tell of him, my lord, except that with Thegn Kenrick and Sir Kennard he fought on the fields at Santlache. Thegn Kenrick came home and told how he would have died in the battle had not the lad been with him, so ’tis apparent Cynric in some way saved the thegn’s life.

“’Tis also known he and the Lady Ysane became close, some say, as brother and sister, though he is her elder by many twelvemonths. ’Tis no secret she loves him dearly, though ’tis believed she knows not he may be her brother. But after her wedding to Lord Renouf, when word came of Thegn Kenrick’s death in the land of Normandy, Cynric disappeared. ’Tis said he has been glimpsed, in the forest, but once or twice since then, and the last time was nigh to a twelvemonth ago.

“Many believe he died in some far off place, though none would say so much to Lady Ysane. It nigh broke her heart when he left, without so much as a word. Methinks she has seen him not in these past three twelvemonths. But ’tis my belief that were Cynric nigh, he would never have allowed either Lord Renouf or Sir Ruald to hurt my lady, for he loves her and named himself her protector. His absence, more than aught tells me he is far away, if not dead.”

“I thank you, Ethelmar. You are correct. This is information I had need to know.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

As the under-steward went on about his business, Fallard strode into the anteroom leading to the lord’s bower, reflecting on all he had learned. Almost, his wayward feet carried him to the second floor chamber, where Ysane lay sequestered. He caught himself in time. Muttering under his breath, he followed the curving corridor instead and reached the windowed hall that fronted the lower level guest bowers, and came to the door that opened onto Ysane’s garden.

He had seen everything of his new holding but the crypts and the chapel. It had been his intent to wait to visit the latter until Father Gregory arrived, but now he had a notion to go there alone. He wanted to think about this Cynric. The possibility had occurred to him as Ethelmar spoke that the man might be the missing link between Ruald and the rebels. ’Twould certainly fit the facts as he now knew them, especially the timing. If Cynric were in truth nigh to the burh, but keeping well out of sight, he could easily spy for the rebels. None who saw him would remark him. He could literally come and go as he pleased and raise no suspicions.

He stepped out into the garden. ’Twas a private space, completely enclosed by high stone fences that stretched on either side from the hall to the wall. One of these formed the base for the soaring arch supporting the south crosswalk. Winding pathways of crushed shell meandered through orderly flowerbeds with their winter-dormant plants, leading to east and west gates. He followed one path to the west door.

Renouf had wanted no one in the garden except those he allowed, and he had ordered the gates locked at all times. He, alone, had kept the only keys. Fallard had them, now. He chose the proper one and went through, re-locking the portal behind him. A few yards outside, the path was intersected at right angles by another walkway that passed through another gate set in a waist-wall, which joined the smokehouse and the buttery with the kitchen, creating within its confines a protected area where a vegetable and herb garden was laid out for the kitchen’s use.

Fallard continued beyond that second path and came to the cobbled roadway through the orchard. A brisk walk under bright spring sunlight brought him to the chapel. To his left, close to the underground structure housing the crypts, he saw Roul and Fauques stalking through the trees, intent on some youthful adventure to enliven their many duties. The corners of his eyes crinkled. As always, his irrepressible, mischievous squire led the way, the more cautious, serious-minded Fauques trailing behind. The two were nigh inseparable.

Willow trees, their naked limbs lifted high in graceful arcs like waterfalls of slender rope, lined the waist wall of the chapel, the branches of one hoary old grandfather draped over the gate. Stone-slab benches were positioned here and there between the trunks, offering rest to weary feet. Halfway to the doors the shell path split to encircle a round flowerbed. In the midst of the bed lay a primitive grinding stone.

Here, as everywhere else in the burh, the mortared walls, shutters and doors were carved and painted. The dry vine of ivy crept up the face of the walls, waiting for springtime ere shedding its facade of death and returning to green, vibrant life. In summer, this courtyard would become a place of serene tranquility, a retreat, well come, from the harsh realities of daily life.

He winced when the iron hinges on the chapel door screeched from disuse. ’Twas very dark inside, and after the soft light without, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Stretched before him was the central aisle of the nave, lined by columns of stone that supported the vaulted ceiling. Shutters, closed for the winter, flanked triangular windows. Empty candle sconces hung on the walls between them. Dust lay over everything and the musty smell of neglect filled his nostrils. Fallard opened several of the shutters to allow light and fresh air inside.

The wall behind the altar was graced with a high round window with more of the thick glazing he’d seen in the hall. In a deep alcove below it stood a life-size Madonna. Carved from some hard wood, the icon was painted in rich, vivid colors that were beginning to fade with time. Fallard approached the altar and knelt in genuflection, then rose to admire the chalice of gold and a silver crucifix upon the faded blue altar cloth.

Starting there, he sought the door opening to the crypt. He found it not.

An anteroom on the right led to the priest’s bower. The chamber, sparsely furnished with a narrow bed with a chest at its foot and a small stand with a bowl and ewer, was empty. Here too, dust covered everything, and though Fallard poked and prodded, pushed and pulled, he found naught that suggested a hidden opening.

Back in the chapel, he sneezed his way through an investigation of the floors and the walls throughout, but still he found no sign of a door. He was about to give up and return to the hall when a quiet voice startled him, once again, into almost pulling his sword.

“May I be of service, my son?” Then, ere Fallard could answer, “You need not your weapon in this holy place. Of a certainty, I am no threat.”

The white-haired man standing in the door of the chapel, back-lit by sunlight, wore the vestments common to priests. His face was in shadow. Though he appeared elderly, his movements were that of a younger man as he moved into the building.

The priest approached him, a warm smile on his lined, sun-browned face. His eyes, the color of dark ale, were kind and alight with humor.

Fallard did not smile. “Father Gregory, I presume?”

“Aye, and you would be Thegn D’Auvrecher, the new lord. I believe I have you to thank for returning me to my flock.”

“By restoring your service, I but did what was right. I was aware not you had returned. When did you come?”

“But this moment. I visited in the village this morn, and arrived at the hall a short time ago. I saw you come this way, and followed.”

Fallard gestured to the priest’s bower. “I checked your quarters. You will have needs. Bring them to Ethelmar and I will see they are supplied.” He glanced around, then continued. “I can find not the door that leads to the crypts. Show me where ’tis.”