Desiree

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Desiree Page 16

by Roberta Gellis


  “Yes,” Vachel said. “Give me the letters and I will leave as soon as my horse can be saddled.”

  “No,” Alex said. “I must take the letters and the man himself to Sir Simon, so I can explain the circumstances.” And before Vachel could speak, Alex went to his chamber and slammed the door in his brother’s face.

  When Vachel said he would ride out at once into the rain, Alex’s heart dropped like a stone and lay cold and hard in his belly. He had been afraid from the moment he saw his brother that some evil was afoot, however he had hoped, when Vachel told him to return to Lessai, that Vachel’s tale was true. Not that his father had asked for him to return, but that his father had refused to allow Vachel to go serve the high lord who had offered him a place.

  Likely his father would not believe Vachel could keep the place long or use it to benefit the family. What showed the tale to be a lie was Vachel’s eagerness to embrace discomfort to take the letters to Sir Simon. It had always taken threats of dire consequences to move Vachel from the fireside in the least inclement weather. Thus Vachel’s eagerness to ride out in pouring rain on a long journey during which the weather might not improve must be owing to a great threat to Vachel’s wellbeing—and that threat must also be why Vachel was in Exceat.

  But why was Vachel in Exceat? Why had he been in Roselynde?

  Alex had been standing with his back braced against the door although he knew very well that Vachel would not try to break in. The two questions he had asked himself made the cold heaviness in his belly even worse. He went and sat stiffly on the stool near his small table.

  What if part of Vachel’s tale was true—the part where he had been offered a place in a high nobleman’s household? What had Vachel to offer any French nobleman; he was not even French, he was Norman. Alex remembered Prince John had been taking taxes from Normandy as if he were its duke. He chewed his lower lip. It was not impossible that Vachel could have met Prince John. John had been in Normandy just before Alex and Simon had set out to ride the coast of Sussex. But why should John be the least bit interested in Vachel?

  “Oh,” Alex said softly.

  He was not the only sister’s son Sir Simon had. Vachel would have believed that Sir Simon would dismiss and ignore Alex the same way their father had dismissed and ignored him. Vachel could have offered Prince John eyes and ears in the household of the sheriff of Sussex.

  But Sir Simon was gone by the time Vachel arrived. And Prince John was the kind who expected full return on any investment he made, even the small investment of the promise of a place in his household. Vachel would know that. Vachel had a keen sense of self-preservation. He would want to offer the prince something in place of news of what the sheriff of Sussex was doing. Perhaps he intended to offer a large, undefended stretch of the Sussex coastline.

  Alex remembered how often he had fetched and carried for Vachel, how often he had done Vachel’s chores, especially the hard and dirty ones, remembered how meekly he had obeyed. Vachel would have expected him to slink away and leave Exceat when he was told to go. Then his brother could have sent a messenger to Prince John saying that he held Exceat and that Cuckhaven and Seaford were open to invasion.

  And then I refused to leave. Alex grinned, remembering his brother’s growing desperation. And then he stopped grinning remembering also how Vachel had first said there was no time to send the letters to Sir Simon and then changed his tune and said he would himself take the letters.

  No wonder Vachel was so willing to go out into a pouring rain with Nicolaus’s pouch of letters. They would never have reached Roselynde. And if the letters did not reach Roselynde, Simon would not have had any proof to present to Nicolaus’s overlord. Alex snorted with disgust.

  Worse, Simon would not have learned for weeks or months about the letter or the plan to use men posing as white-shield men-at-arms to open castles loyal to King Richard. By then, the invasion might have already begun and trusted defenses failed. So the letter must go off to Simon as soon as possible. And Vachel must be prevented from rushing to Lewes to warn Nicolaus that his men had been taken prisoner and his letters seized.

  That meant the letters, and perhaps the clerk, also, must go secretly and he himself must remain in Exceat and keep Vachel in Exceat, by force if necessary, until he was sure that Simon had received the evidence of Nicolaus’s treachery. Alex groaned softly. He had hoped to be rid of his brother for good.

  Alex had been staring sightlessly at the table while he thought, but his stomach rumbled fiercely and he realized he was smelling a spiced pottage. His eyes brightened as he saw a trencher of bread piled with slices of pork and venison. He stuffed one into his mouth, chewed vigorously, and helped the meat down with a spoon of the pottage. It was colder than he liked and the meat was a little dry, but starving beggars could not be choosers and Alex finished every bite, blessing the servants for not forgetting him when they had cleared away the dinner.

  He felt immensely better after eating, far from as downhearted as he had been when he entered his room. It would be easy enough to send Byford and a small troop to Roselynde with the letters and the clerk. He was sorry to send the master-at-arms out in the rain, but it was the one time he was sure Vachel would not be nosing around.

  Alex started to get up to find Byford but sank back onto the stool. Did he need to tell Byford his suspicions about his brother? He felt himself flushing with shame. Surely if he kept Vachel safely at Exceat until Nicolaus’s treachery was exposed, he need not involve him. His notion that Vachel was serving Prince John was just that—a notion. He had no proof. He need say no more to Byford than that he did not wish to leave Exceat when Nicolaus seemed to be planning an attack of some kind.

  When Alex had explained what he wanted to Byford, the master-at-arms glanced out the door at the downpour and sighed. “You need not go farther than Seaford,” Alex said guiltily, “so long as you keep anyone from seeing the clerk and perhaps giving warning at Lewes that he is a prisoner.”

  Byford sighed again. “No. I will ride straight through to Roselynde, only stopping to rest the horses. Lady Alinor will have my ears if I am slower than she deems reasonable in coming with such news.”

  Alex could not help laughing. He started to rise and then saw Godric’s anxious face and realized he could not simply leave Godric to understand what would be necessary, so he sat back on the stool. Byford left to choose the men who would go with him and to secure the pouch of letters, which had been left in Reid’s keeping. Godric looked after him as if his last hope of salvation was disappearing.

  Alex said, “Byford will not be gone long and for those few days, I will tell you exactly what you need to do.”

  “Thank you, m’lord.”

  “First, you must continue training the new men. You know what Byford would want them to be doing?”

  Godric nodded and Alex smiled, pleased that he needed to give the instructions about keeping Vachel in Exceat to Godric rather than Byford. Byford would have asked why or wondered why; Godric would not.

  “Second, you must make sure that Master Vachel does not leave Exceat.” He grimaced at Godric’s expression. “I know, I agree with you. He may be my brother, but I do not want him here, either. Nonetheless, until Byford returns—it should be no more than four days—I do not want Master Vachel even to step past the gate of the inner bailey.”

  “And if he tries?” Godric asked.

  Alex shrugged. “Try excuses.” He sighed. “If necessary, use force. Oh, and make sure he does not get near the men we took prisoner. Their purpose was to open a keep to attack—if Master Vachel releases them, they might still accomplish that purpose.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Anxious because Sir Frewyn had seemed more exhausted than usual, Alex went to Frewyn’s chamber right after he had broken his fast to inquire about him. To his surprise, Elias beckoned him in and said Frewyn wished to know when he would leave for Roselynde. The old man was not in his chair but propped up in his bed.

  Even mo
re frightened, Alex lifted Frewyn’s cold, limp hand, chafing it gently to warm it and explained how and why he had sent Byford to Roselynde instead of going himself. But when Alex, burning red, had whispered that his brother was a traitor, Frewyn’s fingers moved slightly.

  “No,” he murmured. “If he has given oath to Prince John…he is a loyal liege man. We here are…sworn…to King Richard. Not he. So what…you have done is…right. And what he…perhaps intended to do…is not dishonorable, although he must be prevented.”

  Alex’s color receded somewhat. “He will be,” he said at last and then, “but, my lord, what those white shields intended to do, that was treachery.”

  “Yes.” Frewyn’s voice was a hardly heard sibilant.

  Anxiously, Alex said, “I am tiring you, my lord. I can come again later or tomorrow.”

  Frewyn’s lips made a slight contortion that was meant to be a smile. “I am tired,” he sighed. “But tell me now… I will not be…less tired later…or tomorrow.”

  Given no choice, Alex continued after a glance at Elias showed him the old steward wringing his hands, but silent. He explained as quickly as he could what he intended to do with the prisoners, and again Frewyn whispered, “Yes.”

  Alex kissed Frewyn’s hand. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “No need for…thanks for your own…doing. Pray…for me, Alex. Pray that God…will release me.”

  “No.” Alex choked over the word. “I cannot pray for that. I cannot.”

  Behind him, Alex heard a hiss of indrawn breath and glanced over his shoulder. Desiree stood staring past him at her husband. He had not been aware that she had come in. He laid Frewyn’s hand down gently and backed away, glancing sidelong apologetically at Desiree. She did not meet his eyes, however, just moved closer to her husband. Alex hurried away and opened the door so quickly that Vachel half fell inside the room. Alex opened his mouth to castigate Vachel for listening at the door, but his brother’s voice overrode his.

  “Getting advice from a corpse again?” he asked, loudly enough for the words to be heard within. “No wonder the manners in this place are fit for the dead and buried.”

  Alex’s right hand shot out and seized Vachel by the neck, pushing him out into the hall again, while his left hand carefully closed the door. Vachel struggled, clawing at Alex’s hand. But as soon as the door latched, Alex brought his other hand to bear and began to choke Vachel in earnest. There was a shocked cry and old hands struggling to pull his fingers loose pierced his rage.

  “Alex! Alex! Let go. You will kill him!” Father Harold panted.

  “It would be no loss,” Alex snarled, nonetheless relaxing his grip.

  Vachel choked and gagged but did not collapse; he staggered away across the hall toward the hearth.

  “Unfortunately it would be a loss,” the priest said, his mouth twisted wryly. “I would have to testify that you seized him by the neck without cause and murdered him. Exceat would lose you!”

  “Without cause!” Alex echoed. “You must have heard what he said! He spoke loudly enough. And the door was half-open. Sir Frewyn must have heard him.”

  “Do not blame yourself, my son. Frewyn will not be hurt by what that one says.”

  “No? Sir Frewyn is wise, but… Oh, Father, Sir Frewyn… Talk to him. Explain to him that we all need him. He said…he asked me to pray to God to release him. Father, I am sworn to obedience, but…but I cannot! I cannot pray to lose Sir Frewyn.”

  “No, you cannot. Pray God to do what is right and best for Sir Frewyn…not what you would like best, my son.”

  “But you will tell him that we…that I need him!”

  Tears rose in the priest’s eyes, but he shook his head. “No, I will not, and I hope you will not, either, Alex. He is suffering. Not pain, I think, but a weariness far harder to bear than pain. Let him go.”

  “Dear God,” Alex whispered.

  Father Harold shook his head. Tears left shining tracks on his cheeks. “Twice, maybe thrice, he was peacefully slipping away and Desiree came. She wept. She begged him not to leave her all alone to face the world. And he came back. He fought his way back to hold on for a few weeks more because her fear was just. There was no one to protect her. You do not need my poor lord, Alex. You want his support, his companionship, but you do not need him.”

  “But I cannot wish him dead.” Alex swallowed hard.

  “No, of course not.” The priest found a tremulous smile. “Wish that God will do what is right and best.” He wiped his cheeks, shook his head at Alex, who was about to speak again, and went into Frewyn’s chamber.

  Alex stood for a little longer, looking at the closed door, then squared his shoulders and set off for the stair in the forebuilding. It was time for him to go out into the outer bailey and see how the new men were coming along. He remembered his promise to support Godric in any way he needed. But even as Alex tried to think about the new men, his mind was on Sir Frewyn. His eyes saw nothing, so he started and backed a step when Vachel seized his arm.

  “You…you piece of turd!” Vachel snarled. “How dare you choke me! I do not need to swallow your insults. I will stay here no longer. I will go and warn my uncle—”

  “You will go nowhere,” Alex said softly. “I have ordered my men to keep you within the keep. Roselynde has had warning. Byford carried clerk and letters there.” He uttered a bark that was scarcely laughter. “I knew when you offered to ride out into the rain that it was not to Roselynde you intended to carry the clerk and the letters but to Nicolaus at Lewes.”

  “That is ridiculous! I do not know Nicolaus. Why should I favor him over my own uncle?”

  “Because the great nobleman who offered you a place is Prince John.”

  Vachel gaped at his brother, his stupid little brother who never seemed to understand the cruel jests made of him, who was meek and obedient, who never even told tales of the times they beat him because he was so afraid.

  “No,” he protested.

  “No?” Alex repeated. “It had better be true. The only reason I have not treated you like the traitor I feel you are and ordered you hanged is because of the—” his lips twisted “—advice of the corpse, who pointed out to me that if you are John’s man your attempt to support another of John’s men is loyal. So I will suffer your presence in Exceat until I hear from Sir Simon it is safe to let you go. But watch your tongue. If your words did harm to Sir Frewyn, I will beat you black-and-blue—as you and Carol and Marcus used to do to me. I will—”

  “You will do nothing,” Vachel interrupted, sneering. “You may have fooled our uncle and the old man, but I know you were never knighted, never even trained for knighthood. I will tell Sir Simon that he swallowed a lie whole.”

  Alex began to laugh and shook Vachel’s hand off his arm. “Yes, you tell our uncle that. Your care for my honor and his will amuse him greatly. Fool. It was Sir Simon who trained me and his great friend, the earl of Pembroke, who knighted me in the presence of a dozen great lords. Now,” he pushed Vachel back toward the bench near the hearth with one finger on his chest, “sit down and do not annoy me.”

  Surprise and shock temporarily paralyzed Vachel, he actually staggered back to the bench and sat down heavily. Knighted? Alex had been knighted? In Sir Simon’s presence? It was a lie. It must be a lie. But even as Vachel said the words to himself he knew they were empty and meaningless.

  What the hell was he to do now? Vachel wondered. He had lost his lever against Alex—at least until he could get at Simon and see that Alex’s patron died. Surreptitiously, Vachel felt the purse that was hidden under his clothing.

  It was much flatter than it had been when it was first handed to him by John’s minion, and if Vachel had to pay for his food and lodging until he managed to meet Simon, nothing would be left.

  Nicolaus of Lewes… Vachel drew an exasperated breath. Nicolaus had made it plain that he did not wish to see Vachel again until Simon was dead. And anyhow, now that Nicolaus’s treachery was known it was likely he would b
e expelled from Lewes. Or maybe not. Had not Nicolaus mentioned to him that his overlord, Warenne, was a treasurer for the ransom being gathered for King Richard? It might take months for Simon to send the news of Nicolaus’s treason to Warenne. But Vachel knew he would need some bribe to induce Nicolaus to cooperate.

  He made himself more comfortable on the bench by the gentle warmth of the fire while he considered what he could offer Nicolaus of Lewes. He had come to some interesting conclusions by the time the servants set the trestle tables for dinner.

  This time Alex carved for Lady Desiree and gave her all the most succulent and tenderest portions of the roast goose and roast lamb, but he hardly addressed a word to her. Vachel’s contempt for his brother grew when he thought how easy it would have been to win the wife of a dying man. She could never have got much pleasure from her husband abed at any time and Alex, Vachel had to admit, was young and strong if not particularly handsome.

  To demonstrate Alex’s boorishness, Vachel tried some delicate flattery. Desiree turned her head toward him, but he was not sure that she saw him. He smiled. She did not smile back, but looked across him toward Alex, who raised his eyes from their contemplation of his trencher and stared at his brother.

  “Enough,” Alex said.

  Vachel raised his brows in disdain and opened his mouth to continue talking to Desiree, but Alex’s lip lifted in a snarl and no words came. Why? Alex was nothing. Nothing, he repeated to himself, but he did not believe it and he lost interest in trying to draw Desiree into a conversation in Alex’s presence.

  Alex was not nothing, Vachel finally admitted to himself, staring straight ahead. Alex was an obstacle to be got rid of as soon as possible. But it would not be safe to poison Alex. Too many had seen Alex nearly strangle him and heard their quarrel. That accursed priest already hated him and would accuse him and the skinny old servant would support the accusation. And the second to the master-at-arms, that idiot Godric, would not listen to any reason he provided. The stupid clod worshiped Alex. Little as he liked it, he would have to let Alex live.

 

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