by Speer, Flora
Guy turned in his saddle to speak to Kenelm when the Welsh longbow men loosed their arrows. It was turning that saved him, for the arrow did not take him squarely in the chest, and he was well protected by his chain mail hauberk and the padded gambeson beneath. At Guy’s orders after the last year’s raid, all who rode outside the castle walls went fully armored, and now his own command benefited him. But Welsh arrows were deadly, and this one tore through chain mail and padding to embed itself deep in Guy’s left shoulder, too near his heart, and the force with which it struck him was so great he was knocked backward half out of his saddle. He struggled to stay upright, clinging to reins and saddle pommel with his right hand while the left dangled uselessly. His frightened horse reared, further unbalancing him. His right foot slipped out of the stirrup, but his left foot caught, entangled as he fell, and his body twisted underneath the horse.
Then Benet was beside him, that squire who had once been a stableboy and knew every animal in Afoncaer’s stables. How Benet moved so quickly Reynaud, telling the story later, could never say, but he had flung himself off his own horse and leapt to catch the reins of Guy’s mount. He pulled with all his strength, holding the reins tight and talking to the horse, calling it by name, while blood streamed down his own arm from a bad flesh wound. When Guy’s rearing stallion came down, its sharp hooves landed a scant inch from Guy’s head, missing it only thanks to Benet’s efforts.
“His leg,” Benet shouted. “Someone free his leg. I can’t hold on much longer.”
One of the stonemasons, braver than his fellows, left the cover of the new-laid wall where they were all huddled fearing for their lives, and ran to untangle Guy’s ankle from the stirrup while Benet held the horse and tried to calm it.
Reynaud heaved himself to his foot and crutches within the gatehouse, and ordered the alarm bell rung at the same time that Kenelm shouted the same command. And then, disregarding his own safety, Reynaud crossed the drawbridge and hurried as fast as he could toward Guy.
“Get back!” Kenelm shouted, wheeling his horse. “They will loose more arrows. Get back to safety, Reynaud.”
Kenelm was unharmed, but the second squire, Benet’s friend, lay face down over a freshly cut stone intended for the wall, a Welsh arrow in his back. His horse lay thrashing on its side nearby, felled by two arrows, and Benet’s horse was wounded, too, both so badly hurt they had to be dispatched later by the village butcher. Benet and the dust-covered mason knelt on either side of Guy, shielding him with their bodies.
Reynaud saw that Kenelm was right. He could be no help but only a target in the open, and a problem to Kenelm, so he hobbled back into the gatehouse, past armed men now streaming forth.
“Bring that table,” Reynaud called to two of the men. “You will have to carry your lord home on it.” They took the top of the trestle table out of the common room in the gatehouse and ran with it to where Guy lay unconscious. They lifted him upon it and raced with it through another storm of Welsh arrows, the men-at-arms making a wall of shields around them, and brought their master into the gatehouse. The men-at-arms then went out again and brought the masons, four of them dead, six wounded, and the fallen squire inside the wall by the same method, using their shields for protection. Lastly Kenelm came in, still untouched though a fine target on his huge stallion. Perhaps the Welsh had thought him too brave to kill, Benet suggested later, since the Welsh were said to greatly admire personal courage.
The wounded were carried, or walked if they could, through the village and back to the castle for treatment, and the dead were taken to the village church.
Arianna had heard the shouting and the alarm bell. She ran out of the herb garden into the inner bailey, heading for the keep, and so quickly had it all happened that before she reached the steps Guy was being carried senseless across the bailey, the long arrow still protruding from his left shoulder. Behind him came Reynaud, moving faster than she had ever seen him, and Benet, drenched in blood.
Arianna rushed up the steps and past the wardroom, calling out for Meredith. Meredith came from the stillroom, white-faced but calm in her manner, and ordered Guy taken to the special room she used for nursing the sick or injured. Blanche appeared, ready to help as always, to provide aid for those whose wounds were less dangerous and stanch the blood of those badly wounded until Meredith or Arianna could tend to them.
They had the armorer in, to cut the chain mail away from the arrow in Guy’s shoulder. When he had finished, Meredith and Arianna pulled carefully at Guy’s silk undershirt, the tightly woven garment nearest his skin, each pulling at a side with both hands, lifting out with the strong silk the broken metal links and fragments of padding from the gambeson. Then they cut out the arrowhead, cleaned the wound, and sewed it up, Meredith, who claimed no skill with a needle, doing a neat job of it, never once flinching as she worked on the body of the man she loved so dearly.
But Arianna, looking at Guy’s white and unconscious face, so like his nephew’s, had a swift and terrifying vision of Thomas lying so, wounded on some foreign field, and with no one half as skilled as Meredith to tend him. Arianna swayed, her sight blurring, a great ringing in her ears, so that Meredith had to ask her twice for the herbal salve to spread over the now-closed wound. This was no time for tears or fainting, Arianna told herself, they had to save Guy. Upon his life so much depended.
Blanche came into the room as they were finishing, and looked down at Guy, nodding approval.
“There is no bloody foam on his lips,” she said. “I saw a man like that once at Adderbury, and the priest said when that happens, wounded men will surely die. Guy has not that sign, so he will live.”
Arianna had recovered from her faintness enough to notice that Meredith seemed cheered by Blanche’s optimism, and she silently thanked Blanche for those words. At Meredith’s nod Arianna went with Blanche to sew up the wounds of the other men. She assured Benet that the gash in his arm would heal cleanly and he would soon ride again. She tried to console him for the loss of his friend, then moved on to tend the others.
Guy was most seriously wounded of all, and Kenelm and Reynaud were of the opinion that he had been the intended target of the attack. On the second day after, he developed a high fever. That, and the blow to his head when he fell from his horse, kept his wits addled for days.
“Kenelm,” Meredith said on the third night, “in Guy’s name I appoint you seneschal of Afoncaer. You are under my orders until Guy is better, but I leave the day-to-day defenses in your hands.”
At the end of a week, Guy was enough improved to be moved to his own bedchamber. Meredith never left his side, sleeping on a straw pallet by his bed each night. Arianna tended the other wounded and the children, and Blanche managed the castle’s domestic affairs.
After another week it was evident that Meredith’s skill had saved Guy. He would live, for the time being at least, but it would be many months, if ever, before he would be well enough to resume all of his duties.
“Kenelm is a good captain,” Reynaud told Meredith and Arianna, “but he needs a strong commander over him. He dislikes the Welsh, so his decisions concerning them are too often harsh and stir up the very trouble they are meant to quell.”
“We can’t ask Geoffrey to come here,” Meredith said thoughtfully. “There have been several attacks on Tynant recently. He’s needed there.”
“What of you, Reynaud?” Arianna asked. “Could you not carry Guy’s orders to the men? They all know you, and know the confidence Guy has in you.”
“I could, if Guy were well enough to give them, and the men who know me well might obey me on a peaceful day, but in time of battle, I doubt it. And there are some who would never listen to a cleric, not even if their lives depended on it. They need a knight, a soldier, to lead them.”
“I won’t have Guy troubled by these problems while he’s ill,” Meredith said firmly. “Afoncaer needs a healthy lord. Write to Thomas, Reynaud, and tell him he must come home at once. Write to the king, too. Tell
him what has happened. He knows how important it is to keep this fortress strong. He will give Thomas leave to come here. Until Thomas arrives, I will rule Afoncaer, with Kenelm to back me.”
The letter was sent, and in mid-October, ten months after leaving Afoncaer, Thomas returned.
Arianna was in the nursery. She and Linnet had just finished feeding their four young charges when she glanced out the window and saw a band of armored men riding up the river road toward the castle. Above them floated the personal banner of their leader, azure with three silver rings interlaced.
“Thomas.” Arianna’s hand flew to her throat. There he was, a tall, broad-shouldered figure riding in the lead, his azure mantle billowing out behind him, chain mail hauberk and helm gleaming in the misty autumn sunlight. She could not see his face. She did not need to. Her heart knew him. She knew she ought to go down to the great hall to join Meredith and the rest of the household in greeting him. It would be the wise thing to do, it would stop any gossipers before they recalled last year’s whispers. Let everyone see at once that they met as friends, no more.
She gave Linnet quick instructions to wash Deirdre’s face and hands, and prepare her and Jocelyn to meet their father. Leaving the nursery, she flew to her room to tidy her simple blue dress and adjust the blue ribbon holding her curls off her face. She ran down the spiral stairs to the bottom and into the great hall to stand next to Meredith and Reynaud. She could hardly breathe. Her heart was pounding so hard she was certain everyone else must hear it, too. She knew her cheeks were flaming.
She heard voices coming from the wardroom, Kenelm’s, then someone else’s, then at last the deep, clear tones her heart recognized. Thomas. Thomas.
He was there, filling the hall with strength and vitality. She saw the silver chain armor, helm thrown back, the azure mantle swinging as he walked, his thick, golden hair, his deep blue eyes looking right into hers.
Thomas, her heart sang, Thomas, my love, and she saw the answering greeting in his eyes. He looked older, thinner, his cheeks hollow as he bent to kiss Meredith. Arianna watched the older woman cling to him a moment in a rare display of weakness that must have told Thomas just how much she had endured since the attack on Guy. She heard Thomas’s quick questions about Guy, and Meredith’s soft, reassuring answers. Then Thomas stood before her. He took her hand and kissed her cheek as though they were no more than friends, but she saw in his eyes that he loved her still.
“The children?” he asked. “I’m sure you’ve cared for them well.”
“Did Selene not come with you?” she murmured, all the while feeling nothing but his warm hand clasping hers as she fought the urge to throw herself into his arms.
“Visiting her mother still,” she heard him say. “She sends her love to you and the children.”
Love. Love. Thomas, my love.
He let go of her hand and embraced Reynaud. Kenelm reappeared. Arianna heard the three of them talking in the clipped, rapid speech men used when discussing military matters.
“More later,” Thomas said after a while. “First a hot bath. My every muscle aches from the long ride. Next, once I’m clean, I’ll see Uncle Guy, and then my children.”
Arianna stared after him, wishing she might go with him, forcing her feet toward the nursery instead. He came there later, and spent half an hour with his children before taking her arm to lead her toward the great hall and the meal now being prepared.
“Uncle Guy looks terrible,” Thomas said as they went along the corridors. “So frail, as though he could vanish at any moment.”
“Be glad you weren’t here to see him a month ago,” Arianna answered. “I don’t know how Meredith kept him alive. She must have been dying inside herself, fearing to lose him, yet she never wavered, and she never left his side. He has improved since we told him you were coming.”
“Meredith says you did as much for Uncle Guy as she did.” Thomas stopped walking, his hand still on her arm. “I would have stayed away in Normandy, Arianna, had this not happened. I’ve no wish to torment you, or myself, yet it seems I’ll be here a long time.”
“I understand. We will be friends, Thomas. That is what we were at first. We can be so again.”
“Can we?” His hand moved on her arm, sending warmth from her elbow to her heart. She knew she should pull away from him but she could not.
“For Guy’s sake we can,” she said, “and for Meredith’s, yes. Friends and no more. For your soul’s sake. And mine.”
“My dearest -”
“We will never meet alone, Thomas, never speak in private.”
“Only say you love me. Let me hear that if I can have nothing else.”
“The words themselves would be a betrayal. I will not say them.”
“Never mind, I see them in your eyes.” He took a step, coming closer, and she caught the clean, washed scent of him, smelled the orris root and lavender in which his fresh clothes had been stored during his absence. “One kiss, Arianna, that’s all I ask, and then we’ll not meet like this again. I have dreamed of your delicious mouth every day I’ve been apart from you.”
“If we kiss, we’ll never stop,” she cried, trembling, aching for him until she thought her heart would break with want and denial. “It would be wrong, Thomas. I’ll not let us besmirch the good friendship we had – and will have again.”
“You are stronger than I, my love. Go then.” He dropped his hand and moved away from her. “I’ll not stop you, and I’ll do as you wish. I would not hurt you, nor would I create a scandal that would only place greater burdens on Guy and Meredith, and break their hearts for our pain.”
Arianna tore herself away from him, running up the stairs to her room. She went down late to the meal that welcomed Thomas home, and so happy were those gathered at the tables to have their young lord back that no one remarked on Arianna’s pale face or her red-rimmed eyes.
Thomas took control of Afoncaer with a sure hand, and Guy, relieved of worry, began to mend more rapidly. By Christmastide he was spending most of each day in the great hall, seated in his well-cushioned chair by the fire. But when he spoke of resuming his daily rides around his lands right after the new year, Meredith scolded him roundly.
“You will stay indoors until the weather is warmer,” she said. “Your wound weakened your lungs. I’ll not have you exposed to cold air until you are completely healed.”
“You would make a baby of me,” Guy grumbled.
“If you would only pretend to be sicker than you are,” Reynaud advised wisely, “not only would Meredith continue to coddle you most delightfully – and I think you enjoy that however much you protest, my friend – but Thomas would stay here longer.”
“That’s true,” Guy responded, laughing. “And a welcome thought.” His laugh changed quickly into a cough that would not stop. Meredith sent Arianna running for his medicine. When she returned to the great hall Thomas was there, brushing snow off his shoulders and shooting worried glances at Guy. Meredith’s concoction of rosemary, honey, and several other herbs worked quickly. A short time later Guy sat back in his chair, the coughing eased, though he looked worn out after the spasm. Arianna noticed Thomas watching his uncle closely over the next day or two. Thomas looked worried.
It was several days later that Thomas followed her into the stillroom and shut the door firmly.
“My lord,” she began, backing against a table, afraid he would attempt to take her into his arms, and knowing that if he did she would not be able to resist him, that all her good intentions would vanish at his touch. “My lord, we agreed we’d not be alone together.”
“I must talk with you without anyone overhearing. Arianna, I have to know the truth, and I trust you to tell it to me. Will Uncle Guy ever recover his health? Or will he always be an invalid like this?”
“It’s not for me to say that, Thomas. I am still only Meredith’s pupil, and nowhere near as wise as she is about illnesses or wounds. You should ask her that question.”
“I have
tried, but for the first time since I’ve known her, she evades me. I begin to fear she is only hoping he will get well, because she loves him so much, not because she really can heal him.”
“She cannot allow herself to think he might die,” Arianna said. “She wants him to believe he will live, so she has to believe it herself.”
“And will he die?” Thomas asked, quietly but relentlessly.
“I don’t know.” To her chagrin, Arianna began to cry. “I love him, too, Thomas. He’s such a good man, and he has been my friend since the day I met him. I can only tell you that he has improved since you returned.” This last remark ended on a sob, and Arianna tried to wipe away the tears that would not stop coming.
“If he remains an invalid,” Thomas said, thinking aloud, “he cannot continue as baron of Afoncaer. This castle needs a strong ruler.”
“He could continue here if you would stay.”
“Yes.” Thomas sighed. “I had hoped he would heal quickly enough for me to rejoin King Henry by spring. But I owe Uncle Guy too much to leave if he still needs me. And it is for Henry’s benefit, too, that I stay here, to help keep peace on his border.”
Arianna could not stop crying. She brushed the tears aside with both hands, but they kept overflowing. She had held in too much feeling for too long, her fears for Guy’s life, concern for Meredith, and most of all, her hopeless love for Thomas and her fear for him, fighting in a far-away war.
“Don’t leave again, please,” she begged, trying to say and do the right and honorable thing, though it broke her heart in two. “Stay here. Afoncaer needs you. If it comes to that, if it makes you too unhappy to have me here, I’ll go away. I’ll find a convent somewhere that will accept me, I’ll leave and never come back to trouble you again.”