The Champion (30 page)
Without pause for thought, Alexander clutched a handful of mane and vaulted into the saddle. He dug in his heels, and Samson took off as if the ground beneath him were hot.
Over the camp site they flew, over the road and towards the beckoning green and tawny tints of the late-summer forest, and within moments were lost to sight from the camp at Vaudreuil.
It had been a long road and Monday’s feet were sore, her gown floured with dust. She was only too glad to accept the offer of a ride in the cart of a family bound for the market in Lavoux with surplus produce to sell and barter.
The mother, plump and gregarious, shunted her five offspring along the wain towards the overflowing willow baskets of apples and pears at the back, so that Monday had room to lean against a sack of straw which acted as a cushion to the jolting of the small cart. The children, ranging in age from a tiny little girl scarce out of swaddling to a tanned, long-limbed boy on the verge of adolescence, stared at her inquisitively. Their father clicked his tongue, and the sturdy brown cob hitched between the shafts took the strain and began once more to plod along.
‘Are you going to the market, mistress?’ asked the woman. Her eyes were as brightly curious as those of her children. Women travelling alone were an occasional sight, but they were seldom as young as Monday, and although her dress was dusty and a mite ragged about the hem, it was still beautifully stitched and of good fabric.
‘No, to the castle,’ Monday replied, aware that in exchange for the ride, she owed these people a conversation, no matter that she wanted to rest her head and go to sleep. For the last week of the three that she had been on the road, she had felt unwell, sick and tired all the time. But at least her goal was in sight. ‘I was once a sempstress to the lady Aline. I am hoping that she will employ me again.’
The woman eyed her. ‘Why did you leave her service in the first place?’ she asked forthrightly.
‘My menfolk were employed by Lord Bertran. When he was killed, we had to leave.’
‘And now you have no menfolk either lass?’
Monday looked down at her hands so that she would not have to meet the shrewd, sharp gaze. ‘My father died in the spring,’ she said, ‘my mother the year before, and I have no guardians now.’ Despite her best effort, her chin wobbled.
The older woman’s features softened maternally. ‘I’m right sorry to hear of your loss,’ she said. ‘’Tis always hard for a woman alone, but you could do no better than to seek out lady Aline. She’s in need of attendants, what with a new babe in the cradle and her husband home with a war wound. Oh aye,’ she said to Monday’s startled look. ‘She and Hamon de Rougon were wedded and bedded within a three-month of her being widowed, and not a moment too soon. Bells were pealing on the eve of St Giles for the birth o’ their son, and I’ve heard he’s mortal lusty for a babe born only seven months after the wedding.’
Monday digested this in silence. Her own flux was almost ten days late now. She had tried to banish the terrifying suspicion that she might be with child, but each day that dawned without sign of blood made it ever more likely. Now the goodwife’s words acted upon her anxiety. There would be no wedding for her, she had run away from the prospect, and she was still not sure that she had done the right thing.
‘We heard last market day that the lord Hamon had taken a spear in the shoulder whilst on campaign with Duke Richard,’ the woman continued as Monday said nothing. ‘That will keep him home long enough to sire another one, eh?’
The youngest child clamoured to be taken into her mother’s ample lap. The woman lifted her up and cuddled her. ‘Nearly there now, sweetheart,’ she soothed, and looked over the tousled dark head to Monday. ‘Mind you, I’d like to see lady Aline cope without her servants. She’d not last more than three wags of a dog’s tail with my brood.’ She flicked an affectionate glance over her children.
‘Lady Aline is more resourceful than you know,’ Monday defended. ‘She survived her first two husbands, did she not, and married the man of her choice?’
‘Aye, I suppose she did that,’ her companion grudgingly admitted, and then nodded at Monday’s small bundle. ‘So you’re a sempstress, eh?’
Their conversation drifted on to the subject of sewing, and Monday gifted the woman with a brass needle and a hank of scarlet thread. The goodwife glowed with pleasure and was effusive in wishing Monday well as they parted in the marketplace.
‘You look after yourself now, lass,’ she said, giving Monday’s arm a warm squeeze. ‘I’d not like to think of a daughter of mine out in the world on her own.’ She clutched the youngest child fiercely to her skirts as she spoke.
Monday smiled and thanked her, moved by the maternal concern and at the same time made bereft by its warmth, for it made her sense even more keenly the lack in her own life. Through a mist of tears, she left the family chattering around their cart as they unloaded their goods, and began walking toward the castle.
‘A boy.’ Aline smiled complacently down at the swaddled baby slumbering in his crib. ‘But of course Hamon and I knew he would be.’
Monday gazed at the baby with his fuzz of ruddy blond hair and tiny features. The sight of him stirred her loins and churned her stomach. ‘He is beautiful,’ she heard herself say.
Aline looked at her sidelong, and a small frown twitched her brows, but she made no direct comment. ‘We named him Giles for the saint of his birthing day. Duke Richard is to be his godfather. Hamon is so proud, he can scarcely put his head through his tunic, so much has it swelled.’
Her jest illicited no more than a slight stretch of the lips from Monday. She clasped her hands tightly across her belly and prayed silently to herself that tonight she would bleed. Then, aware that Aline was looking at her thoughtfully, she forced herself to tear her eyes from the baby, and tried to widen her smile.
‘Mind you, with the wound my husband took in his shoulder, he is fortunate to have a head at all,’ Aline added. ‘He was sick with the battle fever when he came home, and I feared I might lose him, but by God’s grace he has recovered enough to be a terrible patient.’ She spoke lightly, but her gaze remained frighteningly shrewd. ‘Come.’ She took Monday’s arm and steered her away from the cradle into the antechamber. ‘You’ll sleep here as before with the other maids. You can use that coffer over there for your things.’
Monday thanked her in a faltering voice. She was quite white with exhaustion, ready to drop on her feet. Aline patted her arm compassionately. ‘Time enough for everything later. To look at you, I doubt you could even thread a needle at the moment. Lie down awhile and rest. The dinner horn will not sound for at least an hour, and I am not so desperate that I require you to begin sewing straight away.’
‘I’m all right.’ Monday raised her chin.
‘Child, you are swaying where you stand, and your eyes are so dark you look as if someone has beaten you,’ Aline contradicted, and steered her over to an empty pallet. ‘Lie down and sleep.’ She separated Monday from her bundle, and stowed it in the coffer herself, then she pushed the girl down upon the pallet and removed her shoes, clucking her tongue at the worn state of the soles. ‘Sleep,’ she commanded. ‘Stop fighting and close your eyes.’
As if Aline’s words had given her the permission she needed to yield, Monday relaxed, and although at first her eyelids flickered at the enforcement of being closed, they soon grew smooth and slack as she fell into an exhausted slumber. Aline covered her with a woollen blanket, warned her women to be silent near the newcomer and went to talk to her husband.
Hamon de Rougon was sitting over a brazier in the wall chamber that he had made his domain during the day when he tired of the noisiness of the great hall and desired a little peace. The weight of his arm was supported in a sling so that it would not drag upon his damaged shoulder, and his nose was buried in a book that Count John had lent to him, a copy of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s
Historia Regum Britanniae
.
Aline was too restless, too full of quicksilver energy to settle to such a pursuit, but she understood its value to her husband who, in his quiet moments, was something of a scholar. And the gift of a valuable book tooled in gold leaf, albeit that it was only a loan, was proof of the favour in which Hamon stood with the ruling house of Anjou.
Approaching him from behind, she kissed his throat and his bearded cheek. ‘Wandering in the woods again?’ she teased.
‘Can you suggest a better pastime?’ he retorted with amusement. ‘A wounded man alone and neglected, what else am I to do to make the time less tedious?’
Aline laughed and sat upon her husband’s knee, forcing him to set the book aside. ‘You would not value my tending so much if I let you take it for granted,’ she murmured against his lips.
They kissed with enthusiasm, but Aline squealed and leaped promptly from his lap when she discovered that his injured arm was no longer in its sling. She swiped at him and rubbed the buttock he had mischievously pinched.
‘I never take anything for granted,’ he chuckled. ‘Which is more than I can say for you.’
Aline tilted her nose in the air, but her umbrage was only feigned. She poured them both a cup of wine and sat down at his feet in front of the glowing brazier. There was silence as they each savoured the moment, the feeling perhaps keener in Aline who knew that she was fortunate not to be a widow. If the spear thrust had been a shade deeper or to one side, Hamon might not be here now, sharing this time with her.
‘So,’ he said after a while, ‘you have taken that child-sempstress back into your employ.’
‘Not so much a child,’ Aline said. ‘If I am not mistaken, she will bear one herself before next summer ripens. Her eyes were afraid when she looked upon our son, and her hand went to her belly.’
‘She said nothing to you?’ There was open curiosity in Hamon’s voice. Forced to be sedentary, he took a sharp interest in trivial matters that would not usually occupy his time. He had been in the hall when Monday had arrived and had heard her petition Aline for a post in the household.
Aline shook her head. ‘She was almost dead on her feet with exhaustion, so I put her to bed. She told me nothing more than she said in the hall, but I will have it out of her before too long.’
‘I wonder what happened to her menfolk,’ Hamon mused.
‘Three of them there were to protect her honour, as I recall – her father and those two brothers; one big as a bear and the other as quiet as a deer in the forest. You were quite taken with the younger one, weren’t you?’
‘So was Duke Richard,’ she said without expression.
‘Yes, he was a handsome lad,’ Hamon answered, echoing her tone. ‘And accomplished too. William Marshal praised him, and he is not a man to bestow undue compliments – although to my mind, the boy acted too much on the spur of the moment without giving thought to the consequences.’
‘And now Monday has arrived at our gates bereft of all three protectors and in straitened circumstances. Another week on the road and her shoes would have worn out.’ Aline pursed her lips.
‘You are not usually such a champion of waifs and strays, particularly pretty female ones,’ Hamon prodded.
‘If I thought she was a threat to your fidelity, it is your eyes I would scratch out, not hers,’ Aline warned, only half laughing. ‘Nay, you need not think my heart has suddenly melted. Yes, the girl is in difficulty, but it is more than just charity that moves me to take her in. She is the best sempstress I have ever encountered, and excellent company when less set down. Besides,’ Aline glanced over her shoulder at Hamon, ‘she is no ordinary waif and stray. Her grandfather is a powerful English baron.’
‘Oh, come now, you’re teasing me!’
‘No, it’s the truth. Monday’s mother was gently born, but eloped with a household knight and they travelled the tourneys in order to live.’
‘Monday told you this, I suppose?’ Hamon asked neutrally.
‘She wasn’t romancing if that is what you mean.’ Aline tossed her head.
‘But she did not tell you who he was?’
‘I don’t think she wanted me to know. What she did reveal was in the emotion of the moment, because she was upset.’ She tilted round to look at her husband. ‘I vouch for her honesty. After marriage to Bertran, I am an expert at sifting lies from truth.’
Hamon rubbed his jaw. ‘Then why, if her circumstances are straitened, did she not go to England, to her grandfather?’
‘And arrive on his threshold with a swelling belly created out of a sordid past?’ Aline rolled her eyes, and wondered at the dullness of her husband’s otherwise prompt wits. Men could be so blind. ‘He would as likely order her from his door as welcome her with open arms, and she too has an inordinate pride. I believe that the only way she would show herself to her high-born relatives is as a great lady in her own right … and I cannot see that ever coming to pass.’
Hervi stared at Brother Radulfus in horror. ‘No!’ he roared. ‘Not my leg, you are not going to cut it off!’ He tried to jerk the swollen, shiny monstrosity away from the priest’s sorrowful gaze, but the pain was so intense that his voice tore into a scream and he almost lost consciousness.
‘Then you will die,’ Radulfus said. ‘I have tried my best to save your leg, but the damage is too severe. If I do not take away the rotten flesh now, the contagion will spread throughout your body and you will be dead within two days, perhaps less.’
‘Then let me die,’ Hervi panted. Sweat darkened his blond hair, and bright points of fever sat on his gaunt cheekbones. ‘If you save me, it will only be to life as a useless cripple. Shrive me and let me go!’
Radulfus drew back with a frown. Hervi closed his eyes and tried to draw his consciousness away from the nauseating, festering agony of the shattered limb. The abbey’s infirmary was a cool, spacious room, austere but tranquil. Autumn light poured amber richness upon the tawny cream walls, and through the window arch the sky was clear blue. He imagined himself walking out in the crisp air, his two sound feet crunching through a treasure of autumn leaves. But he would never do that again. Within two days he would be nothing. They would put him in a hole in the ground and cover his rotting corpse with the darkness of soil. Once again, in a nightmare he could not escape, he relived the moment when Soleil had gone down and he had known that there was nothing he could do to outwit disaster. The crack, crack of breaking bones. Moisture his body could not spare oozed from beneath his lids in a mingling of self-pity and grief.