by Nancy Gebel
Chapter 8
October, 1172
Chester Castle, Cheshire
Gwalaes entered the semi-dark chamber, crossed the floor to a window and pulled back the shutters. Sunlight flooded in. She scanned the crisp autumn sky, and turned towards the rumpled bed. “Eleanor,” she said, “I saw Sir Miles as I came out of Mass and he asked about you. He wanted to know if you were all right.” The shape under the blankets didn’t move and she went on. “I told him no, the earl had beaten you so badly that you couldn’t get out of bed.”
Eleanor sprang up. “You didn’t!” she protested, horrified. The other girl gazed blandly back at her. “Gwalaes, tell me you didn’t!”
“I didn’t,” Gwalaes reluctantly conceded. “But I wanted to! Eleanor, he was really concerned about you. Otherwise, why ask me? Why not simply ask the earl; the two of them stood together in the chapel.”
Eleanor sank back down into the mattress. “What did you say?”
“Only that you felt ill…He wondered if you might be pregnant, since you seem to be ill so often.”
Eleanor didn’t answer. Gwalaes threw off her mantle and busied herself at the brazier until she had coaxed sufficient heat to ward off the chill coming in through the window. She cast a critical eye over the chamber. Hugh had knocked over a stool; she picked it up. He had spilled wine on the table; she cleaned it with a cloth. He had thrown Eleanor’s needlework against the far wall; she bent down to retrieve it and noticed a wine stain spoiling a large portion of it. She smoothed the piece out and wondered if it were too late to save it. She knew Eleanor had been putting most of her time into this work and for Hugh to be so careless of it was just another indication of the small regard he had for his wife.
Gwalaes hated the earl. She had found him distasteful when she deduced that he was sleeping with Eleanor’s brother, but ever since he’d taken to beating Eleanor, she despised him with a heated passion. She couldn’t understand Eleanor’s own, insipid reaction; she knew that legally and morally a man was entitled to strike his wife, but for disobedience. Eleanor had always done what her husband commanded; therefore, how could she possibly be disobedient? Gwalaes suspected the earl merely enjoyed displaying his physical superiority.
And Eleanor still refused to hear a word against him! That was the most frustrating element in the drama. Occasionally Gwalaes felt a little put out; she had always been a true friend to Eleanor and considered now that her friendship was undervalued. It was another reason to hate the earl. He was a wedge between herself and Eleanor, and he was driving them further apart.
There were times when she no longer returned to the chamber after Hugh left it. To see Eleanor’s tear-stained face and torn clothing, or the way she held an arm gingerly because he had twisted it or rubbed her head because he had pulled her hair and to not be permitted to speak one word of condemnation was more than she could bear. She suspected Eleanor didn’t mind too much if she didn’t come back afterwards. The poor girl was embarrassed.
She surveyed the spoiled tapestry again and sighed. Perhaps a gentle scrubbing with cold water and salt would remove the stain. But as she reached for the door, Eleanor asked her where she was going and why.
“Don’t bother,” she said when she heard Gwalaes’ answer. “The earl didn’t like it.”
“But you’ve been sewing on this for weeks! Let me try—”
“I don’t want it, Gwalaes! Didn’t you hear me?”
Gwalaes hesitated a moment and then turned back into the chamber. She had used her time at Mass this morning to pray for a lot of patience. She took a deep breath and tried to sound pleasant.
“Will you come down for breakfast?” she asked.
“No,” came the tired reply.
“Eleanor, it’s beautiful outside. You need fresh air. You’ve hardly left this room in three months.” She stood over the bed, but there was no response. Eleanor had buried herself in the blankets, curled up into a small ellipse. She bit her lip. “Eleanor…” she said in a pleading whisper. “Eleanor, he’s killing you…can’t you see that? You can’t let him do it. We can leave here, Eleanor. We can go back to Oakby. Now that your brother’s gone, your father has to take you in. Or maybe we could go to the king. We can find the king and beg him to help us, Eleanor! I’ve heard it said his relations with the earl are none too friendly…Or Wales. We could go to Wales, Eleanor! We speak—” She broke off when she saw that the shape under the blankets had started shaking. Gently she pulled back the covers. Eleanor was weeping silently, but shook her head.
“No,” she said.
“But Eleanor, why not? Just tell me why not. He’s insane! He takes pleasure in hurting you! He won’t stop until he kills you!”
Eleanor sat up quickly. She sniffled and tears shone on her cheeks but her face was suddenly full of fury. “Don’t say such things, Gwalaes! It’s not true! It’s not true!”
“Yes, it is, Eleanor! But we can leave him!”
“Get out of here, Gwalaes! I don’t want to hear any more!”
Gwalaes opened her mouth to protest once more, but the malevolent look on Eleanor’s face stopped her. She glared back, and then swung around and left the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Eleanor stared after her dully. Fresh tears rolled down her face.
“You’ve gotten better,” Haworth said approvingly.
Hugh was breathing hard. “Don’t you think I’ve had enough practice these past months?” he wheezed.
“Yes, but it’s more than that. You’re more confident. You attack where once you would have been content to defend.”
Hugh stuck his sword into his belt and bent over, hands on the fronts of his thighs, to catch his breath. “I’m certainly paying the price for it!” he complained. “Perhaps I was smarter to let my foes come to me!”
A squire ran up with a skin of water, and as he drank he decided that Haworth had put it exactly right: he was more confident. The last three months had witnessed his transformation from self-doubter to man in charge of his own destiny. He felt more sure of himself now than at any other time in his life.
He slung the skin back at the boy and brushed some dust off his sleeve. During the swordplay he had been knocked to the ground, but instead of rolling over to avoid his adversary’s downward thrust, he had quickly and without conscious thought heaved his heavy sword up and backwards with all his might, catching the other man’s weapon in mid-descent and harmlessly sweeping it away. His opponent had been thrown off balance by this blow, giving Hugh the opportunity to spring to his feet and finish him off with a knee in his chest. Now two new combatants had entered the ring. Hugh watched them with a critical eye, his wind recovered. At one point he glanced over a few yards away and noted with satisfaction that his former adversary was still panting from exertion.
“Have you any idea where Young Henry’s two messengers are?” he asked Haworth.
The other man shook his head. “I saw them last in the hall at breakfast.”
“They were told to have my reply within three days…Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Obviously they’re on some kind of schedule. Does that mean there’s something already planned?”
“If we were in Avranches, we’d know more,” Haworth said without thinking.
Hugh looked sharply at him. “I’m not going back to Avranches until I can’t possibly avoid it!” he snapped. “Anyway, the king’s still in Normandy. Unless Young Henry has a dozen or so powerful allies behind him, I don’t think he’s got the nerve to start anything now.”
Two nights earlier, a pair of riders had arrived at the gatehouse, demanding entrance in the name of the Young King and brandishing a carefully wrapped, folded parchment with an impressive seal. Sir Miles had read out the letter to a private assembly of Hugh, Haworth and half a dozen other knights, some of them vassals of the earl, whom Hugh was used to calling when seeking advice. The message from the Young King, while not couched in overt language, was nonetheless clear: if it came to war between him and his father, could he re
ly on the support of the disgruntled earl of Chester?
Hugh supposed this invitation to rebellion had been issued not only to him. There were quite a few disgruntled barons around who felt their hereditary powers were being unfairly and effectively curtailed by the heavy hand of Henry II and his administrators. Even the Church had been threatened; wasn’t that the reason Thomas Becket had fled to the king of France? Six years earlier the king had called for written notification from all his vassals of all those men who held knight’s fees from them in the time of Henry I’s reign and now. The passage of thirty years and the confusion of the civil war inspired by King Stephen’s reign had created a disparity in the two figures. The number of the enfeoffed had increased dramatically. Since all fief-holders owed their allegiance first to the king and second to their lords, the results of the survey promised Henry a new, untapped source of revenue. Previously, such revenues from unlisted knight’s fees had merely been pocketed by the barons.
Hugh had more reason than most to view Henry’s activities with apprehension. The king’s writ did not run in Cheshire. Hugh was the maker and arbiter of the law in this part of the Welsh march. All revenues of the shire came to him and were not passed along to the king. This practice of private government along the borders had been born of necessity back in the days when England was newly taken and strong arms were needed to fight off the Scots and the Welsh. In return for their policing, the marcher lords were given more freedom and over the years their border earldoms had grown almost into autonomous states. But now it was an outdated situation and a strong king such as Henry was constantly looking for some way to chip away at it.
In the almost twenty years of his reign, Henry II had proven that he was an efficient, shrewd monarch with his own best interests at heart. He had brought back a degree of law and order to England that had been missing for some time. While it was a relief to most to live under a strong king, there was that faction of men who saw in the stability of government a decline of their own power, and in the swift execution of justice a hindrance of their own law.
“I’d say the Young King has backing that he hasn’t even got to look for,” Haworth said. “Obviously, there’s his father-in-law, the king of France. But there’s also the king of Scotland, the earl of Leicester, the earl of Norfolk, almost all the barons in Aquitaine and Brittany, and perhaps even the princes of Wales.” He paused, frowning slightly as he mulled over his words. With an air of sudden realization, he added, “In fact, Henry would be hard put to win a war against his son because he’d be facing rebellion from every direction.”
Hugh snorted. “Henry pére has the devil’s own luck. That would only even out the odds.”
A cheer went up from the ring; another match had ended. Two men staggered to the sideline, one trying to stanch with his hand the oozing of blood from a gash on his thigh and the other sporting a rapidly blackening eye.
“Then you’ll answer ‘no’ to the letter?”
“I didn’t say that,” Hugh said. “But I need more than three days to think it over. I need to determine who among my tenants will stand with me and allegiance to the king be damned, and who will not. I think my answer will reflect polite interest but no commitment—for the time being. Right now,” he said, his voice hardening as something in the distance caught his eye, “I have trouble of a different sort.”
Haworth followed his gaze and saw the countess and her companion walking across the ward towards the chapel. “I thought all was well between you and your wife.”
“It’s a mystery to me why she isn’t yet pregnant, Roger. Just one or two heirs and then I can be rid of her.”
“You try often enough,” Haworth said as if sheer probability was sufficient for ensuring conception.
Hugh gave him a sly look. “Not jealous, are you?”
“Of a woman?” Haworth’s sudden laugh sounded like a harsh cough.
“She’s in that damned church for hours every day. I asked her once what the hell she was doing in there for so long and she told me she was praying to have a child to please me. I told her obviously she was lying since she continued to fail to conceive. I said she was probably praying not to have a child but that I would get one out of her one way or another.”
“I don’t see what’s so difficult about it,” Haworth commented. “Women do it all the time.”
“She was probably a bad bargain. I might ask my mother to start inquiring about an annulment. Get rid of her—and that sour-faced bitch she brought with her. She’s never liked me and I’ve never liked her lack of respect for me.” He remembered Bolsover advising him to leave Gwalaes at Oakby. ‘She’s Eleanor’s crutch,’ Bolsover had said. ‘She protects Eleanor as if Eleanor were a child. I think it’s time Eleanor’s been weaned, don’t you?’ The memory made Hugh smile bitterly. The Bolsovers had certainly wreaked havoc in his life for the past year and a half. He thought he was tired of it. Perhaps this overture from the Young King heralded a fresh beginning.
The evening was clear and unusually mild for October. Gwalaes loosened her cloak and stared up at the sky. The moon was rising; in another hour it would be stark as daylight in the ward. Now it was still dusky and the twinkling stars were brightly visible against the black backdrop above. But she saw none of the beauty.
Gwalaes wished heartily to be gone from Chester. She and Eleanor did nothing but argue, mostly over Hugh but also over Eleanor’s reluctance to appeal to her father for help. Gwalaes was certain that Sir Thomas would demand his daughter’s return if Eleanor desired it since he already believed Hugh was responsible for the death of his beloved son. Eleanor, however, flatly refused to entertain the idea.
After storming out of their chamber in the morning, Gwalaes had calmed herself down enough to bring a tray of breakfast to Eleanor soon afterward. But after visiting the chapel, they’d argued again over Eleanor’s increasing withdrawal; she hadn’t been seen in the hall in weeks. But there was no reasoning with her. She left her apartment now only to pray in the chapel. Prayer, she told an injured Gwalaes, was her sole comfort.
Gwalaes looked up at the stars and saw only incredible space. She wished she could dive straight into the blackness and never again have to struggle with the problems of earth.
“But I’m stuck here forever,” she whispered out loud.
Hers was a particularly untenable situation because she didn’t fit neatly into life at Chester. She was considered the countess’ personal servant but having grown up with Eleanor she didn’t feel like a servant. And when she quarreled with Eleanor, there was no place for her to go but to wander around the different parts of the castle. People might nod to her but no one spoke much with her. She had nothing at Chester except Eleanor’s dwindling companionship.
She’d never felt more lonely.
An involuntary chill ran down her back and she pulled her cloak close around her shoulders again. She wished someone would come and save her from a future which seemed endlessly grim. It wasn’t fair, she thought bitterly; she was willing to aid Eleanor in whatever action Eleanor chose to take against her plight but there was no one to help her.
“Are you—?”
She screamed, startled. A young man was standing only a foot away from her shoulder. She hadn’t noticed his approach.
He grinned and tried again. “Sorry. Are you Gwalaes?”
It was one of the Young King’s messengers, she realized. Her heart was still pounding from shock but she tried to breathe normally because she had noticed him a few days ago and had thought him cute. She didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of a good-looking man, even though she could feel her face turning red.
“Yes,” she answered but her voice sounded scratchy. She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m Gwalaes.”
She warned her imagination not to go wild speculating that he had accosted her because he found her devastatingly attractive. The explanation was probably as simple as passing on a message. After all, he was a messenger.
“What’s so funny?
” he asked, smiling.
“Nothing!” she said hastily. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t think so,” he answered cheerfully. “I was told to inform you that someone named Alan d’Arques has just come through the gate and is right now settling his horse in the stable and would like to see you.”
Alan was here! She had barely stammered out her thanks before her feet were moving her towards the shadowed stables. It was unbelievable—uncanny—how she had just a moment ago been wishing for someone to come and rescue her. And now here he was! The coincidence was too staggering to believe. Perhaps Eleanor was right after all about ardent prayer.
She hesitated only when she came to the entrance to the stables and saw no sign of activity. The wide gate was almost shut-to. She wondered if she should knock on it or just push it in. The dilemma was solved when it was pulled roughly back and a laughing man appeared in the doorway. She recognized him as the Young King’s other messenger. He caught sight of her and held the door open, and waited as she started through. She looked up to thank him but his quick, conspiratorial wink forestalled her and she turned her head in embarrassment. That was nerve, she thought angrily; what did he think was going to happen?
She walked inside and glanced around, seeing nothing but unidentifiable shapes in the dusky light. She could hear the peaceful sounds of the horses; a sudden stomping hoof…a gentle snort…the rustle of straw…“Alan?” she called in a low, hesitant voice.
The stable gate shut with a jarring thud. She whirled around in surprise and saw Roger of Haworth.
Although it was disconcerting to discover that Haworth had materialized before her, she wasn’t frightened. She didn’t much like him because he had failed to rescue Eleanor when she had begged him to and it was true she had never seen him smile—in fact, he looked perpetually angry—but she had heard only positive things spoken about him. His devotion to the earl was well known and approved of, and even Alan had commented favorably on his willingness to demonstrate his martial skills to all the squires and young knights in the earl’s entourage at a moment’s notice. “He’ll batter you around pretty well in a mock fight but you’ll learn more in those five minutes than you will in a week with someone else,” Alan had once told her enthusiastically.
“He isn’t here,” Haworth said.
Gwalaes was confused. “Alan d’Arques? I was brought a message that he’d arrived…”
“The message was false.”
“I don’t understand…”
Haworth started forward. “You were directed here to get you out of the way,” he said. He spoke in a normal voice with just the slightest edge of impatience to it.
Gwalaes drew her breath in angrily. “Why?” she demanded. “What’s he doing to her now?”
Haworth hesitated, momentarily puzzled. Then he understood what she meant. His lips twisted scornfully. “Is she all you think about? You’re a very loyal servant.”
Gwalaes’ chin went up. “I’m hardly her servant,” she sniffed. “That’s the point the earl doesn’t realize.”
“But you’re wrong—he knows it too well,” he said in a low voice, taking another step towards her. “And he doesn’t approve.”
It dawned on Gwalaes that it was she, and not Eleanor, who might be in danger and suddenly her heart was pounding faster. She looked behind Haworth and saw that he had dropped the bar across the door. What was his intent? She thought furiously. If the door could be barred from the inside then there must be another way out, probably through the stable master’s rooms. She tried to recall the layout of this particular corner of the ward without luck.
Haworth watched the girl’s expression change from haughty disdain to fear. His own remained bland but his cold eyes never moved from her face. Then she looked back at him, suddenly wary, waiting for him to make his move like a caged bear waiting for the dogs to come out and harass it. He snorted contemptuously. “You needn’t fear I intend to ravish you. I wouldn’t waste my time.”
“Then, what will you do?” she asked in a shaking voice.
In reply, he reached behind his back and drew forth a long dagger from his belt. The metal gleamed in the torchlight and reflected briefly in her eyes.
Several of the horses in the common stall behind her began to stamp and snort, perhaps disturbed by the glinting light. The noise spooked her into action. There were only two directions in which she could run: a short passageway to her left which led, it seemed in the murky half-darkness, to the tack room, and a longer corridor to her right which ran past the stalls and disappeared into black in the distance. She saw that Haworth stood closer to the shorter passage, and her mind was decided. Without warning, she turned and ran down the longer aisle.
At first Haworth merely followed her at a walk. He knew the way she’d chosen was a dead end; the joke wasn’t lost on him. But she was a woman and apt to scream so he quickened his pace. In the wall high above the passageway were narrow windows through which the bright moon shone. The last few feet were in darkness, but his eyes adjusted quickly as he came to a halt only inches away from the stone wall which marked the end of the building. Gwalaes was nowhere to be seen.
He cursed audibly and looked around. He heard nothing but the noisy breaths of the horses on his right. She must be in the stall with them, he thought; she couldn’t have vanished into thin air. He squinted down at the ground. There were four horses in the stall. Sixteen long and knobby legs…and two more which did not end with hooves. With a grunt, he climbed over the wooden barrier into the stall and pushed his way between the animals.
In the milling confusion with uncooperative horses, Gwalaes suddenly jumped out of the stall with a little cry and ran back the way she’d come. Haworth’s reflexes were sharp. He was just as quickly out of the stall and chasing after her. It had all gone so well but now he wasn’t as certain. He should have done it immediately, the moment she had walked like a sheep to the slaughter into the stables, and not indulged in conversation with her. But he needn’t have worried. He caught up with her as she ran into the entranceway, panting so hard from fear that she was unable to scream; he threw the crook of his left elbow around her slight neck, pulled her chin up and back towards his chest and drew the dagger swiftly and deeply across her throat. She strained against him and gurgled once or twice…and then he released her and she fell gracelessly to the floor in a heap.
He was still for a moment, listening, but no sound came from the stable master’s quarters just beyond the tack room. Well, with the amount of wine he’d seen the man put away at supper he supposed there was little that would wake him up besides time and strong sunlight through an unshuttered window. Still, he’d had a scare when the girl had run away from him and he didn’t want to take any more chances. He had to work quickly. He used his bloody dagger to cut off a length of fabric from the hem of her cloak. If he had been an imaginative man he might have wondered briefly at all the blood that had rushed out of a single wound. Instead, he dealt with it as efficiently and thoughtlessly as a butcher. He used the cut cloth to mop up the mess on the ground, then coiled it tightly around the gaping throat. He saddled one of his horses and balanced the body between the high pommel and the animal’s neck. He went to the door, unbarred it and peered out. All was silent. No one was about. He went back inside, took down the torch and extinguished it on the dirt ground where the body had fallen and finally led the burdened horse out. After he had carefully closed the door, he mounted his horse and shifted Gwalaes until she was nestled in his arms and her lolling head was lying peacefully against his chest.
The moonlight was a godsend, he thought, although it would prove a bit awkward at the postern gate. It was too much to hope that the solitary guard would be delinquent and he would be able to pass by unnoticed.
The guard was indeed there, a young man with an earnest appearance who was, unlike Gwalaes, terrified to see the earl’s captain stopped before him. He was too awed to speak.
Haworth had positioned Gwalaes so that h
er back was towards the guard. He greeted the younger man in a friendly, hushed voice and asked him to open the gate. “As you can see, I’ve got my hands full,” he whispered conspiratorially, grinning. “Pardon her for not wishing you a good evening, but she’s shy. We thought we’d see what the river looks like in the moonlight. It’s a gentle enough evening for October.”
The castle lay at the southern tip of the old Roman town and looked down upon the River Dee. To its west, separated by the river and only a short stretch of tangled woodland, was Wales. The postern gate faced in this direction and Haworth proceeded along the path which would take him down to the river.
He had no intention, however, of merely tipping the body into the water; he thought the risk of discovery was too great. Instead, he had decided to cross the river at a point several miles south where it could be easily forded, travel a short distance west and dump the corpse in the woods. The smell of new blood would soon attract nocturnal scavengers. With the moon to guide him and the bare October trees to obscure him—and the trickiest bit behind him—he felt fairly confident of complete success but cautioned himself against letting down his guard. He was one soldier out alone in the dark and too close for comfort to hostile territory. The Welsh were expert at raiding in small groups, and they didn’t care that he was the captain of the earl of Chester’s personal bodyguard.
He decided not to rely solely on luck for the rest of his venture, even though luck had got him this far. He lifted his right hand to his forehead, crossed himself and prayed to God for protection.
Eleanor was awakened the next morning by the sound of scraping. Gwalaes was making up the fire, she thought groggily. Gwalaes always made too much noise in the morning because she didn’t approve of Eleanor’s newly acquired habit of sleeping late.
She was about to pull the sheet over her head and roll over when she suddenly remembered that Gwalaes hadn’t stayed with her last night. Instead of pretending sleep, she bolted upright with a blistering accusation on her tongue.
Her mouth slammed quickly shut. It wasn’t Gwalaes but another girl who was tending to the brazier and returning her mistress’ shocked stare with an apprehensive one of her own.
“Where’s Gwalaes?” Eleanor demanded.
“I—I don’t know, my lady,” the girl stammered. “I was told to come up here and see to you.”
“Who told you?”
“Sir Miles, my lady.”
“Have you seen Gwalaes?”
“No, my lady. Only Sir Miles.” She looked nervously at Eleanor. “He said the earl has arranged for some of the ladies to help you dress this morning.”
“Gwalaes is the only help I need!” Eleanor said angrily. “Where is she?” But it was apparent she could get no other answer from the girl and she gestured for her to continue making the fire. With obvious relief, the servant turned away.
Not long afterward there was a quick knock on the door and two finely dressed women entered the room without waiting for a response. Eleanor recognized them as the wives of two of Hugh’s retainers. They informed her that they had come to help her with her toilet and stood over her bed, staring down at her impassively and, she thought, a bit contemptuously. If she had had Gwalaes’ nerve, she would have ordered them to go; instead, she wilted under the unblinking scrutiny and got out of the bed.
“The earl wishes to see you at Mass this morning, my lady,” one of them said after Eleanor had been dressed and her hair brushed and veiled.
But the idea of leaving her apartment without Gwalaes to help her made her shiver. “Please tell the earl I don’t feel well,” she answered. “Perhaps this afternoon I will visit the chapel.”
The two women glanced at each other. The second one said, “The earl specifically mentioned it, my lady. We’re to escort you.”
Sudden annoyance flashed through Eleanor. She had always been patient and cautious and generally unaffected by waves of strong emotion but this morning she was worried about Gwalaes and resented the unwelcome intrusion. “I have a headache,” she said. Her voice sounded firm and she was encouraged enough to add, “I will stay here and wait for Gwalaes to come.”
“But your chit won’t come!” the first one said, frowning. “The earl will be very angry, my lady!”
She decided she didn’t care. What could he do to her that he hadn’t already done?
They were both staring at her again but this time their expressions ranged from shock to disbelief. She felt some measure of power in denying her husband’s orders, especially when she read in their faces that they would never dare the same. She sat down on the cushioned bench below the window and gazed up at them, seemingly unperturbed. “You had better go, or you’ll miss Mass.”
They looked at each other again but short of physically dragging her away, there wasn’t anything they could do. After they had gone, the serving girl, who had finished making up the fire and tidying the bedchamber, crept towards the door. “You!” Eleanor called sharply and the girl froze. “Find Gwalaes and send her to me immediately!”
But it wasn’t Gwalaes who came; it was Hugh. He didn’t even bother to knock—he just swept the door back with enough force to send it thudding off the wall and walked in. She had been leaning on the windowsill, waiting for Gwalaes, wondering what was keeping her, imagining that she was still angry and she jumped at the sudden noise. She turned around, saw her husband’s thunderous face and quailed. Her earlier bravado fled. Before she could react he had crossed the floor, grabbed her forearm and backhanded her across her cheek. She cried out once involuntarily but otherwise made no noise, just fell to the floor under the impact when he released his grip. Her hand flew up to her face. She didn’t get up, having learned that any action or word on her part only served to inflame him further while if she remained quiet and inert his anger ebbed away much more quickly.
“When I give an order, I expect it obeyed,” he said, his voice low and taut. “Do you understand that?”
She nodded, not looking at him. “Yes, my lord.”
“You will no longer take meals in this room. I want you seated next to me at breakfast in quarter of an hour.”
She didn’t reply. She heard him turn on his heel and cross the floor as quickly as he’d come in. She stole a glance in his direction and was mortified when she saw his captain, Roger of Haworth, standing in the doorway and just behind him the two women who had dressed her. No one had ever witnessed his brutality before, not even Gwalaes.
Gwalaes! Her humiliation was forgotten. “My lord, please!” she said urgently, scrambling to her feet. “Can you tell me why Gwalaes is being denied to me?”
He stopped just short of the door and turned around deliberately. “Denied to you?” he repeated. He shook his head. “She isn’t.”
Eleanor was bewildered. “But she hasn’t come yet…”
Hugh had been furious only a moment before but now she thought she saw a grim little smile on his face. “Nor will she,” he said.
“I don’t understand…” The smile frightened her more than his knuckles across her cheek had. Obviously he knew horrible news concerning Gwalaes.
Instead of answering, he deferred to Haworth. “Roger?”
Haworth’s voice was devoid of emotion. “According to the guards on the main gate, the girl left at dawn with the Young King’s messengers, Countess.”
There was a moment’s shocked silence. Then she burst out, “No! It’s impossible!” and her stunned eyes darted from one man to the other and back again.
Hugh snorted, his smile growing tighter and grimmer. “I didn’t expect you to believe me, of course. Ask who you want, look where you’d like. She’s gone.” His tone turned impatient. “She never liked Chester, Eleanor! And frankly, Chester is better off without her.”
Eleanor could only stare in disbelief at him. “It isn’t so! She would never leave me!”
“Obviously you’re wrong,” he replied. His eyes were cold, unfeeling. Eleanor wondered how she had ever thought them beautiful.
Now she hated blue eyes…
She turned away from them. She heard his terse voice remind her of her appointment for breakfast, she heard a jumble of noise as everyone moved out of the doorway and started down the stair, she heard Haworth make a comment of some kind; she heard Hugh laugh heartily in response. It was enough to twist her stomach until she felt sick…Gwalaes…Had their last argument really been so horrible? All their arguments? She didn’t doubt the truth of the story Haworth had told her; it was in Gwalaes’ impetuous nature to grab the first opportunity that came her way.
Eleanor felt betrayed. She turned to face the window and looked blindly out onto the ward, the main gate in the near distance. Gwalaes had often spoken about somehow escaping Chester but such schemes had always included her. Of course Eleanor would never have gone; how could Gwalaes have thought otherwise? At Chester she was a countess. All she had to do was produce an heir for Hugh and she was certain his aggression towards her would diminish and their relationship would revert to the polite disinterestedness it had once been…
But in the meantime she needed Gwalaes. She hadn’t a friend at Chester besides Gwalaes and the other girl knew that. Eleanor became more angry than upset. It wasn’t right that Gwalaes should simply leave her; it wasn’t the act of a true friend.
Five weeks later, Hugh, Haworth and fifty men left for Avranches.
It was hardly an easy time to travel; winter had started early and already, in mid-November, a thin shroud of wet snow lay over the countryside. The earl had an advantage in that he could cross the breadth of England and stay in one of his own properties practically every night but Eleanor hoped anyway that he might freeze to death on his horse. Or failing that, fall overboard and drown when he sailed to Normandy.
He was the reason Gwalaes had fled Chester; the girl had never made a secret of the fact that she didn’t like him and as the days passed, Eleanor became more convinced that this dislike was what had caused Gwalaes to leave. His harsh treatment of her since her brother’s death had made Eleanor frightened of him. But his driving away of Gwalaes, her only friend and companion, caused her to despise him with a ferocity which Gwalaes herself would have admired. She became withdrawn but not subdued; she sat by his side at all meals but never spoke, she suffered his physical abuse but wouldn’t cry and tolerated his intimacy as if she were a statue, with the result that he soon stopped coming to her door. She spent most of her time in the solar, absently embroidering or sewing and listening with half an ear to the gossiping of her ladies but said not a word herself. Sir Miles avoided her. She had once been the queen of Chester and everyone had greeted her respectfully, but the fickle crowd took its cue from its lord and master and when Hugh was observed to be treating his wife disdainfully, those who once listened to what she had to say no longer bothered. After Gwalaes disappeared and Eleanor withdrew into herself, they ignored her almost totally. There was a rumor afoot that when the earl returned from whatever business had taken him to Normandy, he would seek to have his marriage annulled on any grounds his counselors could devise; more likely than not, the fact that they had been married for longer than a year and the countess was not yet pregnant.
But Eleanor was pregnant.
She had suspected since September, after missing her bleeding for the second time, but she hadn’t told Gwalaes because her monthly fluxes were never very regular and she’d wanted to wait another month. After all, she was barely seventeen; she wasn’t certain if the changes to her body were merely further signs of maturation or something more dire. Then, also, she’d wanted to keep the secret—if, indeed, she were pregnant—to herself for a while. With Hugh controlling so much of her life and Gwalaes haranguing her from the other side, this was one thing that was hers alone, and there was something satisfying and even joy-inspiring about hiding such important knowledge in herself. She had little else to make her happy at Chester.
By the time she was certain she was carrying a child, Gwalaes was gone. Now the knowledge became slightly terrifying. She had no close acquaintances among the ladies in the castle and certainly none whom she could trust. It was suddenly frightening to be solely responsible for this life inside her; it seemed so fragile, so tenuous that she found herself taking care to conduct her movements with the utmost vigilance. She might have blurted out the news to Hugh if he’d continued to raise his fists to her, but since Gwalaes’ departure, he had bothered her less and less.
Hugh would have to know some time she supposed. This was what he had been waiting so impatiently to happen. This was the whole reason for her existence at Chester. She thought darkly to herself that once he had his son from her, she would become superfluous. Perhaps he would send her to one of his lesser castles to live out the remainder of her days. She would never see her child again…
Not long after the earl and his party had gone, Eleanor was awakened one gloomy morning by the girl who came to her chamber every day to open the shutters, pour fresh water for the countess’ toilet and build up the fire. Eleanor seldom paid her any attention nor conversed with her but this morning some piece of the girl’s attire as she leaned forward to light the oil lamp caught her attention, and she called sharply for her to come near the bed.
“Where did you find that pin?” she demanded. Unconsciously, the girl put her hand to the round metal ornament which decorated her otherwise plain brown gown. “Take it off and let me see it!”
Hastily, the girl pulled it up and handed it to Eleanor. “It was a gift, my lady! I didn’t find it, it was given to me!”
Eleanor stared at the item in her hand. It was a small pin of no great workmanship; a fusion of twisted wires representing something only its maker could name, but Alan d’Arques was, after all, a soldier and not a craftsman. Still, Gwalaes had treasured it and worn it always…
“Who gave it to you?” she asked, and was nervously told a name which meant nothing to her. “Where did he get it?”
“I don’t know, my lady.” The girl looked at her, suddenly appalled. “I’m sure he didn’t steal it!”
“I want to see him,” Eleanor said. “Fetch him here now. Quickly, before those two old crones come to dress me.”
She heaved the covers back and got out of the bed. Her heart was pounding and her breathing was labored; her whole body was tight with anticipation. She cautioned herself to remain calm. The explanation was most likely very simple. Gwalaes probably just dropped the thing…or maybe she’d used it as a bribe to get herself out of Chester and whoever she’d given it to had dropped it…maybe, even, she had given it to this young man herself for some reason and he in turn had given it to the girl he was wooing…But she couldn’t shake her feeling of apprehension. The pin had been one of Gwalaes’ most prized possessions; surely there had been other items she might have used to barter.
Finally they came. It wasn’t proper for Eleanor to have a strange man in her chamber, especially when she was wearing only her mantle over her shift and her hair was loose, but she didn’t care what sort of impression she was making. She sat on the stool next to the brazier and tucked her bare feet underneath the hem of the cloak for warmth.
She showed the young man, one of the castle’s garrison soldiers, the pin and repeated the question she’d asked her servant. He answered immediately that he had found it on the ground.
“Where? In the ward? In the hall?”
“Neither place, my lady,” he said. “I found it at the postern.”
“Recently?”
“No, my lady. I’ve held it for some time, in case its owner came by to claim it. I would have given it up at once! But she didn’t come and I truly believed it had meant nothing to her and that I might give it to another with an easy mind.” He glanced at the girl standing just behind his shoulder and added, “I know I should have handed it over to the captain, my lady, but I thought whoever had lost it would retrace her steps—”
“I don’t care about that,” Eleanor interrupted him. “I only care about who lost it.”
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“That I don’t know, my lady.”
He said it too readily. Eleanor stared at him, her eyebrows knit together, until he flushed and looked away. She believed him when he said he didn’t know—he didn’t want to know! Obviously, she thought, he had found this object of some small value and had wanted to keep it for himself. He’d made no effort to find its owner; just waited until he considered sufficient time had passed and he could assume no one was coming for it.
Something else he’d said suddenly struck her. “You found the pin by the postern gate?” she asked, frowning.
“Yes, my lady. A month or so ago.”
“But surely the messengers from the Young King left by the main gate?”
Genuine confusion spread across his face. “My lady?”
“I know to whom this pin belongs,” Eleanor told him. “And I know she never went beyond the gates of this castle unless I was with her…until she left with the Young King’s messengers.”
“No, that’s impossible,” the guard said, shaking his head.
“What do you mean?”
“No one left with the messengers, my lady. I watched them go. I’d just come off duty, you see, when their horses were brought out from the stable. I spoke with one of the grooms as I walked with him across the ward to the gate where the men were waiting. The porter came out, unlocked the gate and they mounted the beasts and left. There wasn’t anyone with them.”
Eleanor’s heart started racing again, loud thumps that almost deafened her. “Perhaps she went out the postern and met the messengers in the town.”
Again the young man shook his head. “No, my lady. I found the pin before the messengers left. I would have been the one to open the gate for her and that night I opened it for only one person.”
Her mouth was dry. “Who?” When he hesitated, she demanded again in an angry voice. “Who was it?”
“Sir Roger,” he answered quickly. “Of the earl’s bodyguard.”
“Sir Roger?”
The guard was suddenly flustered. “I could have given the pin to him,” he said in a rush. “But I didn’t think it was very important. It’s not an expensive piece, after all, and no one claimed it. I wasn’t stealing it, my lady! I would have given it up if it had been asked for. Please believe me—”
“Why would you have given the pin to Sir Roger?”
“Because, my lady, Sir Roger knew who the pin belonged to.”
That might be true, she thought; if Haworth were a particularly observant person he would have seen the pin on Gwalaes almost every day. But how would the guard know that? She looked at him questioningly, not daring to speak.
He shifted uneasily. “She was with him, wasn’t she, my lady. On the one horse. Going down to the river, he told me.”
Eleanor was stunned. “What? She was with him? How? Why?”
“She was, um, sitting on his lap,” the guard said with some embarrassment. “As for the why…” He lifted his eyebrows in an expression which implied the answer was apparent.
Eleanor ignored the gesture. “Could you see her at all? Did she say anything? Was she old or young? What did she look like?”
He realized the countess wasn’t interested in his ill-advised guardianship of the pin, only in the person to whom it had belonged. He had feared she would tell the earl that one of his men was a thief but it seemed thievery was least of her concerns. He became immediately helpful.
“I didn’t see her face, my lady. She was sitting on Sir Roger’s lap with her back to me and her legs on the other side of the saddle. She didn’t say anything. Sir Roger said she was shy. He said they were going to the river and he winked at me.” He shrugged. “I opened the gate for them and they went through. Then I saw the pin on the ground. It must have fallen from the woman’s gown because it wasn’t there before.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, my lady. I would have seen it. The moon was up. I’d been walking around a bit; I can’t stand still all night. It was almost as bright as day that night. I would have seen it before. I picked it up and was about to call after them but they’d disappeared into the shadows already. I didn’t want to embarrass the woman; she never once looked at me and I figured she didn’t want to be seen. I thought I’d just give the pin to Sir Roger when they came back. But they never did come back and well, I just kept it.”
Eleanor sat silently for a moment, digesting the story. What was Gwalaes doing with Sir Roger? Certainly not what the guard was implying! Had Sir Roger taken her outside the castle and arranged for the messengers to pick her up along the road? But why? Why not simply leave from the ward, through the main gate? Hugh was all too eager to be rid of her; he’d hated Gwalaes as much as Gwalaes had hated him and Eleanor knew it. He wouldn’t care that she’d gone.
If Gwalaes hadn’t joined the two messengers, then only one explanation remained. Eleanor’s feet felt suddenly icy; she shivered in small tremors.
She didn’t want to believe the worst, but why not? These were violent men, trained all their lives for one purpose: killing. Would they shirk to commit murder against one lowly, troublesome servant whom no one but the out of favor countess held in any regard?
The servant and the guard exchanged puzzled glances. Eleanor was staring at them, her face white and frozen. “My lady,” said the girl timidly, coming up to stand before her, “you must believe we didn’t think we were stealing the pin—only keeping that which had been lost. But if you know who the pin belongs to, we’ll gladly give it back with apologies for keeping it so long.”
Eleanor’s eyes focused. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.” She shook herself. Above all, she thought, no one must suspect she knew. She crossed the chamber to the little casket of her personal effects which stood on the table against the far wall. She opened it, rummaged and took out a red hair ribbon, its ends decoratively wrapped in crisscrossed silver wire. She held it out to the servant. “I would like to keep the pin. Will you take this in exchange?” As the girl reached for it, her face pleased, Eleanor’s voice turned cold. “This conversation goes no further than these walls, understand? I don’t want to hear even the smallest whisper.”
When they’d gone, Eleanor stood in front of the window and looked out. Mass had ended, she noted by the sudden appearance of the pious multitude in the ward. The November sky was dark and forbidding but she was strangely glad of it. It suited her mood. She felt angry and a little guilty. Angry that they had dared to commit such a heinous act. Guilty because if she and Gwalaes hadn’t argued, then Hugh and Haworth wouldn’t have had the opportunity to separate them.
If they hadn’t argued, if she could have seen Gwalaes one last time, if the guard had never found the pin… If Hugh could kill Gwalaes, he could kill her, if the child were stillborn, he would blame her, if the child were a girl, he would demonstrate his displeasure with his fists…
And despite the pain of having learned the horrible truth about Gwalaes’ disappearance, Eleanor felt incredibly relieved that she hadn’t been betrayed after all, although she hated Hugh with renewed vigor for trying to make her think she had. She’d been selfish for thinking only of herself while Gwalaes was being murdered. She could no longer afford to be so selfish; she was pregnant and now she had to put the child first. And she was damned if she would let Hugh have any control over the life of their child. It was time, she told herself grimly, to stop languishing and start thinking.
She leaned on the sill and stared through the window to the west. The plain of Chester, bounded by a loop of the river, looked neat and civilized compared with the hazy, haphazard hills in the distance. But appearances, she knew, were deceiving. Wales was over there. She didn’t know much about Wales, but of one thing she was certain: Hugh would need an army to get her out.