Once he had fulfilled his promise to Alais and found her mother, he had set about repelling the French. Once that had been accomplished, well into the night, he had taken care of his other obligation to Matthew and his daughter. He had found Marion in her own home. The broken and bloody body of her husband Piers lay over that of their firstborn. A staff lay beside him where it had fallen from his hands. Marion lay against the wall, her skirts torn and ripped. She had been raped, many times by the look of it. She was alive and he guessed that Piers’ murderers had been interrupted before they could kill her, but she had lost all sense and stared vacantly across the room at her dead husband. Hugh had covered the bodies with Piers’ own cloak. Then he had put Marion onto the bed to wait until it would be light enough to make his way back to Hill. He could not tell whether she had slept or not, but he had stayed awake with his sword in his hand in case the looters should come during the darkness. And all the while he had kept the face of Lady Alais at the front of his thoughts. It was her smiling face that he saw, the brief smile he had seen when he held her hand in farewell.
And now he had come back with nothing but bad news for her and she had taken it calmly and then turned to serve others. This was just such a woman that a man should have to come home to after a battle. He thought of his own wife, pale and sickly, always putting her own needs before anyone else’s. It was the thought of returning to her from the wars against the Scots that had led him to make his way home via the shrine at Walsingham. The longer and more difficult journey had given him time to discover in his memory some of his wife’s better points and to remember his obligations to her.
He knew that he would always return by the quickest way possible to a woman like Alais. Her first words had not been for herself or her mother, but for him and her concern made him feel a better man than he knew himself to be.
Alais entered the courtyard with the stable boy. In the time she had spent with Marion, Edmund had roused the priest. The carter had also hitched up the cart and a number of the wounded townspeople were lying in it. Alais’ expression darkened; she knew that the cart would also serve to bring her mother’s body back here for burial.
Women and children from the town were milling around the courtyard together with some of the servants that she had seen the day before. The men were heavily armed; they had taken Hugh’s stories about looters to heart.
Hugh was standing holding his own horse and a smaller one, for her. She smiled when she saw him and he responded in kind.
“What will happen to Marion?” she asked Hugh as he helped her to mount her horse.
Hugh seemed astonished that she should care enough to ask. “She will stay here and when the baby is born, if she still is not recovered, she can still stay here and we will look after her. I will make sure that he is acknowledged as the heir and that there is something for him to inherit.”
Alais wondered if that meant that Hugh had money of his own, or whether he expected that by that time his father would have died and she would permit him to use some of his inheritance to help the child. She knew that she would, when the time came.
“Although,” said Hugh looking out over the still smoking town, “it will be a long time before there is anything worth inheriting down there.”
She followed his gaze. The walls of the town looked strong and it was impossible from this distance to see the extent of the destruction. Then she realised that she could not see any church towers above the walls in the southern part of the town.
“They burned the churches,” she whispered.
“Burned the churches, burned the people inside them, killed the priests, killed the animals in the market, burned the wool on the wharves, burned the houses. It seems it was not an invasion after all. They came to destroy, not to conquer.” Hugh’s voice was bitter. Alais saw the despair and grief on his face and also the confusion. “What was the point?” he asked, looking at a point beyond her. “Where is the glory in killing defenceless children, in raping pregnant women? Why risk God’s judgement by killing people at Mass?”
Alais had no answer for him; she was too caught up in her own grief and questions to be able to console him.
Hugh helped her onto the horse and the small group set off.
As they came to the town Hugh explained how he had managed to find Lady Eleanor, still in St Michael’s church, badly wounded, but ignored in the haste of the French to kill and destroy as much as they could before they were turned back.
Alais felt tears come to her eyes as he described how he had taken her mother to friends in Cuckoo Lane who had themselves suffered losses in the raid. “They are good people,” he said, “and Dame Margaret is skilled with herbs. She made sure that Lady Eleanor was comfortable.”
“Thank you,” murmured Alais, as she set her face and her heart to face the death of her mother.
The scene that met Alais on their entry into the town was very different from the one that had presented itself on her arrival three days ago. The town was unnaturally quiet, as if people were afraid to speak above a whisper. The few people they saw were clearing up after the fires and all were armed.
The smell was incredible. The acrid smoke was infused with the smell of burnt flesh and scorched wool. She understood why Hugh had described it as a little bit of hell. It reminded her of one of the walls in the church at Leigh. The painting showed the day of judgement with the unrighteous going down to the fires of hell. The condemned had the same fearful expression as the people she was seeing in the streets now. The fires of hell could not burn more fiercely than the fires that had burned here. And hell must smell like this. The air was heavy with the smoke from the many quenched fires. Alais began to cough and Hugh silently handed her his leather bottle. She took a long swallow. As she returned it to him, she found herself caught by his expressive eyes.
“My lord?” she enquired, not understanding the question he seemed to be asking.
“I would have spared you this, Lady Alais, if I could.”
“I know, Sir Hugh. I am grateful for everything you have done and for the chance to see my mother one last time.”
He nodded, as if satisfied, but still he held her gaze for a while and she was spared the worst sights, because she was unable to tear her eyes away from his.
When she was able to take in her surroundings again, she saw the remains of houses that had been destroyed by fire and became aware of the awful keening made by those with unbearable grief. She bit her lip, suddenly aware that she would soon be joining them. After so many of her siblings had died, she was only too familiar with grief, but she had always managed to maintain some dignity in her grief. She had seen it as her duty to support her mother, so that she could grieve. Now that her own turn had come, Alais thought she would not know what to do. She had cried for her older brothers dead in Edward’s first, wasted campaign in Scotland and she had cried for her father, but for her five siblings who had died since then, she had been silent. How could she grieve for her mother in a strange place, among strangers? They would not understand what her mother meant to her. They would not know the kind of woman she had been, or the kind of wife and mother. She had been the example that Alais had followed all her life – the kind of woman she wanted to be herself.
When they arrived at the house at Cuckoo Lane, Hugh led Alais and Father Roland to the back of the house. The townspeople who had taken shelter at Hill and walked back with them had returned to their own homes, or what remained of them, as they passed through the town. The carter had turned off to God’s House Hospital to leave the injured in the care of the lay brothers and sisters there. He had instructions to join them in Cuckoo Lane as soon as he had completed his task.
Alais’ mother lay on a truckle bed, in the merchant’s business room, attended by a servant. Her face was lined with pain and she shifted uneasily in the bed as she tried to find a more comfortable position. Alais knelt beside her and took her hand as the priest began to intone the last rites. It was impossible to see the nat
ure or extent of her injuries and Alais found herself agreeing with Hugh’s assessment of the care Lady Eleanor had received. From their fragrances, she recognised the herbs that had been used to treat her mother. Their harmony inclined her to believe that they were the correct ones. The usual stench of sickness was absent and Alais was grateful that Hugh had brought Lady Eleanor to people who were concerned to ease her passage to heaven and had taken care to ensure that her last hours were as comfortable and pleasant as possible.
Lady Eleanor’s eyes flickered open and she smiled at the sound of the words she had heard said over so many of her children. She had few sins to confess and eventually the priest left them alone, going, with Hugh’s permission, to other similarly afflicted households. Lady Eleanor recognised her daughter and had enough strength to squeeze her hand and Alais smiled down at her. Having received the last rites, Lady Eleanor was serene. Alais knew that her mother could have nothing to fear on judgement day and could only look forward to a reunion with her husband. At least Alais had that reassurance. She had no idea how much time passed while she sat there. They were both silent. Alais could think of nothing to say to her mother; there seemed to be both too much and too little to say, but Lady Eleanor had one last piece of advice for her daughter, “Be a good wife,” was all she said, before she died.
“I will, mother, I promise.” Alais leaned over to kiss her mother’s brow.
There was a sound at the door and Alais looked up to see Hugh standing just outside the room. She beckoned him in. “She is dead,” she said quietly.
Hugh reached out and gently touched her hand with his own. “May God rest her soul.” He kept his hand there for a moment and they shared the silence.
“I thought it best,” he said, softly, as if afraid to waken Lady Eleanor, “that we bury her at Hill. I am sorry it is so far away from your home, but she will be cared for there.”
Alais nodded, it mattered little to her where her mother’s body lay. Her father’s body had not been returned to them, so Lady Eleanor could not lie beside him. There was not time enough to arrange to have her taken back to Leigh. Her own journey to Liss could not be altered. There was no one at Leigh who would mourn her passing more than Alais herself. Now she would no longer hear her mother’s voice telling the children stories in the winter, or singing songs and leading dances in the summer. Lady Eleanor would no longer stand beside her and tell her how to make cream, or cheese, or to sew neatly. “Thank you,” she said, turning her attention back to the knight. “That was a kind thought.”
It was unexpected that this stranger should take such care of her. Hill had seemed to be such a well-run property, that she was sure her mother would have liked it had she known it and would be content for her body to rest there.
“My own mother is buried at Hill,” said Hugh hesitantly.
“Did she die here then?”
“No, she died at Liss. But she loved it here. I asked them to dig a grave beside her for your mother.”
Alais smiled wearily. What did it matter where her mother’s body was now that her soul was in heaven?
“The cart should be here soon,” he said, offering her his hand and helping her to rise.
“I should like to thank the family for taking such good care of her,” said Alais.
“Of course.”
Hugh had been watching Lady Alais while she had sat at her mother’s bedside. He had approved her obvious devotion to her mother and the calm way she had sat beside her whilst waiting for her to die. As he watched he had reflected bitterly on his own sister’s lack of dignity at their mother’s deathbed. Perhaps Marguerite would allow herself to be influenced for the better by Alais. Although married, she still spent a lot of time at Liss and Alais’ presence there must make a great difference in all their lives.
As he put out his hand to help her rise from the stool where she had been sitting, he noticed a bag at the bottom of the bed. “Is that your mother’s?”
Alais turned to see where he was pointing. Her eyes filled with tears, but otherwise, she maintained her composure. She swallowed before she was able to speak. “She brought one of my father’s books with her. She always brought something of his when we travelled.”
Hugh picked up the bag and gave it to her, wondering that something so precious had escaped yesterday’s destruction. Alais clutched the bag to her chest as if she expected him to try and snatch it back. The tears that she had struggled to hold back could be restrained no longer. Unthinkingly, Hugh held her close as she began to sob and the depth of feeling that she had controlled so well burst from her.
Her body seemed so small compared to his and he felt sure the sobs that wracked her body must break her. Nobody could be strong enough to bear this, certainly not this small young woman suddenly left alone so far from home.
Hugh was aware of nothing but the sound of her sobs and the shaking of her body against his. He stroked her back gently, waiting for her to regain her calm.
Alais’ grief was more violent than he had expected, but more dignified. He wished he could take some of her grief on himself, but it was not possible. He could only support her and comfort her. Eventually, she pulled away from him.
“Thank you.” Her voice shook, but she had regained her composure. Hugh held out an arm in case she should need it to steady herself, but she ignored it and stood calmly beside him. She pulled a hand across her eyes to wipe away the tears and then looked him in the eye.
“I shall be pleased to tell your father of your kindness.”
Her words went through him like a sword and he knew that that had been her intention. For a moment he had forgotten who she was. He would have to watch that over the next few days. Afraid that she could see into his soul, he tore his eyes away.
“It is of no matter.” Even to his own ears his voice was dead and flat. “Come, the family are upstairs.”
Chapter Four
This time Hugh led her up some narrow stairs into the bedroom at the front of the house. A middle-aged man stood and a woman, doubtless Dame Margaret, sat on one side of a large bed, on which a young man lay, looking lost in its huge expanse. He was very pale, but breathing steadily. He seemed to be asleep rather than unconscious and Alais could tell that he should make a good recovery. She smiled encouragingly at the parents. The man crossed the room to her and gathered her hands up in his own. “I am sorry about your mother.” He was sincere in his sympathy.
“Thank you,” she said, simply. “And I shall pray for your son.” The man said nothing, then swallowed. “There is much grief in this town today,” he said.
“Yes,” agreed Alais.
“But many of the Frenchies will not be going home again, either,” said the woman angrily, although Alais could tell that she took no comfort from that thought.
“You took good care of my mother and I shall not forget. I shall send a message to my steward and he will send you some things that may be difficult to obtain here for a while.” She looked at Hugh and he nodded his agreement to send a messenger. She would have control of her estate for only a short time, but she could at least try to repay this family for what they had done for her.
“You do not need to pay us, my lady.”
The man looked towards his wife, who shook her head.
“No, it is only given in thanks. Much was destroyed here and I think you will find it hard this winter.”
“Then I thank you for your kindness, my lady.”
Hugh stepped forward and took her arm as she took her leave. They walked out to the street and Hugh gave instructions to the carter who had now returned from the hospital.
“My Lord,” began Alais, hesitantly, as he led her towards her horse. “I should like to return to the house of Roger and Margaret.” When she saw him about to refuse she added, “I should like to bury my mother properly, with her own things and I will need another dress. This one is not fit to wear.”
He considered for a moment, his expression sombre. “I doubt there is much left,
Lady Alais, but we will see what we can find.” She was glad that he understood her need to do things properly for her mother.
He helped her mount again and then led her confidently through the maze of streets. It was only when he indicated that they had arrived that she recognised the street. Some of the houses had been razed to the ground; those that remained were still smoking. They entered the remains of Roger’s house. There was little there. The roof and the first floor had been burned away. Alais had been afraid that they would see the bodies of her friends, but there was no one there, living or dead.
They searched as far as they could, but whatever might have survived the fire had not survived the looting. There was no sign of Lady Eleanor’s two travelling chests and little else remained in the ruins.
Alais turned to Hugh, “Roger and Margaret?”
He looked away from her for a moment and she thought he must already know their fate and was keeping it from her.
“I will find out what happened to them.”
“Thank you. Roger is our… my steward’s brother and they have always looked after us when we have travelled here.”
She took a step towards him and missed her footing over a fallen beam. Immediately she was in Hugh’s arms, clasped tightly to his chest.
“Are you hurt?” She felt the words rather than heard them, so closely did he hold her to his chest.
“No, merely startled.” She wondered why it had suddenly become hard to breathe. Alais felt wonderfully secure. Never had she known anything like this. Surely no danger in the world could touch her. She was close enough to him to feel the beating of his heart, which seemed to be getting faster even as she clung to him, as if the effort of supporting her was too much for him, or as if he were afraid of something. Lost in the sudden security, she had forgotten that she had no reason to hold on to him and. remembering, let go.
“Not so fast, my lady. I was foolish not to realise sooner, but the footing is not safe. Please stay close.” With that, he put an arm round her waist and pulled her gently to his side. Automatically, she placed her hand over his to ensure her balance. He opened his fingers slightly and, hesitantly, she entwined her own through his. At that, he seemed satisfied and he led her slowly and safely back into the street. Still he held on to her and she was unwilling to leave his side. The sudden intimacy shocked her, but she enjoyed his touch. Her small hand could not begin to cover his, but their closeness seemed to please him, too.
The Traitor's Daughter Page 5