April Munday

by His Ransom

  Now that Rosamunde had gone, however, the room seemed empty. Despite himself, he looked forward to their next encounter.

  He had enjoyed the way she had spoken his name. On the ship he had assumed at first that the sailors had pronounced it in the English way to insult him, although he had quickly learned that they simply could not pronounce it any other way. He guessed that Rosamunde could have used the French pronunciation quite easily had she chosen to do so. Now he took a perverse pleasure in the insult.

  He looked round the hall, ignoring the stares of the curious. Most of the women were clustered around Thomas waiting to see if there was some message from their husbands or sons, but all of the men watched him. Despite its outward appearance, the inside of the castle was bright and cheerful. Colourful tapestries hung from the walls. The people were brightly, but modestly dressed. Despite the excitement, there was order. No one pushed or shoved or raised a voice. This was a well-ordered household, despite its lord’s absence. Once again he was impressed by Rosamunde. Many women would not be able to retain such control for so long. Eventually the pouch was empty save for the few letters for Rosamunde and Thomas turned his attention back to Richard.

  “Lady Rosamunde will give orders concerning your lodging when she returns,” he said. “But for now I think we should wash and change our clothes. And then I will show you the castle. You will need to learn quickly where everything is.”

  Richard did not understand the need for urgency, although he could tell from the number of men in the hall that the men who had come with them from France would be needed should there be trouble and the duke was certainly expecting something to happen. He had sent as many of his soldiers as he could fit onto one ship back with Thomas. Richard could not think that they would want to do anything but celebrate their return and get used to being at home again. Taking very little time to wash and change Thomas led Richard through the castle. Richard found it bewildering. Like the protective walls, the interior seemed to have grown. Thomas explained that, unlike the castle of Richard’s father, Corchester Castle had been added to over the years. Most of the original walls had been retained, but building techniques had changed and the new did not match the old.

  Richard’s grandfather had razed his own castle to the ground and built a new one. It was beautiful and orderly and light. The Duke of Winton’s castle was like a maze, built in different styles and full of dark corners. It did not please Richard at all. He did not think it could be to anyone’s taste.

  By the time they returned to the hall, having been over all the castle, Richard was exhausted. His limp was more pronounced and he had occasionally had to resort to taking Thomas’ arm. Richard was irritated at having to show such weakness. Even on the ship he had not needed help. He could stagger from place to place and there was always the pretence that it was the motion of the ship. Thomas said nothing, but Richard felt his pity. A cripple was not a whole man and a crippled prisoner was less than nothing.

  The young man he had seen earlier met them as they entered the hall. He did not seem pleased to see Thomas, but then he smiled and clasped him warmly by the hand. “Thomas, I am glad you have returned safely. Welcome home.”

  “It’s good to see you, Guy,” responded Thomas. He turned to Richard, “This is Sir Guy. The duke left him in charge when we went to France.”

  Now Richard understood. The young man had been left to defend the castle in case of invasion, which had not happened and he could have no share in the glory of those of his friends who had fought at Poitiers. Now that Thomas had returned Richard assumed that he would take charge of the castle and Guy’s next words confirmed this. “Do you wish to take a tour of the defences now?” he asked Thomas.

  “No, we will do that in the morning. I am sure that everything is in good order. The duke did not put you in charge of his castle because he thought you would let him down.” Guy’s happy, but brief, smile acknowledged the compliment.

  “So, this is the duke’s prisoner.” Guy looked Richard up and down as if he did not like what he saw. Richard knew he must make a sorry sight. He was vain, his mother had chastised him for it often, but he did not want to be less than his best in front of these Englishmen. He should at least have found a way to trim his hair and beard before leaving the ship. Now he would have to feign indifference to his appearance. He knew the pain in his leg must show on his face. It was also making him short-tempered, but he did not want to respond to the man’s deliberate insolence. He was a prisoner and would probably be here many years, if not for the rest of his life and it would not do to make an enemy of one of the duke’s most trusted men on his arrival.

  “This is Richard de Charimaux. The duke sent him here to work off his ransom since his family could not or would not pay.”

  Richard said nothing. He had known there could be no ransom from the beginning and it could not matter. Honour was satisfied and honour was everything. It was all he had left now.

  The hall began to fill. Tables and benches had been set out and the household were taking their places. There was an air of excitement. The castle’s inhabitants seemed to be better dressed than they had been earlier in the day. This must be the celebration of the return of those on the ship, thought Richard.

  “Come, sit with me,” said Thomas, leading Richard to the top of the hall.

  “But I am a prisoner, not a guest,” protested Richard.

  “The duke doesn’t know what to do with prisoners. He’s never had one before. He said that since you had behaved with honour towards him, we should treat you well. When he comes he will have worked out the terms of your imprisonment.”

  Richard nodded, that would be good to know.

  “He said to treat you well and to give you your freedom within the castle.”

  It is not as if I will try to escape, or could if I had the inclination, thought Richard, almost crying out from the relief in his leg as he eased himself onto the bench.

  Richard sat between Thomas and Margaret and was grateful for Thomas’ thoughtfulness. Margaret was as cheerful and open as her husband. They touched one another as they passed things throughout the meal, as if to reassure themselves that they really were together again. Watching them, Richard began to understand what contentment there could be in marriage and whilst he was glad for them, he felt the old bitterness start to return. Thomas sat at the right hand of Lady Rosamunde and Guy sat at her left. Rosamunde herself looked drawn. She must have felt the grief of her people as keenly as she felt her own. But she talked to Thomas and Guy throughout the meal and occasionally turned to Richard, telling him about life in the castle and the surrounding area. He was grateful that she did not ask him about his home or about the battle, although he heard her discussing the battle and its implications with Thomas.

  He was tired from the voyage and from walking so much and he was happy to be left alone. Nevertheless, he forced himself to pay attention to what was being said. He needed to understand his new world and to understand it quickly. Guy was too far away and spoke too quickly for Richard to be able to understand what he was saying, but Rosamunde’s low-pitched voice carried well. Thomas was softly-spoken, but he continued to talk as slowly as he had on the ship, occasionally glancing at Richard as if gauging his comprehension.

  He was also aware of being watched. Thomas had told him that there had been a number of French raids along the coast in the last few years, although Corchester had been left alone. The French, it seemed, were as destructive as the English, except that they appeared from the sea without warning. Despite that Richard was the first Frenchman most of these people had seen. Perhaps they expected me to have horns and a tail, he thought. Every now and again he would look round the hall and eyes would slide away from him, except for one woman, who boldly kept his gaze.

  “Berthe,” said Thomas in his ear and Richard flinched. He hadn’t been aware that Thomas was watching him. “Her husband’s with the duke. Don’t get involved with her.”

  “Thank you for your w
arning, but I do not intend to get involved with anyone.”

  “You’ll be here a long time. You’d be a very unusual man if you didn’t want the company of a woman."

  Thomas was right of course. When he began to feel better desire would return and he would persuade himself to search again for a wife.

  It had not been a pleasant task for Rosamunde to take the news of the two men’s deaths to their widows. Although they were both older and more experienced than she, they had both given way to their grief. The widow of the duke’s ward had become hysterical. Rosamunde was surprised; it had not been a love match at all. There had been rumours that the child was not her husband’s, but Rosamunde paid no attention to rumours. Doubtless the girl would marry again and her husband’s share of the duke’s prize money would keep her until that time and still provide a good dowry. Margaret had gone with her and Rosamunde was grateful for her solid presence. She had promised the archer’s widow a small pension in recognition of her husband’s service, but it would not be enough. The woman was a good worker, but her children were too young to be much help. Rosamunde thought she might be able to give her some extra spinning during the winter, but it could not be much. Without the duke and his prize money she would have to be careful this winter. The harvest had been bad and if the winter was as bad as last year she would be lucky not to lose the weakest of her people.

  Margaret and Rosamunde had gone together to the chapel and there Rosamunde had prayed for the souls of the three men they had lost.

  Still she had not given in to her tears. Despite her own inclination to lock herself away and to weep until she had no tears left, she knew that they must celebrate the return of the men who had arrived that day and the safety of the others. She had run her father’s household alone for the last year and it had taught her much about herself and the people she lived with. Used to following her father, they were content to follow her, as long as she led in the same way that he did. It was no hardship to her to embody her father’s values as she had done all her life. The difficulty was in hiding her feelings. She could not allow her people to think that she was weak so she hid what she felt and became cold and distant to all but Margaret. She thought she had all but forgotten how to feel, but Simon’s death had shown her that she could still feel sorrow and grief and despair. Despair because it was unlikely that her father’s next choice for a husband for her would be as pleasing as Simon had been and she knew that she must marry.

  She went to the kitchen and inspected the food that was being prepared and made a few adjustments that would turn a meal into a feast. Then she sent word into the town to bring back the boy who played the pipes for there would be dancing that night and her father had taken the minstrels with him. Then she decided that she would read the letters that her father had sent. Perhaps there would be some guidance about what to do with that disturbing man who was his prisoner. Despite the fact that he was a prisoner and a cripple, there had been a presence about him and she worried that he would cause discord amongst the women, married or not. She did not fear for herself. She had loved Simon and he was dead. Her father would find another husband when he returned. Her heart was not hers to give.

  Richard could not have been married, for surely her father would have sent his wife, too. Her father could only have seen the wounded French captive. He could have had no idea how attractive this man would be even before he was returned to full health. Rosamunde predicted that there would be trouble and not just with the single women. This man struck her as dangerous. Convinced that he knew exactly what effect he was having, she resolved to keep her eye on him and prevent any trouble before it happened.

  She hoped that Thomas would have some idea of how to keep him out of the way until the rest of the men returned. She was glad that Thomas had returned. Guy had been a wise choice to leave in command of the garrison, but he was not as experienced as Thomas and Rosamunde had missed his guidance in some of the decisions that she had made.

  Her father’s letters were informative. He expressed his own grief at Simon’s death. He did not go into any detail about how Simon had died, but said that he had fought bravely and well. Rosamunde hoped that it had been a quick death. As a child, she had watched the knights tilting against wooden posts and since they had gone to war she had worried about what those weapons could do to a man and she worried now about what they had done to Simon.

  It was her father’s final letter that brought her back to the present and made her fear for the future. The duke made it clear why he had ensured that Thomas was amongst the first men to return and why he had thought it worth his while to send a crippled French knight to her. She was thoughtful as she folded it and put it in the pouch that hung from her waist.

  Deciding that there would be no talk of it until after the feast, Rosamunde went to her chamber and wept. She poured out her grief for Simon who would leave no children or inheritance behind him. Her own future was uncertain and she mourned what she should have had with Simon. Afterwards she washed her face, smoothed her escaping hair back into place and went down to celebrate.

  During the meal she spoke with Thomas and Guy. Occasionally she looked past Thomas to find the Frenchman’s dark eyes on her. Now that she was close to him, she found him even more disturbing. Despite his thinness he seemed to take up a lot of space and wherever she looked her gaze fell on him and each time it was more difficult to stop looking at his face. He spoke English so badly that she had to lean across Thomas if she was to have any hope of understanding what he was saying and sometimes Thomas had to interpret for her. She refused to give way and speak in French in front of her people, although when the four of them were alone, later, it would be far easier for them to communicate in French.

  If Richard was aware of the attention he was attracting from the other women, he did not show it. But Rosamunde could tell that they were straining to look at him and it was not just because he was a stranger or because he was French. Even though his hair and beard were untidy and he was pale, he was a very attractive man. He stood out in the hall, not just for his height. All the other men wore their hair short and their faces clean-shaven. The beard gave him an air of mystery and Rosamunde wondered what his face looked like beneath it. He complimented her on the food and she understood from a sly comment that Thomas made that most of the food he had eaten between Bordeaux and Corchester had gone over the side of the ship. He would not normally be this thin, she thought. “We must send for a physician tomorrow to look at your leg,” she said, remembering the way he had limped into the hall.

  “It will heal in time,” he said. He must have healed remarkably quickly if he had been wounded at Poitiers.

  “Then I will get you something for the pain.”

  He looked at her in surprise, as if he had thought his pain a secret. “Thank you. That would be most kind.”

  There was dancing after the meal and Rosamunde led the way with Thomas, but broke off after the first set. Her heart was not in and besides he would much prefer to be dancing with his wife. She sat down next to Richard telling herself that it was a sensible choice and that she had not done it simply to spend time with an attractive man. She needed to get to know him if he was to be of any use to her. She had to understand what her father had seen in him to make him think it would be worthwhile to send him here. Noticing that someone had provided a stool so that his leg would rest more easily, she smiled to herself. She though it must have been one of the women trying to attract his attention, but Richard told her it was Margaret who had been thoughtful enough to fetch the stool for him.

  “She is a kind woman, I think,” said Richard, hesitantly, “Like her husband.”

  Rosamunde smiled, “Yes they are both good people. She has missed him greatly this past year.”

  “And you also are glad he is here.”

  Rosamunde nodded. “Do you know why my father sent you?” she asked, not sure why she had not waited for Thomas to begin this conversation. It did not seem right to talk about
it at a celebration.

  “To protect you.” Although this was what her father’s letter had told her, she was taken aback that the French knight had been told.

  “And did he tell you how he expected you to protect me?”

  “I do not imagine that he thought I would get on a horse and ride into battle for you,” he said with a smile.

  “No,” said Rosamunde. “He expects the castle to be besieged. Although why he thought a soldier who had managed to be captured would be of use I do not know.” She did not bother to hide her bitterness. He might be attractive, and he certainly was when he smiled, but that would not keep her safe. He had been defeated and he was a cripple, which indicated that he was neither a good soldier, nor very clever.

  “I was not captured,” said Richard quietly. “I was not even at Poitiers.”

  He said no more and Rosamunde did not ask. There was something here that he did not want to discuss. She could wait. It was not important for the moment. Her father had thought that Richard could be of some use and despite her own misgivings, Rosamunde decided to trust her father’s judgement. “You and I and Thomas can discuss what we will do tomorrow.”

  “Why do you expect a siege?”

  Rosamunde looked past him to the distance where she could see the future. “Because my husband is dead and my father is not here to protect me.”

  Chapter Three

  The hissing sound of arrows in flight filled the air and Richard jerked awake immediately. Why had no alarm been sounded? Why had they not been warned of the attack? How had the English archers managed to get so close? As he struggled to rise from his camp bed he realised that he was in the Duke of Winton’s castle in a real bed. He had been asleep and must have dreamed the arrows. Relief swept over him until he realised that the sound continued, accompanied by dull thuds as the arrows reached their target. The arrows were real. Sick to his heart, Richard realised that this must be the attack that Rosamunde had feared. But there had been no alarm and Rosamunde had not seemed to fear an attack so soon. Surely the castle was better defended than this. He saw that he was alone in the bed; the other two men who shared this chamber must have risen earlier and left him to sleep. Going quickly to the window he looked out before he remembered that this chamber overlooked the bailey and he would not be able to see the attackers. Nonetheless, it was in the bailey that he saw the archers, who were mainly boys.