Every Noble Knight

by Maggie Bennett

  ‘Poor old Ranulf,’ he said. ‘I think he envies me, and what man wouldn’t?’ He kissed her cheek. ‘I’ve done better than he has, living here with you in my childhood home. And we have our pretty little Judith; I would not exchange her for all the boys in the world.’

  ‘Yes, we’ve been happy indeed, dearest Wulfstan,’ she said. ‘You have paved the way for Denys to take the reins of Ebbasterne Hall, and be a credit to it and to you.’

  ‘We shall probably still be here in another five years, for I shall go on assisting him with the bookwork,’ he said. ‘And poor Lady Janet will be happy for you to go on being the lady of the house, as she can now do so little.’

  ‘That will be until Denys finds a wife, Wulfstan,’ she said softly. ‘Ethelreda told me that he has visited Castle de Lusignan to seek out young Sofia; she has grown into a beautiful girl, and she’s been well trained by her mother in the domestic arts.’

  ‘Really? I didn’t know that,’ said Wulfstan, frowning. ‘Denys is only nineteen.’

  ‘And Sofia is seventeen, quite old enough to bear children,’ replied Beulah. Wulfstan held her closely against him.

  ‘If that happens, then Sofia would be glad of your guidance, my love.’

  ‘Not for long, Wulfstan, for she will be the true lady of the house, with no need for a substitute.’

  He tightened his hold on her. ‘My own sweet Beulah, I will purchase a house for us in Hyam St Ebba, somewhere big enough for a man, wife and child to live in comfortably and close to our relations.’ He stopped himself from saying the next words that came into his head: poor relations. ‘Oh, Beulah my love, I could wish for a better future for you.’

  She smiled, and laid her head upon his shoulder. ‘There could be no better future than to be with you, dearest husband, and little Judith . . . and perhaps another. Let us pray for a happier outcome this time.’

  ‘Beulah! Are you saying – are you sure – can it be . . .’

  ‘Time will tell, Wulfstan. I have gone past the time when I usually miscarried, and I feel strong and well. We may need a house for four.’ She kissed him, and he tried to respond lovingly, but his heart sank as he contemplated an increasingly uncertain future. What provision could he make for another child? – and suppose it were a son at last, what inheritance could there be for him? Long gone were the days when Sir Wulfstan Wynstede was Keeper of the Purse to the generous Black Prince.

  ‘Mama, Mama! Dada!’ called a little voice as Judith ran up to them. ‘There’s a man, a man on a horse, and he’s coming to see us!’

  Now what, thought Wulfstan, another old soldier? A messenger from the castle? Ah, no, this was someone he had known for much of his life, Cecily’s son Aelfric, his nephew, the lawyer. He rose from the bench.

  ‘Greetings, Aelfric! Have you brought news from London?’

  The rider dismounted, laughing at Wulfstan’s serious face, and holding out his hand.

  ‘Truly I bring news, Uncle, but not from London. And it’s for my aunt Beulah!’