by Jo Beverley
“She is a lord’s child, therefore mine. When I come into my own again, I will acknowledge her, as is right.”
“You’re blind, Hereward,” said Lucia in exasperation. “The land is won.”
Hereward made a gesture which encompassed more than the squalid setting. “Look around with more than your eyes, Lucia. You at least have the blood for it. The land is never won. It merely waits for those who deserve it.”
He leaned forward gracefully and hooked the glowing ring out of the fire on the tip of the dagger. He walked forward to face Aimery with the ring between them. “I gave you woman, mark, and ring on the one day. Do you renounce me?”
“I must.”
“Then you should have none of them.” With lightning speed, he dropped the ring on Aimery’s hand and pressed it there with the knife. By the time Aimery had knocked it off and raised his sword, Hereward was away and taking up his ax again. “Give my respects to Matilda,” he called, “but tell her, breed as she will, no son’s son of hers will rule England!”
The mist swallowed him and his men as if by magic. Aimery hissed and Madeleine turned to look at his hand. An angry circle was branded over the skin-mark. Aimery clutched it, but the pain on his face was more from the passing of a part of his life than from the burn.
There was no goose grease to hand, so Madeleine dipped a cloth in water and bound it on. “Can you fight left-handed?” she asked.
“After a fashion.”
“I’d practice if I were you,” she said tartly, “because if this goes on, one of these days you’re going to have no useful right hand at all.”
He laughed and hugged her close. “We’re alive! For a while there I had grave doubts.”
“I was terrified, but,” she said, looking up, “I trusted you.”
He held her closer. “I merely prayed. And if you’re wondering, to the God on the Cross.”
Then they heard hoofbeats. Madeleine peered at the mist in dread. “Please, Mary, not more.”
“I think, I hope, this is the relief party from York.”
It proved to be so, with William in the lead. His quick eyes took in the scene. “The queen?” he asked.
“Is safe,” Madeleine said, “and delivered of a son.”
William grinned. “Good news! An atheling. Now all is secure. But who attacked you here?”
“Gospatric,” said Aimery. “By mistake. He left when Hereward explained it to him.”
Madeleine only just stopped herself from gasping at this version, but she knew Aimery must have his reasons.
“Hereward was here? How long since?” William was already looking around to organize the hunt.
“Not long, sire. He was the agent of the queen’s safety.”
William frowned at his godson. “You’re over-fond of the man. What happened to your hand?”
“A burn.”
“You aren’t wearing his ring.”
“No, sire.”
William nodded. “Let Hereward go, then. The day of our meeting will come, and I will prevail. For now, I would rather see Matilda and my son.” He swept into the hut.
“Why?” asked Madeleine.
Aimery sighed and stretched. “If Gospatric’s aims were made clear, William would hound him to the death, and Northumbria would end up a bloody waste. If I judge aright, the Earl of Northumbria will be on his knees within the month, asking nicely to be forgiven, and that should be the end of things.”
“Edwin, too?”
“Of course, particularly if William gives him Agatha. That will leave Hereward isolated, and he, too, will have to sue for pardon. Then, perhaps, England can have peace.”
Madeleine shook her head. “You’re as mad as your uncle.”
“Indeed he is!” It was Count Guy, his mailed arm wrapped firmly about Lucia. “As mad as Hereward, but as fine a man as well.” He gripped his son’s arm. “You have done well this day, Aimery. I have to tell you, though, that the Lady Madeleine’s cousin, Odo, is spreading a strange tale. He says you are the English outlaw, Golden Hart.”
Aimery glanced at Madeleine. “Why would he do that?”
“For reward, of course, though he misjudges if he thinks any man will gain from forcing William to ruin you.” Guy held his son’s eyes. “Is it true?”
Aimery seemed perfectly calm. “That I am Golden Hart? What does William think?”
“Does anyone ever know what William thinks? Odo de Pouissey claims he rode ahead to York when he had news that you were planning to deliver the queen to Hereward. He feared he would not have the authority to thwart your plans . . .”
Now that it had come, Madeleine found she was not so much afraid as purposeful. She felt like a sharp blade. That triggered a thought, and she looked at the amber-headed knife on the ground.
With a warning pressure on Aimery’s arm, Madeleine slipped away from the group. She stooped to pick up the knife as she passed, then went to the wharf and onto the barge. By good fortune, her chest was on top of a pile. It took only a moment to find the gilded scabbard, slip in the blade, and fix it on her girdle.
She returned to Aimery’s side just as a man came forward to summon them all to attend William.
It was crowded in the hut. William sat by Matilda, holding his son. Guy, Lucia, Madeleine, and Aimery stood where they could. Then Odo came in. He looked around at the group uneasily. Perhaps even he sensed there was no one in the room who felt kindly toward him.
“Ah, Odo,” said William benignly. “You may congratulate me on my fine son.”
Odo bowed. “I do most heartily, sire.”
“And it would appear that your information was at fault, for Lord Aimery defended the queen most staunchly.”
Odo flushed and looked around. “And yet he let that cur, Hereward, escape.”
William looked a question at Aimery.
“We were outnumbered, sire. As Hereward appeared to intend us no harm, I thought it better to let him go.”
“A wise decision, wouldn’t you say, de Pouissey?”
“A cautious one,” sneered Odo. “I find it odd that Aimery de Gaillard fought valiantly against Gospatric, but struck no blow against Hereward. There are those who claim they were on good terms, even clasping hands at the end.”
William looked intrigued. “Are you saying it was all staged, with Hereward and Aimery saving the day in order to gain my favor?”
The thought had obviously never crossed Odo’s mind, but he grasped it eagerly. “Yes, sire.”
“What an exceedingly subtle mind you have. But Aimery already has my favor in full measure, and Hereward has merely to bend the knee to me to receive it.”
Odo swallowed. “But what of the murder at Huntingdon?” he said desperately. “Where is the woman, Aldreda, who has the knife found in the body? It is de Gaillard’s own knife, awarded to him by you.”
“What woman is this?” asked William.
“Aldreda is a weaver from Baddersley,” said Aimery. “Her husband was found dead in Huntingdon. If Hereward is to be believed, she, too, is dead.”
“Dead!” cried Odo. “Foully murdered then. By you!”
“By Hereward,” said Aimery, “for reasons personal to them. I have had no opportunity for private death for many hours.”
Odo was red with rage and looking more like his father by the second. He was as foolish, too, for the king was clearly keen to overlook all if he was allowed. “She should have the knife on her,” Odo blustered. “That is proof.”
Madeleine spoke up. “I’m not sure how it would be proof of anything, but I thought I had the knife the king awarded to Aimery.” She indicated the knife on her girdle.
Odo stared. “Where did you get that?”
“From Aimery, weeks ago.”
“Let me see it.” The king studied the knife and nodded. “It is the same.” He looked at Odo with a warning frown. “I believe your intentions, de Pouissey, are loyal, but you have been misinformed. What motive could Aimery have to murder a peasant?”
Odo glared at Aimery. “That peasant would have named him as Golden Hart, as would the weaver. He has killed them, but there is another, sire. Send for Bertrand, who was a man of Robert d’Oilly’s. He is in my party, and once encountered Golden Hart, as you know. He will tell all.”
The king’s face was coldly inscrutable as he had the man summoned. Guy and Lucia were pale. Aimery looked calm.
The man entered and fell to his knee, his eyes flickering about nervously. They were sharp eyes, though.
“Now, Bertrand,” said the king, “Lord Odo seems to think you can identify someone here as the giant who attacked you at Banbury.”
The man looked around, and his eyes lingered for a moment on Aimery. “Nay, sire. None here are large enough.”
“You lie!” shouted Odo. “You said to me two days past that Lord Aimery could be the man.”
“I said could be, my lord. So could any number of people. But Lord Aimery is a true Norman knight, as he’s shown this day. The man I fought was lowborn.”
“But handled a sword well,” said Odo.
The man was now quite cocky. “I handle a sword well, and I’m lowborn.”
Odo would have said more, but the king interrupted. “There is clearly nothing in this.” He passed Bertrand some coins. “You may go, my man, with our thanks.”
The king regarded Odo with cold humor. “If this continues, de Pouissey, I might begin to think you carry a grudge against Aimery for winning the fair Lady Madeleine.”
Odo glared around, too furious to hear the warning in the king’s voice. “I only carry a grudge against traitors, sire. He has killed two witnesses and suborned another, but there is one witness that cannot be silenced. Aimery de Gaillard carries a mark on his hand that tells his guilt as clear as the gospels.” He swung to face Aimery. “I see you hide it under a rag. Show us that heathenish mark if you dare!”
Aimery calmly unwound the cloth and removed the bracelet from his wrist. The scar of the boar-wound ran from the middle of his hand a few inches up his forearm. Now it was surmounted by an angry red circle. The skin marks were a mere tangle of lines.
“So,” said the king. “Who can tell what that is supposed to be?”
It was unclear whether it was a question or not, but Lucia answered it. “It was a horse, sire. Now it’s just a mess with four legs. I don’t see how Aimery could possibly be Golden Hart, even if he were so foolish, for as I traveled, I heard the outlaw was harrying shipping to France.”
“And I,” said the king, “have had certain word that he raided Lancaster two days since with a body of Scots.” He looked at Odo. “I fear this north country has turned your wits, de Pouissey. I bid you go serve with Lord William Fitz Osbern against the Welsh. That area may suit you better and enable you to gain the rewards you so clearly seek.”
With a sound perilously close to a snarl, Odo bowed himself out. There was a collective expiration.
William passed his child back to Matilda and looked at Aimery. “And now, Golden Hart . . .”
Chapter 23
With a slight smile, Aimery knelt. “I am only a small part of the whole, sire, and never served you ill.”
The king’s eyes were cold. “You spawned a monster which troubles me.”
Aimery met his anger calmly. “It would have spawned itself, sire.”
The king smiled wolfishly. “If I truly wished to punish you, I would exile you to Normandy. Would you go?”
Aimery paled. After a heavy moment he said, “No, sire.”
Lucia gasped.
“Would you join Hereward?”
“No, sire. I suppose I would truly be Edwald the outlaw.”
The king exploded. “Doing what, by the Blood?”
“Helping the people.”
William shook his head. “You try my patience sorely, Aimery.” He sat staring at the young man. Madeleine felt as if everyone in the room was holding their breath; she knew she was. Except the oblivious baby, which suddenly gave a little squawk. The tension broke.
The king relaxed. “But you have served me well this day.” He thrust his hand forward. “Help the people, then. Help my people, but do it as Aimery de Gaillard.”
Aimery kissed the king’s hand and rose.
“Now go away,” said the king. “The queen and I will rest here for the night. You must fend for yourselves.”
As they left the hut Guy groaned. “Lucia. Is your hair gray, too?”
“I’m scared to look.”
Guy turned to Aimery. “I could flay you alive. Is it over now?”
Aimery shrugged. “I won’t play Golden Hart anymore. The rest, I suppose, is wyrd.”
Guy muttered something and led Lucia away.
Madeleine went into Aimery’s arms. “Are we safe?”
He kissed her. “As safe as we’re ever likely to be. Which is to say, not very. But I have hope we’ll at least make it to York.”
She blushed. “Do you think of nothing else?”
His hands flexed on her shoulders. “Between protecting the queen, fighting for my life, and confessing my sins to William? No, I don’t suppose I do. I’m beginning to let myself think of going home to look after Baddersley and Rolleston. Of watching you give birth to our first child. Of finding a way for England to prosper . . . Do you trust me?”
“Completely. I’m sorry.”
“I never did tell you the service I did for Hereward.”
“I don’t care.”
“I had permission to tell you days ago, and didn’t. I wanted your blind faith, which was a weakness in me.”
Madeleine had to be honest. “I couldn’t be entirely sure until I saw you fight Gospatric and deny Hereward.”
He kissed her again. “I know. I don’t mind. I don’t think blind faith is an admirable quality all in all. Give me a woman who uses her wits any day. I delivered a package.”
“A package?”
“To be precise, Lady Agatha.”
Madeleine looked at him. “What on earth are you talking about?”
He put his arm around her, and they began to stroll about looking for some sheltered corner in which to sleep. “Silly little Agatha took it into her head to join Edwin, like the heroine from a ballad. With a couple of stupid guards—they’d have to be stupid to go along with it—she rode up the North Road asking for him. The men who captured her were going to try for ransom, but Hereward heard and took charge of her. He had no safe way of returning her to court and summoned me.”
“That was Gyrth. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“That was Gyrth, but I wasn’t intending to go. I’d been refusing summonses from Hereward since Senlac, and I thought it a trick. Then the queen’s messenger passed through on his way to York, with a secret urgent request that I use my contacts to find Agatha.”
“So you went. But you could have told me something.”
He laughed. “I left you a vague but reassuring message. I think it must have lost some meaning by the time it reached you.”
“It did indeed. Poor Agatha. Dragged home in disgrace. No wonder she was so sullen when I saw her.”
“Yes.” They settled for a damp corner of a hut which at least still had part of a roof and a layer of straw. He lay with her in his arms. “And poor Aldreda. And Frieda. These are hard times.”
“Yes,” said Madeleine. “But there’s always York.”
York was none too simple, however. For his own good reasons the king made a grand entrance into the ancient city the next day. From river to castle, Matilda traveled in an open litter, and William rode beside her carrying the babe.
The route was crowded, but Madeleine could not judge the mood of the people. There were smiles, and even enthusiasm when coins were thrown, but she didn’t trust the good humor to last. An occasional voice would cry, “The atheling!” and there would be a cheer, but not everyone cheered, and she suspected the ones who cried that important name were paid by William’s men.
She glanced at Aimery, and he smi
led back. The look in his eyes made her toes curl. She found she didn’t really care about the settling of Northumbria as long as it didn’t interfere with the coming night.
The king was lodging at the bishop’s palace, and Madeleine was kept busy there helping to settle the queen and the baby. Eventually, however, Matilda noticed her. “Sweet heavens, child, have you nothing better to do? Go and see to your own lodging. You deserve a reward.”
With a blushing smile, Madeleine went.
It took time and a number of inquiries to find the tiny room she and Aimery had been given. With the bed and their chests there was scarcely room to move, but it was private, it had a bed, and no one would suggest they include a third person in such a cramped space. It was perfect.
Madeleine wished she could stay here until Aimery came, then remain here forever, but there was the evening meal to get through. Dorothy dressed her in a fine kirtle and tunic and plaited her hair, covering it with an embroidered scarf crossed at the front and hanging to the waist behind. Madeleine chose her jewels—a gold collar and the bracelets Aimery had given her as her morning gift—then sent the woman off, telling her not to return.
She waited as long as she dared for Aimery to come and change, for she’d not had a private moment with him since the morning, but the second blast of the horn made her leave the room. Ah well, there would be later.
But as she walked along the narrow passageway she was snared and wrapped in a cloak, a cloak she remembered. Her heart leaped, and she tingled with expectation. “The meal?”
“We’re excused,” he said in English against her ear.
She leaned back against him. “I don’t suppose by any chance you’re naked, are you?”
He choked on laughter. “That would be rash, wouldn’t it, here in the passageway?”
“But a lovely thought . . .”
His lips nuzzled the skin of her nape through the silk of her scarf. “I have hundreds of lovely thoughts, my dusky lady. Thoughts of your breasts heavy in my hands, your skin smooth beneath my fingers. I’m going to touch your breasts until they sing for me like music, and lick them till they reach for me.”
He wasn’t doing anything, but her breath was fractured, and she was hot within the cloak. “You promised me a bed,” she said.