A Love For All Seasons

by Denise Domning

  Rob's mouth opened to protest that his father had been Ralph Attegreen but the adult in him would not let the words pass his lips. It was time to acknowledge that his sire had been Lord Graistan, just as the villagers had proclaimed all those years ago, just as his mother had insisted on her deathbed. Just as he'd always known. He sighed in acceptance.

  "Nay," he said with a breath of resignation. "My mother never told him she bore his child. She felt he had compensated her well enough by providing her a rich dowry.”

  "A pity that," Lord Richard replied. "Our sire was a good man, and he would have liked to have known of you. Did Mama tell you that you are his image? She says she thought it was his shade she saw when she first met you." He stopped himself with a shake of his head. "Enough of that. There will be time for conversation later. Just now, we must attend to the matter at hand."

  Turning, the nobleman looked back into the tiny hall, then glanced at Otto. "Go see what is taking that Lynnsman so long." It was a command, to which Otto responded with a brisk nod. The soldier turned on his heel, leaving the room without either shutting or locking the door behind him.

  Already amazed at finding family where before he'd had none, Rob's astonishment grew as he understood. "You are the one Mistress Alwyna called to see that my evidence came unmolested from Lynn to Stanrudde?"

  Only as the words left his mouth did he comprehend what this meant. His heart took flight. With his book here, Katel was finished!

  Lord Richard offered him a wry, if tired smile. "I am an obedient son, who always does as his sweet mama requests. I live to ride like a madman from Upwood to Lynn to Stanrudde, all in less than a day's, or rather, a night's time." His dam swatted at his shoulder for his cheekiness, and her son laughed.

  "If this is what you did, then I cannot offer you thanks enough," Rob said, marveling that a lord, albeit only half Norman, would have so inconvenienced himself to assist a commoner and a man unknown to him.

  "It was my pleasure," his brother replied. "We who are baseborn must aid each other, no? Glad I am I was nearby, so I could do so."

  Still stunned by all this, Rob looked at Mistress Alwyna. She, too, had been a Norman's leman, but she'd done right well for her son then wed herself a rich merchant afterward. He wondered what his mother would have won had she also pressed Henry of Graistan to acknowledge her child as his. Rob's lips twisted in refusal. Nay, he liked his life and what he did, wanting nothing more from it save Johanna.

  As her name rang in him he realized that Otto was gone, leaving him free to ask the question that ached in him. "Tell me," he demanded of the knight's mother, "what do you know of Mistress Johanna?"

  A tiny frown settled between Mistress Alwyna's brows. "Her servant came to me last even with directions on where the wheat was laid—"

  "You've found it, then?" Rob interrupted in a rush of hope. Better and better!

  "Aye. We carted it to the abbey for safekeeping. You did not tell me he had taken so much. We were the whole night moving it." However stern her words, her tone made it a toothless rebuke.

  "What of Johanna?" So deep was his need to know she was safe, he forgot to use her title.

  The old woman's face softened, pity filling her gaze. "She is gone, Master Robert. The night gatekeeper says that Master Katel departed with her and his household guard late last even. I fear that he discovered what she'd done and has run to avoid being here when we expose him."

  As his heart tore in his chest Rob turned his back on those who watched him. Bowing his head, he pressed his palm to his forehead and closed his eyes. For a second time in his life, Katel stole from him the woman he loved, the one who was by all rights his own wife.

  "Does the gatekeeper know where they have gone?" he asked without turning. His words were hoarse with the unfairness of this fate.

  "Nay, he stated no destination," she said sadly.

  Rob drew a deep breath, trying to restore control. Instead despair ate at him. No matter Johanna's assurances, he could not believe Katel would leave her unharmed if he knew what she'd done. The thought of her hurt or dead because she'd protected him turned his heart to stone. If she was gone then he had no further wish to live.

  His newfound half brother came to stand silently at his side. Too deep in grief, Rob did not look up. There was not even strength enough in him to tell the man to leave him be.

  "I think me our sire gave you more than just his image when he made you,” Lord Meynell said after a moment. His voice was soft. "It is a terrible thing to be plagued with a constant heart." He stopped and sighed. "Or, to find that one loves another man's wife."

  In his fellow bastard's voice rang an intimate knowledge of Rob's own estate. Against it, Rob's shoulders relaxed, and he managed a shallow breath. Raising his head, he looked toward his new kin. Lord Meynell had his gaze focused on the bed.

  "Take heart and tell yourself that there is nowhere they can go where they cannot be discovered. All it takes is time." He paused to glance at Rob. There was an odd gleam in his eyes, as if saying these words reminded him of something else. When he saw Rob watched him, he offered a small smile. "But before you can begin your searching, you must first be cleared of these charges."

  His calm tone and sensible words were just what Rob needed to help him draw the shattered pieces of himself back into a whole. As the grief receded, hope returned, bringing with it the strength to continue. He knew good men from one end of this world to the other. There was nowhere Katel could take Johanna where Rob could not ferret him out. And, once he had found them, Rob vowed to himself he'd see Katel's marriage to Johanna annulled for bigamy. This time, he did have the money and connections to challenge their joining.

  "My thanks," he offered the shorter man, meaning it wholeheartedly.

  "Do not be so quick to thank me." A spark of amusement came to life in Lord Meynell's eyes. "Mama tells me you have made yourself into a wealthy man. You may one day find me knocking on your door, complaining against the money lenders' high rates and asking you to return my many favors."

  Rob gave the breath of a laugh. While he knew his new kinsman was yet working to steady him, there was something in the man's voice to suggest he truly meant to pursue that sort of private business arrangement. If this should come to pass, Rob would eagerly offer what he could. No matter how much it was, it would not be enough to repay Richard of Meynell for what he'd just done.

  "By God, Rob," the panted words echoed into the room from the hall beyond it, "what has happened to Stanrudde that its folks should so threaten one raised in its bosom?"

  Rob turned, dumbfounded, as Master Arthur, Cordwainer of Lynn, staggered into the room, huffing as if the box in his arms weighed four stone instead of less than one. If Rob's dearest friend was not as tall as he, Arthur was yet by far the broader. Just now, his face was reddened from the cold where his golden hair and beard did not cover it. Both the shoemaker's capuchin and the gown beneath his brown mantle were bright green, which made Arthur's eyes seem all the greener.

  "Pardon, my lord," he said as he passed the nobleman on his way toward the bed. Dropping the coffer on the mattress, he fell to sit beside it, groaning as if his back were broken. "I am done in, I tell you!"

  "What are you doing here?" Rob demanded, staring at the small, yet locked chest in which he kept his personal notes and books. Why had they brought the whole box, instead of just the book he'd requested?

  Lord Meynell cocked his head, one side of his mouth rising in suppressed amusement. "I only hope you do not mind that I deliver both a coffer and a man, but the one would not be separated from the other."

  "Where is Hamalin?" It was a worried question.

  The nobleman shook his head. "Your servant never came. Because my mother's note said your need for what lies within that box was urgent, I waited only an hour past the time he should have reached Lynn before deciding we could tarry no longer. That was when your housekeeper sent for this merchant, saying you trusted him like no other. Master Arthur rode wit
h the box, against the possibility I was not who I appeared to be." There was no rancor in his voice at what had surely done him insult.

  As a wholly new fear rose in Rob, this one for Hamalin's welfare, he again damned himself as a blind fool. No man sits idly by waiting for his enemy's servant to fetch evidence to prove his innocence. Katel's men would have been watching the gate, waiting to see that Hamalin never reached his destination.

  With Katel's final blow, every bit of Rob's anger and arrogance returned. The need to see the spice merchant dead became like a living thing within him. It was better to bankrupt himself than to let this whoreson continue to walk the face of the earth.

  Rob looked to the small box. This was the first step in Katel's exposure. The sooner he was adjudged innocent, the sooner he would be free to find Johanna and make her a widow. If what lay within this coffer would satisfy the eleven who remained on the city’s council, they weren't the only ones to whom he needed to prove his innocence. It was the folk who besieged this tower, the men who'd been hurt by Katel's evil, that he needed to convince. To them, Rob was a Lynnsman, a foreigner, therefore suspect simply because he did not hail from Stanrudde. Now that their trust in their council was broken, he doubted they would believe anything their leaders told them. Still, nothing was achieved by standing here.

  He looked toward Mistress Alwyna. "The key for this box is with my belongings at the abbey." His voice was flat against what now raged in him.

  "Just as well," she replied, "since that is where we will be taking you. The council met early this morn so I could reveal to them your tale and the stolen wheat, as well as what my son has brought from Lynn. As they fear the townsmen will no longer heed them, they've asked the abbot to plead your case before the populace. Are you ready to pass through their ranks as we make our way to the abbey? We will walk you in the open, seeking to draw as many of them to the market field as we can. The more that witness, the better."

  If it meant a chance to do Katel hurt, Rob would have ridden through hell on the devil's back with his eyes open. "Aye, I would see this matter finished, once and for all."

  Stanrudde

  Two hours past Prime

  Saint Blesilla's Day, 1197

  Rob strode from the room ahead of his newly discovered half brother and that man's dam. Yet again groaning at the burden of the coffer, Arthur hurried to join him. "It is Katel who's done this." The shoemaker's voice was harsh with hatred. "May God damn that worm to hell!"

  "I intend to do worse than that to him," Rob snapped back, his voice low.

  As they crossed the hall toward the door at its far end, Rob's need for vengeance congealed into strategy. Of a sudden he was grateful he didn't wear his gown. To appear in so magnificent a garment before the townsmen would condemn him before he even had a chance to speak. He raised a hand to the expensive pin that closed his mantle around his shoulders. Even this was too much wealth to display before his accusers. He glanced at Arthur's plainer mantle and simple pin.

  "Hold a moment," he said, catching his friend by the arm, bringing him to a halt. "Trade me your mantle for mine."

  "As you will," the shoemaker replied without question. Setting down the coffer, Arthur eyed Rob in curiosity as he freed his overgarment from his shoulders. "Is this a permanent trade? If so, I'm getting the better bargain."

  "If I live past this day, I'll tell you that you are wrong," Rob retorted as he pinned Arthur's simple woolen sheet around his shoulders. As his friend donned the warmer, richer mantle, Rob leaned down and lifted his own coffer. It would be better if it seemed no man waited on him.

  "What are you doing?" Mistress Alwyna asked as she and her son came to a halt beside them.

  "Katel forever relies on appearances, making himself seem to be what he is not," Rob said. "I think me it is time that I did the same. If I appear to be a simple tradesman, rather than a wealthy merchant, will the folk not be more apt to hear me out?"

  The old woman's brows rose in appreciation of this ruse. "Aye, so they might."

  Once again, Rob started across the hall. When he stepped out to the wooden platform that hung a full storey over the bailey below them he blinked against the day's almost blinding light. Bright it might be, but there was no warmth to be had in all this day's sun; the icy air nipped at his unprotected fingertips.

  With no forebuilding to shield the landing or the stairs from the elements and the tower set so high above the city, he could see past Stanrudde's walls. A great sheet of gray filled the sky in the near distance, moving steadily toward them. He wagered there'd be sleet again before None this day.

  His gaze moved to that which was closer at hand: the jumble of houses set every which way between the city walls and this tower. The charred and broken timbers left by the fire lay like an untended wound on the body of the town. Still, where yesterday the lanes had been locked in the silence of death and destruction, the new day brought with it rebirth. The sounds of hammers filled the air. Workmen called to one another, seeking another peg or nail or a bit of wood or reed to stop a hole. Flashes of color appeared against the frigid gray-brown of the lanes. Although they were not many, folk again moved along the streets, out doing those everyday chores that gave life its normalcy. There was even a brave regrater out and about, calling aloud the quality of his roasted chestnuts.

  Rob descended into the bailey, only to stop in surprise when he reached the ground. His estimation of an army had not been wrong. Dozens of armed men filled the tiny space squatting near hastily lit fires, their mantles caught tightly around them against the cold. These were battle-hardened soldiers all, wearing boiled leather hauberks sewn with steel bits beneath their plain cloaks and metal caps upon their heads. If the swords buckled to their sides were without jewels, they were just as lethal as their lord's.

  "Up, you surly brutes," Lord Meynell shouted to them, his voice filled with affection. "We'll be taking this man to the abbey. On foot," he added.

  There were sneers of disgust at this, but not a man groaned aloud. Instead, they grabbed their shields and came to surround the four who made up their lord's party. The town guard opened the gates and Otto, son of Otfried, preceded them out beyond the wooden walls.

  "Make way," the captain of the town guard shouted. "Make way for Master Robert, Grossier of Lynn, who goes to the abbey to present his case."

  Noise exploded from the crowd at this news, every man there screaming for Rob's death. The more foolhardy among them exhorted the others to attack the soldiers so they might instantly wreak upon Rob the punishment they deemed he deserved. They were in the minority. The greater number had taken heed of what sort of damage trained soldiers could offer, and they shouted down these hotheads. With no choice left to them the shouts for action fell away into grumbling. The group closed ranks behind the armed men, not willing to let their sacrificial lamb out of their sight.

  They made a strange procession, soldiers in their brown and gray, followed by those dressed in colors far more gay. As the throng slowly made its way around sharp corners and down narrow lanes, more townsfolk came. Whether vengeance or entertainment brought them, none could know.

  Rob glanced behind him as they approached the abbey's market field and smiled in satisfaction, his need for retribution gratified by their numbers. The more who heard him denounce Katel and believed, the more certain the spice merchant's destruction became, no matter to what corner of the world that whoreson had run.

  The holy brothers were prepared for their arrival. Forewarned by the council, the monks had erected a dais near the gate, placing it against the outside of the abbey's stone perimeter wall. Their father abbot's grand chair sat at its middle, Abbot Eustace already seated in it.

  Once again, the churchman wore his jeweled miter on his head while the ermine that trimmed his mantle shone against his black robes. His gilded staff glinted in the sunlight, held forward to remind all that he was Stanrudde's rightful leader of souls. Behind his chair stood the higher ranking of the brothers; they made
a solid wall of black through which there were but glimpses of the glittering samites and rich damasks that the hiding councilmen wore.

  "Come forward Master Robert," the abbot called, his powerful voice booming against the walls around him. His English was fluent, if heavily accented. "Come display to me the evidence of your innocence."

  This proclamation sent the mob's muttering to a higher pitch. Fed by their dissatisfaction with the council's handling of this issue, man after man called aloud the uselessness of this. In their shouts lived the fear that now the Church would join the council in trying to deny them what they saw as justice.

  His coffer yet tucked under his arm, Rob lengthened his stride to step up onto the dais, Arthur, Mistress Alwyna, and Lord Meynell on his heels. As he did so the shouting in the field grew until every soul chanted out that Rob should hang. Against their fury, Lord Meynell's soldiers spread themselves out before the platform, forming a wall of men, shields at the ready, swords in hand. The only opening was the space before the abbot's chair.

  Abbot Eustace rose to his feet. Again and again, the churchman slammed the base of his staff on the wooden planks beneath his feet in a demand for quiet. This only spurred on the chanting. Anger at their disrespect burned bright red in the churchman's narrow face. His eyes took fire at the insult the townsfolk did him.

  "Hear me!" he bellowed to them, but his words made no dent in the mob's outrage.

  Lord Meynell leaned forward to speak to one of the men before the dais. That man began to beat his sword against his shield. As the rest of the soldiers did the same, the din grew deafening as each side tried to outdo the other.

  There was a touch on Rob's sleeve. It was Colin, his face solemn. The former tradesman's mouth moved, but his words were beyond hearing. Rob leaned down.

  "Knowing that we have a long acquaintance, the council has asked me to be ready to testify to your character if called to do so," Colin shouted to him. "So too, did the council command that the key to your private coffer be located. As there was not room upon this platform for so many, your servants bid me bear this to you"—he tried to offer Rob his scrip—"saying the key lay within it. Rob, what goes forward here?" the monk asked, the outsized purse yet in his hands.