Caitlyn Box Set

by Elizabeth Davies

  I had to go – I had no choice, Besides, having nowhere else to turn, I felt sure my destiny was with her. Herleva. I rolled the name around in my noiseless mouth. It sat well on my tongue, as if it were meant to be there, as if I had spoken her name all my life.

  I will come to you, I promised, and her gleeful chuckle followed me down into sleep.

  Chapter 15

  The smell of death permeated my skin, filling my nostrils and clinging to my hair. It was inescapable, and for the first few days in the tanning pits my appetite was little more than that of a mouse. After two weeks I had become somewhat accustomed to it, though I did wonder if I wore the stench like a shroud when I returned to the house.

  I stood and stretched, placing my hands in the small of my back to ease the ache. Being hunched over the fleshing block for most of the day left me crooked and bent like an old woman, my fingers swollen and stiff from the unaccustomed work. It was nearly supper-time and I had finished cleansing the last hide of fat and tissue, making it ready for the next step in the process. Fulbert was justly proud of his leather, and most of it went to the castle to be turned into tack and saddles, boots and satchels. Sometimes he purchased kid and calfskins, Arlette informed me, trusting no one but himself to handle the delicate and expensive hides. He left the tougher cattle skins to me.

  I watched Arlette walk along the river bank, full of sinuous grace even with a hefty pail of water in each hand. She tipped their contents into the furthermost pit, the last of her chores completed. One of her jobs was to replenish the liquor in the tanning pits. Each pit was strung with hides wallowing in the dark waters. She told me they would soak for up to a year in the oak bark mixture until they had softened and turned the colour of the oatmeal biscuits Herleva sometimes prepared for breakfast. I hoped I would be long gone by the time these most recent hides saw daylight again.

  Behind Arlette, the sun illuminated the castle, and an unexpected shudder went through me despite the beauty of both the girl and the building. When I first saw Falaise, the castle stole my breath and my heart. Even now, tired and sore, I had never seen anything more magnificent nor more terrifying. It loomed over the town, lit in shades of gold and apricot by the rays of the dying sun. High atop a rocky crag, the castle perched like an eagle, ready to swoop and pounce on the unwary and the unprepared. Ramparts encircled the top of the outcrop. In the middle, overlooking the L’Ante River with its shallow clear waters, sat the keep, square and squat, dominating the surrounding landscape. The monstrous curtain walls spread out on both sides, as far as I could see, and all was built in stone.

  I glanced automatically at the flagpole, bare of any standard. Robert, Duke of Normandy, had yet to arrive. Edward and Alfred waited at the castle for their cousin, though Alfred often ventured out to visit Arlette.

  ‘Come, let us fill the pails and take them with us. I would like to bathe before eating,’ Arlette said, thrusting a couple of empty buckets at me.

  We walked back towards the river, Arlette’s hips swinging and a lightness to her step. I trudged along beside her, tired and irritable.

  ‘Would you like me to help you wash?’ she asked, dropping her buckets and kicking off her shoes. She dipped in a toe and squealed at the chill of the water.

  ‘No, thank you,’ I said.

  ‘Will you help me?’

  It was couched as a question, but I knew full well it was a command.

  ‘Of course,’ I said. To refuse would mean no food tonight. I would be sent to bed like a naughty child without its supper, though “bed” was a fancy word for the straw mattress in the kitchen, but at least the kitchen was warm. The nights could sometimes be chilly, even in mid-June.

  ‘I wish my hair curled like yours,’ she said, ‘and the sunset brings out the flame in it.’

  For all her prettiness, like many others she was not satisfied with what she had. Or was this another attempt to lull me? She played with me like a cat played with an injured bird, one minute all friendly patting and purring, the next all claws and teeth. The turnabout in her attitude made my head spin. She seemed unable to decide whether I was friend, or servant.

  ‘Your hair is like a raven’s wing,’ I said, hating myself for playing up to her, but knowing my stomach would appreciate the gesture. ‘Dark and glossy. And my hair only really curls if I braid it whilst it is still damp.’

  Her hair was not black, but rather a dark brown. I did not lie when I called it glossy – it shone and glimmered with health. As did her face. She had perfect cream skin with a hint of blush on each cheek.

  She regarded me thoughtfully with her brown eyes, so deep in colour they were almost black, and rimmed with thick lashes which she knew how to flutter.

  ‘How old did you say you are?’ she asked.

  ‘Twenty-three.’

  ‘Do you want to marry again?’ She touched the river with her other foot, letting the water flow over her toes.

  Why did she question me again? She knew my story.

  ‘I would like to be married,’ she added, putting her shoes back on.

  Ah, this was not about me, this was about her. It was always about Arlette, I was beginning to understand.

  ‘To Alfred, I wager,’ I said.

  We dipped the buckets and filled them, making our way back to the house. Thankfully it was a goodly distance away from the tanning sheds and the smell of carrion. At least the hides which came to Fulbert were mostly clean. Mine was the unenviable task of completing the job, stripping away any remaining flesh and fat clinging to the skin.

  ‘Do you think he will have me? Herleva seems to believe he will.’ Her lips parted, revealing her only imperfection – one slightly crooked tooth. It made her beauty all the more real.

  ‘What man could resist you?’ I said. It was true. Not many could. Alfred stood little chance against her wiles.

  ‘Edward could, and does,’ she retorted.

  ‘Edward is…’ I paused, searching for the right word, ‘very pious.’

  ‘So he should be, with his penchant for men’s arses.’

  Shocked at her crudeness, I could only stammer. ‘I…he…I did not think it was common knowledge.’

  ‘Alfred knows, so I know. He keeps no secrets from me.’ She became thoughtful. ‘No matter how much I try, I cannot get Edward to notice me. He will not be swayed.’

  ‘Do you want him to notice you? I thought you were in love with Alfred.’

  ‘Love? Pish! Alfred is the closest I can get to marrying a powerful and wealthy lord. If I could have his brother instead, I would. If I could turn Edward, I might be Queen of England one day.’ She shot me a sly look. ‘Better than the queen of a tiny Welsh kingdom.’

  ‘You’ve got to catch him first,’ I said, ‘otherwise you will only be the sister-in-law of a king, assuming Edward actually makes it to the throne. Canute’s son is likely to inherit.’

  ‘I know all that,’ she snapped.

  Glad we had arrived at the house, I carefully set my pails down, annoyed to have riled her. A chill washed over me and I turned around, knowing who was responsible.

  Herleva stood watching, her expression impassive, except for her eyes. They were aglow with excitement. The only time I had seen them like that was when…I pushed away the image of Herleva and a certain bowl filled with strange liquid. Best not to think about it. It had not been real.

  I knew less about her than I did about Arlette. Arlette was talkative, whereas Herleva kept her own counsel. Somewhere between forty and fifty, she was Fulbert’s second wife. From what I could gather, she had simply appeared at his house on the day of Arlette’s first flowering, had asked to speak with the girl, then told Fulbert she intended to be his new wife. My French was not quite good enough to delve into the intricacies of the story nor their relationship, but it was improving with each day, so I hoped to find out more at another time. Actually, I would be quite content to leave this place and never hear any of their names again, but at present I had nowhere else to go, and until I di
d I wanted to gather as much information as possible about my situation.

  I looked forward to Alfred’s visit this evening. All I needed to do was to get him on his own for a moment and plead my case. He could take me back to the castle with him tonight, and I was sure if Lord Robert knew of the predicament of a Welsh queen in his own lands, he would intervene and give me succour. I intended to beg him for sanctuary when he returned to Falaise.

  Herleva smiled, a twisted, wry, sly curl of the lips, as if she knew my very thoughts. She moved out of the doorway and a whiff of thyme came with her. She claimed she used the herb for embalming, to help purify the corpse. She not only washed the body in a solution of the leaves and stems, both inside and out, but she also burnt great handfuls of the plant. She claimed it cleared the air of harmful spirits.

  ‘Tonight is the shortest night, the mid-summer solstice,’ she said in her usual low voice. I had yet to hear her raise it, not even to Walter and Osbern, Arlette’s brothers, when they tramped across her newly swept flagstones with their big muddy feet. All it took was a look and they cowered before her. Much like I was doing now.

  I had no reason to be so wary. I had not had even one vision since Alfred handed me over to Arlette. Herleva looked ordinary, much like any other matron of her age, just not so thick about the waist, for she had not borne any children. She had never said anything to give me undue pause, though her welcome had been more satisfaction than surprise – as if I had been expected. Herleva had thrown Arlette a look when I had dismounted from my borrowed horse and Alfred introduced us. The younger woman had radiated suppressed excitement but had kept her comments mundane. If I had not suspected they both knew exactly who I was and how I had come to be there, the scene would have been perfectly unremarkable.

  Fulbert had made me as welcome as he would any other source of free labour, though I suspected he still begrudged me a place to sleep and the food in my belly. Walter and Osbern usually ignored me. Even Arlette, for all her vain and superior ways, was no different to any other young woman. To be sure, Herleva having the upper hand in the embalming business was a surprise. The family made out Fulbert was the embalmer and not his wife, for it was considered unsuitable work for a woman, but I could see no reason to fear her because of it. Herleva guarded her embalming room jealously, allowing only Arlette inside on a regular basis. I had been sent in once, to fetch something, and had seen nothing amiss. There were no smoke-cats in chimneys, no dead cats laying around, and no corpses (cat or otherwise) with all-black eyes. The room looked much as I had seen it in my vision, but I shoved that thought firmly to the depths of my mind, and I refused to think about it. The visions had been a result of a fraught and worried mind. Nothing more, nothing less. Any similarity was sheer coincidence. I had to believe that.

  To believe anything else would lead to madness.

  Chapter 16

  Arlette had been sent to wake me. The house had a separate lean-to, off to the side, where Herleva prepared the food. She called it a kitchen; I called it my bed-chamber. Fulbert and Herleva shared a room above the main one where Arlette and her brothers slept. At least I was spared having to sleep with them, squashed together like so many kittens in a basket.

  ‘Shh.’ Arlette put a finger to her lips. ‘Herleva wants you.’

  This was it. This is what I had dreaded, the summons in the dead of night. My chest fluttered and my heart thumped. What did she have in store for me? The image of a dead woman with the heart of a cat sewn inside her jumped into my mind. No one would care if I suddenly disappeared, no one would notice, though Fulbert might sigh at the loss of a pair of hands in the tanning pits. If no one would miss me, then maybe I could run. I had no belongings to worry about fetching, nothing I could not do without if I left it behind. All I had to do was push Arlette away, gather up the skirt of my rough woollen dress and dart out of the door.

  My one worry was that my fear was unfounded, based on the workings of an unsettled mind and inexplicable visions. Mayhap it was all in my head, this feeling of being drawn to Herleva. No one else seemed to have sensed anything amiss. Perhaps it was not Herleva who had been causing my visions, but a higher power, one of the saints, or the Virgin herself. If so, maybe I was destined to be here, at this time and in this place. Perhaps God had ordained it. I remembered looking for an answer in the tiny church in Llandarog and assumed no one had spoken. That was when I first sensed Herleva. Maybe God had given me an answer, and she was it.

  ‘One of the cows is ailing,’ Arlette explained, and all my ridiculous, troubled thoughts fled.

  She had woken me because of a sick cow and not because she intended to cut me open and stuff a dead cat into my innards. I almost laughed aloud. Arlette nudged me.

  ‘Get up, and do it quietly. I do not wish to wake Father. He is to go to the castle tomorrow to sell some leather and he does not need to be stupefied by lack of sleep.’

  Though it is fine if I am, I grumbled to myself, and I will still be expected to do a full day’s work on the morrow, deathly tired or not.

  ‘Drink this. It will help keep you awake. The cow is in labour and I fear it will take most of the night to deliver the calf. It needs to be turned.’ Arlette held a wooden cup, which she thrust in my direction. A soft lowing came from beyond the vegetable patch. Nevertheless, I hesitated.

  ‘Oh for the love of Mary! Do you think I am going to poison you?’ Arlette lifted the cup to her lips. Her throat moved as she swallowed.

  I took the cup, sniffing the contents. No thyme, at least. I had grown to heartily dislike the smell of it. ‘What is in it?’

  ‘I do not know and I do not care as long as it works and stops me falling asleep in the cowshed. I have already drunk mine,’ she added.

  It smelled rich and sweet, similar to a dark mead. I took a tiny sip. It tasted of honey, and underneath, other flavours snaked across my tongue. I waited for a heartbeat to test the effect. There was none, so I drank it down. My eyelids would need all the help they could get to keep them open. Despite my best intentions, I had been too weary to wait up for Arlette and Alfred’s return. He had whisked her off somewhere, smiling like the proverbial cat with the cream. I hoped, for Arlette’s sake, she did not allow matters to go too far. Why would he marry her if he could get the same service without the tie of matrimony? For her plan to work, she needed to play a more cunning game than simply opening her legs at the first asking. Though I would be surprised for it to work at all – a man in his position would be more likely to marry for status, wealth, and power, than for the lure of a pretty face and a pair of fine-turned ankles.

  ‘How is Alfred?’ I whispered, slipping into my dress and turning my back for Arlette to do up the ties.

  ‘He is talking of returning to England before the end of the summer. Edward is still chasing the English throne.’

  ‘Do you think he will catch it?’

  Arlette shrugged. The moon was high and full, casting enough light through the badly fitting door to determine her features. She looked paler than usual, but then I had never seen her in moonlight.

  ‘Probably not, and if he does, will the people like having a man-lover for a king? Edward has to take a wife if he is to have any hope of keeping the throne. He will need an heir.’

  Was Arlette’s intention to keep Alfred’s interest until she finally roused Edward’s? If so, her plan was unlikely to work. Edward, more than Alfred, needed a wife who could bring him wealth and power. A royal wife, a rich wife.

  I opened the door and stepped out into a night filled with dark-loving blooms. Moonflowers, pale and ghostly, raised their four-pointed flowers to the sky and the air was redolent with the sweet scent of honeysuckle and jasmine. The cow lowed again, louder this time.

  I thought about inserting my arm into the animal’s birth canal, and my heart beat faster and my mouth dried. I strained to see across the neat rows of vegetables and herbs, but the small cowshed was a dark blur, despite the moonlight. I looked up. Never had the moon appeared so l
arge. Was it bigger in a Norman sky than a Welsh one? I tried to recall the last time I looked on her silver face. Silver. I had been forced to leave the mare behind; she was too conspicuous for a mere servant to ride. I had quite liked wearing boy’s clothes – so much freer than all those skirts and petticoats. I hoped she was being looked after well. The mare was unused to harsh treatment; she was a lady’s palfrey and I wondered which lady she had been given to. Sigrid, I hoped. She was very much a lady, despite that bear of a husband of hers. Thinking of Wulfstan made me think of Idris, the treacherous, lying, cunning bastard.

  ‘Who is a treacherous, lying, cunning bastard? And keep your voice down,’ Arlette hissed.

  ‘Did I say it out loud?’

  ‘Yes, you did. What is wrong?’ She clutched my arm as I staggered sideways.

  ‘I feel a little dizzy.’

  ‘You have been staring at the moon for too long.’

  ‘And sick.’ My stomach rolled and I tasted honey. Sour, gone-off honey. My belly cramped and I sank to the ground, wondering if I was about to vomit.

  ‘Wait. I will fetch Herleva.’ Arlette darted off, dancing between the rows. Was she singing, or calling to Herleva? I shook my head to clear it, and wished I hadn’t. The dizziness almost prostrated me. I put my hands out to steady myself, surprised to feel the ground so close. I did not recall sitting down. One of my hands spasmed, my fingers digging deep into the loamy earth. It hurt. I felt as though I was holding the fleshing knife, gripping it tight, knuckles blanching. The ache in my back was stronger and the big muscles in my legs were so sore I kicked out to try to ease them.