by Ling, Maria
"If you send him away," she said, "do you think he'll be unhappy?"
Hugh turned from the study of a mortar mix, followed her gaze, hugged her to him.
"At first," he said. "I don't doubt he'll cry for a night or two -- perhaps even longer. But eventually he'll get used to it, and it will open up a world for him. I should know. I was fortunate in my own placement, a good step up for a boy from a minor manor, with no connections to speak of. Quite a fair bit of money changed hands, I should think. But it taught me to become a man, to be self-sufficient, as no boy can ever learn from his mother's arms. He'll do well, in the right man's house. You need not fear that I'd choose wrongly."
"Because you never make mistakes?" Mary taunted.
Hugh smiled. "I wouldn't say that. But I'd give the matter a great deal of thought, and choose a man I knew well and whom I'd seen raise boys the way I'd like to see Will raised. He won't be sold off to a stranger who'll beat and neglect him, that you may be sure of."
She'd barely thought that far. She'd focused only on the loss of him from her arms. With a start, she realised she hadn't even considered what his wishes might be. She'd imagined him lost and alone, crying for her and she not there to hear, and that thought gashed her. But in truth, it hadn't occurred to her to imagine him clambering about with a few boys his own age, laughing and jostling, all equal together.
"Let me get used to the idea," she said. "If you're sure you've found the right man -- and if I can visit him often -- "
"Best not to," Hugh said. "You'll only hurt him if you do. Let him find new friends and new companions. He'll be happy enough with those."
Mary hesitated. "You mean I'll never get to see him again?"
"Of course," Hugh said. "After he's well settled. And if he pleads to be allowed to come home, then of course I'll take it under consideration. In my experience and that of most men I've met, he'll resist any attempt to take him away."
That would hurt her, she realised. She did want him happy -- but she wanted him happy with her. Not somewhere else. Which was plain selfish, she saw that.
"We need not decide just yet," Hugh said and cuddled her to him. "Give it a while. You've both had cause to cling together, I understand that. Now it's time to let go -- but take it gently at first. Let him find his own footing, and let yourself find yours."
"And you?" Mary challenged.
Hugh grinned at her. "I usually land on my feet," he said. "This time, I did so for certain."
***
"So." Hugh rocked on his heels. A bad habit, that, he ought to stop it. "Martin of Wode is three days' march away with a force of about four hundred men."
"Heading in this direction," the scout said. "At an easy pace, mind. Nothing to indicate he's got us painted as a target. But he's there, and approaching."
"The rain might slow him down." Hugh watched the flicker of grey outside the arrow-slot. "Men can march on through mud, thought they risk their feet and lives, but carts do tend to get stuck."
"He's got a few," the scout said. "Not many, but enough to bog down."
"Even one could do that," Hugh argued.
"One's easy to leave," the scout said. "Take what's necessary and abandon the rest. They could all do that, I suppose. But it's a lot of goods to leave lying around for anyone to grab."
"It is," Hugh agreed. "Since he's in no obvious hurry, we'll assume he'll slow or stop along the way. That gives us a few more days. I can hold this place today, if it comes to it. A week from now, I'll have no fears at all. Though it's a fair-sized force."
The scout nodded. "All men, all armed. No families or hangers-on."
"He means business, then." Hugh pondered the rain. "Well, let him come on if he chooses. We'll be ready for him, if and when he does."
***
"Another letter from the king," he told Mary that night, as they lay curled up in each other's arms. "He's displeased with me -- questions my loyalty. So much for the permanence of his favour. I was right not to go."
"Will he do something?" Mary's light weight shifted on his shoulder, he thought she'd turned her face up towards him. A gentle kiss on his throat confirmed it.
"I doubt he'll try," Hugh said. "I'm too far and too small and much too unimportant for him to trouble with. If he were in the neighbourhood, maybe, I wouldn't put it past him. But as things are, no. He'll fume for a day or two, and then he'll forget me. John de Bois, though, may not be so forgiving. But it's not him I've had word from. I doubt he'll care, provided he gets what he demands from me."
Mary tensed. "You won't give him Will?"
"No." Hugh held her to him. "I won't. But the boy must learn to fight, regardless. I take back none of what I've said so far. But hand him over to John I will not do. He's a fine boy, he deserves to grow up into a better man than that."
"I hate him," Mary said. She huddled close to him, as if seeking protection from a cold and hostile world. Hugh wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair, and wished he had strength enough to encircle her and Will both, for their entire lives, and make sure no harm or hurt ever came to them. But that was impossible, he knew it. They must suffer, as all humanity must suffer. The question was only how much -- and whether it lay within his power to spare them any of it at all.
"You should," Hugh said. He couldn't shut the screams out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried. All he could do was pray to Heaven that it was all over now, that those tortured bodies had found peace and rest in the abode of souls. "I hate him too." The words startled him, he hadn't meant to say that, hadn't even meant to think it. Was a little shocked that he had. But was truth, he felt it. He did hate the man, and had done so for a long time. Hated himself, too, for doing so little. For showing so little of courage and strength. That he could change, and would change: he vowed it.
"You won't let him come here," Mary said. "Will you?"
A day earlier, he would have claimed he could not stop it. But now he said: "I won't. He'll never get near you or Will again. I swear it."
And he meant it, every word, with a dark ferocious intensity that consumed him. He'd fight to the death for them, both of them, he swore that too.
If it should ever come to that.
But it might not, he reassured himself. It might not come to that at last.
***
"Still not here?" Stephen demanded.
"No." John de Bois shook his head. He wasn't too worried about Hugh's refusal to attend when called. It was a long way to Oxford from Rowes Castle, and Hugh had Angevins enough to contend with there. But John had received neither letter nor money either, and that did trouble him. Vassals must pay their exactions, or be made an example of. He'd find cause to visit Rowes in person, and make his point to Hugh. "If Your Grace can spare me, I'll gladly find out what has caused the delay. There may be troop movements afoot that he's reluctant to mention openly in a letter, for fear it may fall into enemy hands. He would be less reticent in person."
Stephen nodded. "Go, then. Take a small force with you, in case Rowes needs your aid. Bring Hugh of Vion to me. I wish to take his castles, and I prefer to do so easily and bloodlessly if I can. He'll sign them over to me, and then he can return to your service as before. If you'll still have him."
"I will, and gladly," John said. "He's an excellent man."
"Might be a broken and maimed man by the time I'm done with him," Stephen growled. "Fetch him and bring him here in irons. That'll teach him to run to my side when I call. After that, you may have either his person or a share in his fortune, just as you like. I'll take the rights, of course."
"Naturally." John bowed. "All land belongs to the king."
"Under God," Stephen added.
"Yes indeed," John said. "No one can doubt that Your Grace is on the side of divine justice."
***
The rain never ceased. It whirled in little pools and ran in narrow rills, dripped from roofs and edges, puddled on the ground. Martin of Wode had halted, two days' march from Rowes, holed up in a s
ettlement and refused to stir from there. Work on the walls had halted, too -- stones could be shaped and lifted into place, but mortar would not set in this weather. Hugh ordered earthen banks built, watched the skies, and hoped.
He spent several hours withindoors with Mary, took Will off her hands and let the boy work off his pent-up energy on wrestling and fencing and dash races up and down the great hall. It kept his men fit, too, past the first hour they battled hard to keep up with the child. Who slept soundly at night as a reward, which gave Hugh ample time to develop new expertise with his wife's body, and to her obvious and audible delight.
He loved these days, he discovered. Loved to just be with them, frazzled as they all grew towards the end of each day. He found that Mary disliked spiders but had no hesitation in killing rats, that Will possessed a sweet voice well suited for singing, that he himself could be caught out by a simple change of direction, whether in runs or conversation. He owed that knowledge to Will, and was grateful for it, as it gave him a chance to improve.
And then the weather cleared, for a day and a half, which let the roads dry up and the streams return to their customary banks. Martin of Wode did not stir, he seemed comfortable enough in his dry town lodgings, but another force did, from the northeast. John de Bois, approaching fast and with sufficient strength to seize Rowes Castle, if he chose. Three days out, and closing fast.
Hugh wrote a letter, carefully worded, in which he emphasised that the castle was now defensible and that Mary's steward had not yet been forthcoming with the money requested. If John had business to attend to elsewhere, Hugh murmured in a brief aside, then other matters could easily wait for his return. It was as near as he dared go to ordering his own overlord to stay off this land. John might heed it or he might not, but if there was no coin to be had, at least he couldn't make that an excuse.
But he came on. Hugh kept it a secret from Mary, though he felt her eyes questioning him every time a horseman came or went. But in the end, with John de Bois a scant day's march away, he had to tell her.
***
"Well, he's here." Hugh closed the door of the bedchamber behind him and stood with his back towards it, arms crossed. "Should arrive by noon tomorrow, messenger says."
"Who is?" She knew something had been worrying him, she could see it in the set of his shoulders and his jaw. Now she paused in the act of combing Will's hair for the night, something they both still allowed her to do, although on sufferance.
"John de Bois." Hugh looked as he'd done the moment she first met him, grim and cold.
"No." Mary clutched at Will, who shook her off. Under Hugh's tuition, he'd become less reliant on her, less tolerant of her caresses. It made her angry, and sad.
"I'm not afraid of him," Will said. He stood with his legs braced, an absurdly valiant little figure in nothing but his shirt, and faced Hugh as if about to take him down.
"You should be." Hugh eyed him with stern appreciation. "Though you may yet hold your own with him. We'll see. They'll camp out in the fields, I should think, at least that's what I've requested. It's no insult, John knows we're cramped here. So I'll have the advantage within the walls, at least. How things stand with his own force, I do not yet know. Scouts say he's left the better part of his strength elsewhere, with the king I shouldn't wonder, so he may not be too quick to fight. If he is, though -- " Hugh shrugged.
"You'll fight him," Mary insisted. "Won't you?"
"Maybe. I hope to put him off with talk, this time at least. The money hasn't arrived yet, he'll want to come back for that in any case."
"Couldn't you have told him as much?"
"I did," Hugh said. "He came on anyway. We'll hear his reasons once he arrives."
***
"You'll hand the boy over to me," John de Bois said.
They met in the chamber above the hall, at Hugh's insistence. The trestle tables were being laid for dinner, he did not care to have the men overhear this conversation. No matter where it tended. Which meant taking John into the private room that Hugh shared with Mary, where he resented the presence of any other man. But it had to be done.
John seemed conscious of his position as invader. He stood braced in the middle of the floor, with a faint smirk as he eyed the bed.
Hugh faced him, arms crossed. Oddly, he felt no fear. He'd urged caution to Mary, he knew this man had power that he himself could never aspire to. But he wasn't afraid. She'd seen to that, Mary, his wife. She'd shown him a glimpse of Paradise, right there in that bed, and he knew it was real. Only a step away, though he'd be damned before he took it without her. But the knowledge of it strengthened him, he watched this miserable excuse for a human being with nothing but contempt.
"I won't," Hugh said. "He belongs with me. The money you can have, once it arrives, I'm not troubled about that. And income from her land and that controlled by Rowes Castle, I'll account for it in full, you need have no concern for that part. But my wife and her son belong in my care, and I mean to keep them."
"You're in an odd mood," John said. "What brought this on?" He grinned, a cold unpleasant sneer. "Or rather, I can guess. The woman you can use as you like, kill her with rutting if you want, it matters not a fart to me. But I'll take the boy, and the money too."
"It's not here yet," Hugh said. "As I told you. When it arrives, I will send it. But the boy is mine."
"Hugh." John laid a hand on Hugh's shoulder, and dropped his voice into something approaching friendship. "Let's not quarrel over this. I'll give you my word not to kill or maim the boy. I can see that you'll want to keep a hold over the woman for a while. But she'll bear other children, and those you can dispose of as you please."
"What do you want him for?" Hugh asked, dropping his own voice likewise. It was worth pretending, if it got him information. "He's a fine lad, or will be with training. I can use him once he's grown. But as yet he's a mere child. What are your plans for him?"
"Amusement," John said shortly. "Not that it concerns you. To be blunt, I wouldn't have cared either way if you hadn't held on so tight. Now I demand him because you hold him. What's yours is mine, you know that. I am your lord and you'll show obedience to me. Whatever I demand, you provide. That includes your house, your money, your men or your wife. Whom I'll ride in your bed tonight -- " he nodded towards the neatly tucked blanket -- "and you'll let me, because that is what obedience means. Understand?"
Hugh drew in breath. He'd waited for this moment a long time.
"No," he said. "I won't give you that. Neither her nor the boy."
John fixed him with a cold stare. "You will. Both of them."
"I will not."
John gave a single sharp nod. "Well. I've had my doubts about you for a while. This seals it. You'll hand over your men and your castle to me. I'll put you in chains until you've had time to reconsider."
"No," Hugh said. "You won't raise a hand against me or mine."
"I don't need to," John said. "I have two hundred men beyond the walls."
"But only six in here." Hugh whistled for the guards, who stepped into the room with brisk movements. "Take them," he told his men, and they strode off to comply.
"You are a fool," John said.
"I am," Hugh admitted. "I served you for far too long. But no more. You'll remain here at my pleasure, and in chains if I so desire. Should your men beyond the walls have an opinion on that, they may state it freely."
John drew his sword. Hugh drew his own, calm now, almost at peace. He'd show this man once and for all who was in charge here.
The blades clashed, strong and tough, good smithwork, good iron. Hugh was the taller, he had strength and reach on his side, but John de Bois was both faster and more experienced. He parried hard, thrust for Hugh's throat, his lower stature made the angle just right. Hugh slammed the blade aside, drove his fist into John's face and sent him sprawling. John rolled and got to his feet, split lip bleeding. He whirled his sword at Hugh, who was forced to retreat past the bed and towards the curtained alcove. A s
lash of Hugh's blade ripped the curtain apart and cut the cushion in two. John followed, pressed Hugh up against the wall, readied himself for the final thrust. Hugh swung his blade down at an angle, caught the side of John's neck and slashed through skin and flesh and snagged on bone, kicked out and caught John's ankle to sweep the man's leg away. John fell hard, blood gushing from the sliced-open neck. Hugh stood over him, panting, on the point of finishing the job.
And then hesitated. John de Bois had meant a great deal to him -- had given him his first command, had trusted him.
Had threatened to rape Mary, and take Will away to God only knew what forms of abuse.
John struggled to rise. The back of his neck bent, exposed. Hugh brought his blade down and hacked the man's head off.
So far so good. Hugh stood for a moment looking down at the body. Nothing left of life there now. An evil life in any case, one that would not be missed. By anyone. Which was a tragedy in itself, but Hugh didn't care much about that right now. His thoughts were on Mary, and Will. They should be safe in the kitchen garden, he'd ordered them there while he met with John de Bois. But he wanted to see them for himself, to make sure they really were safe and unharmed.
He cleaned his sword, took breaths as deep and steady as the reek of blood would allow, fought the temptation to founder and collapse. He couldn't afford weakness now. What had he told Will? The time to be weak is when you are alone. Well, he was alone.
But there was still work to do.
Hugh sheathed his sword, steadied himself, then walked out onto the stairs.
He found them in the garden, talking over the names and properties of each plant. Stood for a moment just watching them, carefree as he'd seldom seen them before. Mary's hair, uncovered, glowed like old gold in the sunshine. Will beside her wore a cheerful smile.
They turned then, and saw him, and saw the blood on his clothes. The smiles and ease vanished. They both froze for a moment, then darted up to him.