Captives: Kingdoms Rule Hearts

by Emily Murdoch

  “And where is Cyneric now?”

  “Gone.”

  “Gone?”

  The child took an uncertain step backwards, but did not run away as Fitz suspected it wanted to. “He went away to fight the bad men.”

  Fitz froze. “The bad men?”

  The child nodded slowly. “Bad men like you.”

  Shame coursed through Fitz, and he almost opened his mouth to argue – but then, where could he start?

  “I am not a bad man,” Fitz lowered himself onto his haunches, trying to make himself look smaller to this slip of humanity. “I’m really quite nice.”

  The child shook its head slowly, and said nothing.

  “Did Cyneric not come back?” Fitz knew the answer; knew it as plainly as he could see the dust coating the man’s livelihood; and knew that it would almost break a small part of him to see this child say it out loud. And yet he had to ask.

  The child shook its head again. “Cyneric did not come back. No one did.”

  Fitz didn’t know what to do with himself, but he arranged his face into what he hoped was a sensitive and thoughtful pose. The child ran. It obviously did not work.

  Fitz turned on the spot, taking in everything that was left of a man’s life. This man probably thought that he would be back home within days, ready to pick up the threads of his life again.

  A cold breeze swept in, bringing with it a scattering of rain. He shivered. It reminded him that he should continue; that he needed to purchase a few items before evening fell.

  Leaving the shop, however, Fitz saw that the child he had been speaking to had returned. With him – or her, he reminded himself – were four other children, all of various ages, and only two of them were definitely boys. The other two, like the first, were garbed in a mixture of shirts and off-cuts that hid exactly what they were.

  “Hello,” Fitz said uncertainly. “Who are these people?”

  It was now Fitz’s turn to take an uncertain step backwards. He had heard of bandits, but if these children really hoped to overpower him, surely they could not possibly think about doing it during daylight – in the centre of a busy street?

  “I wanted you to see,” the child stared up at the man who looked so frightening, and swallowing, maintained its composure. “I wanted you to see some of the children that have been left behind.”

  Fitz smiled sadly. “Your fathers did not return after the invasion? So your mothers and you are all alone?”

  The children looked up at him, confused. One spoke up; a boy.

  “Mother was taken away.”

  Fitz felt physically sick. He had heard – of course he had heard – of the unspeakable things that some Norman soldiers had done to the local women. He had assumed that it was a mix of bravado and lies. He had been sure that no man could ever… would ever…

  The children still looked at him, still confused. There was no self-pity in their faces.

  Fitz thought about his family. About the wife he had left behind.

  He shuddered.

  Chapter Six

  It had taken four days of hard riding, but at last the journey was over. Catheryn patted her horse gently on the shoulder. It was, like her, unaccustomed to such long days, but Catheryn had the added problem of adjusting to the sunlight. It had been too long since she had been outside.

  Her destination, she had been told by the man who wore the colours of Queen Matilda, was but a short journey around the hill that they had stabled their horses at. The sun shone high in the sky, and Catheryn shifted on the horse, trying to find a place that wasn’t uncomfortable.

  She was weary, and saddle sore.

  Turning a corner in the path that curled around the hill, Catheryn’s eyes caught sight of the place that was to be her home for… a long time, if these Normans had anything to do with it. The castle rose high over the village that nestled in front of it.

  “Not long now, mistress,” the man accompanying her, who had a name that Catheryn could not pronounce, said. He cast a smile at her. “Soon you will be cared for in a manner better suited to your station, my lady.”

  Catheryn returned the smile wearily. “I’m not entirely sure what my station is, at present,” she admitted. “In England, I am a lady; in Normandy, I am a prisoner.”

  “No reason that you cannot be both,” said the man stiffly. “The FitzOsberns are a noble family. They will treat you well.”

  Catheryn opened her mouth, but merely closed it again. There was no point in her trying to explain – trying to convince a man that there was a great deal of difference between commanding an entire household and being alone in a room for half the year.

  By this point, they had reached the edge of the village. Many of the locals lifted their heads, but saw just another two travellers, and thought no more of it. A gaggle of young girls looked up at her shyly, before a woman shouted at them and they scattered, giggling and shrieking with laughter.

  Catheryn looked around, and bitterness crept into her heart. These people were very like the villagers she had left behind – but these people knew nothing of real pain and loss. They had lived in relative safety all of their lives. Not for them the coming drums, the fires, and the screams of their children…

  “…my lady?”

  The man had obviously been talking to her, and Catheryn blushed at her rudeness.

  “My apologies,” she said awkwardly, “I am tired.”

  “It is nothing,” he replied. “I just wanted to welcome you to your new home.”

  Catheryn realised that they had arrived at the castle gate. The place where she would be a prisoner once more. Now the journey was over, she already missed it. The change from room to wilderness had been a welcome one, and for a few days she had managed to convince herself that she was truly free.

  The man knocked solemnly on the great door, and within moments it was opened by a man in dark navy blue.

  “Who knocks?”

  “The lady Catheryn, sent by the Queen.”

  The answer was formal, and Catheryn was glad that she was not required to contribute anything. Despite the fact that it was only midday, she thought longingly of bed; of a real bed, with a coverlet, and no rats to crawl in with her.

  The man who had answered the door nodded, and pulled the door wide open so that the two horses could pass through.

  As her horse walked on, Catheryn’s eyes widened. What she had taken to be the outside of the castle was in fact a wall that surrounded it. Between the two was a grassy area with several tents, and people bustling between them, shouting out for more arrows, or a mug of mead.

  Geffrei’s home had seemed monstrously huge to Catheryn, and yet this castle was larger still. Catheryn’s heart sank: this place, surely, would have a dungeon of some sort, not just a room in which to abandon her. She had been a fool to trust the words of Matilda.

  Sinking lower on her horse, she meekly followed the man who had brought her so far. He walked his horse slowly to what Catheryn now saw was the actual entrance to the castle.

  “And the name here is FitzOsbern?” she said quietly.

  The man nodded. “A noble house, much beloved by the royal family. The lord here is in fact the cousin of our king.”

  Catheryn caught the reverence in his voice, and tried desperately not to roll her eyes. Another man easily impressed by birth. Her husband had been of low birth, but had earned his position. This FitzOsbern was undoubtedly some sort of idiot, but his family had given him this place.

  “The FitzOsberns,” she repeated. She had never heard of them in England, and had no idea whether it was just the lord or if he was married.

  But that question was readily answered by the entrance of a woman, near Catheryn’s own age, draped in rich silks and wearing a necklace of stones that glinted in the sunlight. This was obviously the lady of the house.

  The man dismounted from his horse, and bowed low to the lady.

  “My lady,” he said deferentially.

  The woman inclined her he
ad, but said nothing.

  “I bring greetings from our Queen, Matilda, and good tidings to you and yours,” the man continued formally. “She bids you welcome this lady, a lady of the Anglo-Saxons, into your home. She asks that you care for her as a distinguished… guest.”

  The pause emphasised that her position was not that of a guest, but that of a prisoner. The fact that it stuck in their throats did nothing to help her.

  Without waiting for assistance, Catheryn gracefully dismounted from her horse.

  “I bid you thanks,” she said slowly, her tongue stumbling slightly over the formal Norman greeting that she had memorised. “I honour the family that offers me shelter.”

  Her curtsey was in no way as low as the servant’s obeisance, but it was a curtsey – something that Catheryn had debated on doing on the road, and eventually decided that there was no way of avoiding it.

  The woman looked at her, coldly. There was no welcome in her face, and no hand to clasp. Turning away from Catheryn, she said to the man briskly, “I cannot follow her heathen tongue. Tell her to come inside.”

  She swept away into the castle.

  Catheryn laughed in shock. The rudeness that the woman had shown her was beyond belief! She would never have admitted a guest into her home in that sort of manner, even if they had been unwelcome.

  The man looked at her uncomfortably, shuffling his feet slightly and examining them hard rather than look at her. “My lady bids you –”

  “I know exactly what your lady said,” Catheryn cut across him.

  He flushed. “My lady is nervous. I serve the Queen, but I trust my lady Adeliza just as much. Her husband is away, and she is not accustomed to greeting strangers.”

  Catheryn did roll her eyes this time. “Then she should learn. If I can learn to be a prisoner hundreds of miles from my home, she can learn to keep me in hers.”

  Ignoring his hissed reply, Catheryn walked past him and into the castle.

  The woman who had been so insistently rude to her was standing by the fire, which was slowly smouldering in the centre of the room. It was a hall, and many different rooms led from it. Catheryn could hear the entire household working away, despite the thick stone walls that were covered with gorgeous tapestries. The fire sparkled in the gold threads, and on the necklace hanging around the neck of the woman who was to be her jailor.

  “My name,” the woman spoke stiffly, “is Adeliza. Adeliza de Tosny FitzOsbern. My husband William FitzOsbern is across the water, caring for England for our King.”

  “I think England was doing rather well without your help.”

  Catheryn gasped and put her hands to her mouth. “My lady, I must apologise – I am weary, and road-sore, and –”

  “Enough.”

  The cold tone immediately stopped Catheryn from continuing. The woman had barely moved, but there was a power in her which caused Catheryn to look at her with fear.

  “You are not a guest here, my lady,” Adeliza looked at her with cold eyes. “You are not welcome, and you are not wanted. You are a prisoner of our lady Queen Matilda, and it is only due to her request that you are here.”

  Her eyes scanned the newcomer. Ragged clothes and dirty hair barely covered by a strange veil. She was thin, and could hardly stand. Adeliza shook her head.

  “You will keep to your chambers, and you will know your place. Meals will be our only meeting, and I do not expect you to talk to me.”

  Catheryn tried to speak, but Adeliza spoke over her.

  “You are a prisoner, and you will be treated as such. Do not think of attempting escape: our lands stretch far and wide from our home, and every man, woman, and child is loyal to us. They will see you, and they will bring you back.”

  Catheryn stared at the woman who was to be her jailor.

  “You are not wanted, Lady Catheryn of England.” Turning her back, she quickly left the room.

  Catheryn almost laughed in shock. If she and that woman had met in England a year ago, it would have been Adeliza scraping the knee. Catheryn greatly outranked this woman who did not think her good enough to give a proper welcome.

  Catheryn realised that the man who had brought her to this place had gone. She was standing alone in the hall of a castle, miles and miles from everyone that she knew and cared for. She was truly alone. Tears welled in her tired eyes.

  “My lady?”

  Catheryn turned quickly, and the servant girl took a hasty step backwards.

  “My lady Adeliza bid me take you to your chambers,” she said quietly.

  Catheryn frowned. “And does your lady Adeliza bid you be polite to me?”

  A look of confusion blossomed over the servant girl’s face. “My lady?”

  Catheryn sighed. “Forget my hurried words,” she said quietly. “I am too tired to argue. Take me to a place where I can sleep.”

  Chapter Seven

  The moon had changed from old to new twice, and Catheryn had barely settled in the castle of the FitzOsberns. It felt like every day was a new exercise for the household to remind her that she was not wanted, an outsider. Their prisoner.

  Each morning, when the household broke their fast together, Catheryn would sit between Adeliza and a young woman who never spoke to her. During the first few days after Catheryn had arrived at the castle, she had tried to speak to Adeliza. Catheryn knew that there was no reason that she, an Anglo-Saxon, could not have a rational conversation with a Norman. She was too old, and had seen too much of the world to believe that there was really that much difference between them. And yet still, Adeliza forced silence onto the table.

  Catheryn was beginning to crave the small conversations that she had had with Lina, when she had been a prisoner of Geffrei. At times it made her laugh – she could never have imagined wishing herself back to those days of silence and solitude. And yet she had at least had someone who acknowledged her presence once each day.

  The summer was hot, and heavy. Much of the castle’s household would try and spend their days outside in the shade, where the heat was not trapped and fires were not still burning. Within the first week of her stay with the FitzOsbern family, Catheryn had discovered the way to their kitchen. Her love for creating something delicious with only her hands and a fire was a skill her husband had always mocked her for, and yet done so with a smile, and a kiss.

  “You’re not a servant!” Selwyn would say. “Let someone else do that…”

  But Catheryn could not deny the passion that she had for feeding the stomachs of those she loved, and she had passed that fire on to her daughter. Would she be in a kitchen now? Catheryn wondered. Would she be eating?

  Catheryn had hoped to find solace in the kitchen of the FitzOsbern castle, and yet she was denied it. The servants there could not seem to understand why she wanted to be there; they suspected her. Catheryn knew that they had probably been fed lies about Anglo-Saxons poisoning all the food that they prepared… and yet it would give her great peace to lose herself in the kneading of some dough.

  “Please,” she said to a stony face. “I will not be any trouble.”

  “You are trouble,” was the reply. “Do not return here.”

  The chambers which had been given to her by Adeliza were not large, but they were comfortable. The first room that led off the corridor had a small fire in it, two chairs which had beautiful silks draped over them, and a chest that she had put her meagre belongings in. A cloak. A second dress that had been given to her by a servant girl, who had muttered that her mistress Adeliza no longer wanted it. A flower she had picked.

  A doorway beside this chest led to her bed chamber. This room was just as sparsely furnished; the bed was the only item within the entire room, but it had a straw mattress and several rugs. For Catheryn, it was palatial, and it was all hers.

  But as the sun rose each morning, the stifling heat would become oppressive, and she would have to leave the castle. Adeliza had warned her about trying to escape, and each time she meandered past the stables, the men would st
iffen, and rise from their jobs. They would watch her walk past, and only return to their duties once they were sure that she had gone.

  It was clear that she was not permitted to ride.

  And so Catheryn went to the only place where she knew she would feel comfortable. She found a field that had been left fallow this year, full of grasses and butterflies, and lay down in the centre. She had always done this as a child; had always felt safest surrounded by the tall grasses that whispered to her in the wind.

  That childhood was long gone, and yet the feeling of being swept away by the wind brought Catheryn more peace than she had known since leaving her home.

  Catheryn closed her eyes. She was alone, as if on the ocean, where none could touch her.

  She could almost have fallen asleep, were it not for the dry sobs that broke into her daydream. For a moment, Catheryn could not fathom what the howling noise was, or where it was coming from. Eyes still shut, she brushed her hands through the long grass, feeling the snag of flower heads against her fingertips. If she just ignored it, it would go away.

  But, of course, it would not. After several minutes, Catheryn sat up, eyes open, scanning the horizon for the source of the commotion.

  It was not difficult to find. A girl, perhaps fifteen years, perhaps slightly older, was hunched in a tangled heap at one edge of the field. The racking sobs were coming from her, and although Catheryn could not see her face, it was clear that she was deeply distressed.

  Annis would be about the same age, Catheryn reflected. Her heart wrenched at the thought that her own child could be just as distraught, but hundreds of miles away, with no one to comfort her.

  But then, this girl did not seem to have anyone to comfort her, either, Catheryn thought. She looked around. There was no one but her within earshot.

  A swell of maternal nurturing swept through Catheryn, and she knew that she would not be easy until she had spoken to the crying girl.

  Pulling herself upright, and dusting the soil off her clothes, Catheryn began to hesitantly move towards the girl. She was so distracted by her own tears that it was not until Catheryn was within reach of touching her shoulder that the girl suddenly lifted her head, her face full of shock.