by Mairi Norris
She made no demur when Lewena came to take her arm. “Ysane, ’tis time to return to the hall.”
She heard Roana tell the alewife to send Luilda to the hall and then her cousin’s arm was around her waist. They made their way slowly homeward.
***
Fallard spent the morn overseeing the beginning construction of Ceorl’s new home, then closeted himself with Tenney. The hoarder wished to discuss an anomaly in his records, one he had earlier mentioned. “My th-thegn, I believe I have pr-previously spoken of how two of your f-f-fiefs, Montceaster and Nevyndon, which border each other, have become unpr-profitable over the past t-t-two twelvemonths. I can find no g-g-good reason why.”
“Show me,” Fallard said. He soaked a crust of bread in his nooning meal of chicken and onion stew and took a bite. When the hoarder laid out his suspicions, he agreed something was wrong, as both fiefs should show far more gain.
He set both elbows on the table and intertwined his fingers, tapping his pursed lips with the tips of his thumbs. “I admit to puzzlement, Tenney. You say these two stewards have no history of incompetence, personal greed or bad management, so why are their quarterly dues steadily falling? Neither man mentioned difficulties during their recent stay. Do you still believe them involved in felonious activity?”
“I am c-c-certain of it. There is no other explanation. Yet, I was assured all was well when I spoke with them. I wished to m-m-make you aware of the situation, that you may to handle it as you p-please.”
Fallard rose and silently paced, working out his hunch. He hoped he was wrong, but the more he considered, the more possible it became. Both the stewards were Saxons. Though he had not come to know them well, he had sensed from both men a sly disrespect towards him and the other Normans during their stay at the hall. The two had also spent most of their time either alone or with each other. Were they siphoning Wulfsinraed’s profits to finance the rebels?
He would have to deal with this at once, for any man who stole from his lord, ultimately stole from the king. Passing those ill-gotten gains to rebels lifted the crime beyond theft to treason.
“Tenney, is Wigmaer as capable as you?”
“Aye, m-m-my thegn.”
“Good, call him here.”
The hoarder looked as if he feared he was to be dismissed, but he hurried to obey.
While Fallard waited for the assistant hoarder to arrive, he wandered to the window to look out on the drooping tree limbs in the orchard. Only time would tell if they would recover from the ice that had encased them, to bud again and bear fruit. Movement nigh the crypts resolved itself into Roul, Fauques, and several other youngsters. The corners of his eyes crinkled. Like all boys their age, they had a lively, if morbid interest in such places.
The crypts reminded him of his little rose and he wondered how she did. He suspected she would return soon from the village, probably in considerable discomfort.
The door opened and Tenney returned with the assistant hoarder.
“Good day, my thegn. ’Twas your wish to speak with me?” There was curiosity in Wigmaer’s tone, but naught more.
“Aye. Come and sit.”
A short while later, Wigmaer leaned back. “Tenney is correct. There are troubling irregularities here.”
“Both of you pack for a journey,” Fallard ordered. “Tenney, I send you to Nevyndon and Wigmaer, you are for Montceaster. You will review their records, assess their profits for the past two twelvemonths and tally their supplies. You will return not until you know why they fail to meet their obligations. Do not allow yourselves to be intimidated by the stewards, or your work in any way obstructed, for you will operate in my stead, under my authority. I will prepare written orders to that effect.
“A patrol will escort you, enough men to split into two groups and still protect you both well. The moment you arrive, place two Wulfsinraed guards at the hoarding room doors and two more at the entrances to the storehouses so none may enter without your permission. I want no one to have opportunity to hide aught that should be seen. Be ready to leave in an hour. Send word when you know aught for certain. Send word by the end of a seven-day, whether you learn aught or not. Any questions?”
“Nay, my thegn,” they answered in unison. Tenney began to gather the things they would need as Fallard left the chamber to find Ysane.
***
In the busy hustle and bustle of the kitchen that eve, none took notice when an auburn-haired slave, using a sleight of hand any London pickpocket would envy, dumped a small portion of a clear brown liquid into a mead-filled goblet of blue glass. She continued into the hall with her own tray of trenchers.
Another maid caught up the blue goblet, along with three others, on her way out the door. As she hurried around the mead-benches and approached the eating platform, a small tear in the hem of her cyrtel caught in the toe of her shoe. She gave a startled cry as she fell and instinctively threw her hands forward to catch herself. The goblets flew in all directions. By chance, the precious blue goblet landed on a pile of fresh straw and thus was saved from breakage. But the mead within pooled at the very back of the platform. The girl picked herself up, stuttered abject apologies to the curious expressions of those at the table, gathered the goblets with shaking hands and fled back to the kitchen.
At first, no one noticed the rats that slithered from beneath the platform and greedily lapped at the small puddle, but as the rodents moved further into the open a slave saw them and chased them back underneath.
Not until three days later did the stench of something dead grow so strong that a servant was sent with a broom to sweep out from beneath the platform. He found the stiffened corpses of two rats, their muzzles and front paws covered in dried blood. He twitched his nose in disgust and promptly dumped them in the river.
***
After sup the day of Ysane’s fall, Fallard sat at the hearth of one of the hall’s fire pits. Gathered around him were Randel, Trifine, Jehan and Domnall. Humor tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched the expressions of the two Saxons while he explained his plan to build a pillow mound—a structure of earth surrounded by a strong wattle fence—along the inside of the wall on the far side of the craftsmen’s cottages. ’Twas not the enclosure or its construction that had both men eyeing him as if they thought themselves the butt of a jest, but what he intended to keep in the mound.
“’Tis a queer thing you ask us to believe,” Randel finally said after Fallard finished explaining. “Hares, but not you say. But how can a hare be not a hare?”
Trifine chuckled.
“I said not that ’twas a hare, but a rabbit,” Fallard said, “and that a rabbit is like a hare, but not.” He supposed ’twas a difficult thing to understand for those who had never seen the difference. “Rabbits are better eating, and, aye, those Saxons privileged to feast on the sweet, tender flesh have pronounced it superior. Trust me. You will see and learn for yourself when the stock I purchased arrives.”
***
Across the space nigh to the other firepits, Ysane sewed a new linen tunic for Fallard. She, Roana and Lewena were eavesdropping unashamedly on the men’s conversation.
“Know you whereof Fallard speaks, Ysane?” Lewena asked as she worked on her embroidery.
“Nay, I have not heard of this…’rabbit’ creature.”
“Nor I,” said Roana, “but if one believes Fallard, ’twould seem a very fine dish, fit for the table of a lord and indeed, even that of the king.”
Lewena nodded. “Fallard did mention the king enjoys it. Ysane, you must invite us when these creatures are served. I would taste this new food for myself and ’tis a surety Randel will wish it also, if only to assure himself ’tis not a tale told in jest.”
She chuckled at the disgruntled expression on her husband’s face.
“I will call upon you both to try the dish and judge its merits,” Ysane said, laughing. “Methinks mayhap, I shall also invite Thegn Noll and Lady Matty. ’Twould be a merry time of it should th
ey also be present at such a noble feast!”
She smiled at the enjoyment on the faces of her companions, glad for the peace of the eve and that she felt so much better from her fall. Though Luilda warned she would be sore for a few more days, she had rested ere sup and the healer’s poultices and potions had eased the worst of the aches that still plagued her. She set aside her sewing, sipped the honey-sweetened blackcurrant tea the women were sharing, and took up a sheet of vellum.
“Look you,” she said, and started to draw the outline of a new tapestry she wanted to weave. “I will soon finish the tapestry on which I have worked, and want to begin a new one. Tell me, what think you of this pattern?”
She began to explain her idea.
The women soon dissolved into giggles, for Ysane wished to weave a comical scene involving the confused unicorn in the song she was learning to play on her dulcimer.
***
As the men’s talk moved on to the spacious new cottage being erected for Ceorl, Fallard allowed his attention to wander to the women, or more specifically, to one woman.
I must remind myself when we retire to our chamber this night to ask what inspires so much mirth.
The firelight played on his wife’s animated face and shone like dark orange flames in her green eyes as she glanced at him now and anon.
The sigh he breathed was a deep, slow, silent inhalation, but ’twas one of profound well-being, for this eve was the first quiet gathering of none but family and close friends since his tempestuous arrival at the burh. Sup had been relaxed and enjoyable. At the far end of the hall, Wurth the scop told the story of ‘The Seafarer’. He strummed his lute in time to the chanting refrain. In the corner opposite, the handful of young children belonging to the hall’s retainers gathered together, laughing or arguing as children will do while they played games under the direction of their nurse. Scattered about the hall, men played chess or knucklebones, Norman and Saxon in comfortable companionship, while others whittled or listened to the music. Roul and Fauques, with the other squires, played at games designed to test their manly skills. Even the hall’s servants went about their ceaseless chores, more at ease than he had yet seen them.
For twelvemonths, he had yearned for this scene to play out in a hall of his own and now, ’twas difficult to believe ’twas real. To be complete, all that was needed was the presence of children of his own seed.
Contentment such as he had never known took flight within his soul.
He absently answered a question put to him by Domnall, then felt his glance drawn back to his wife. She looked straight at him, and offered a secret little smile. The room narrowed to naught but the two of them. How long they were locked in that spellbound sphere he knew not, but he was brought abruptly to himself when Trifine nudged his ankle with an ungentle toe.
Glancing around, he saw the hall had fallen silent and everyone grinned at him, even Wurth.
Incredibly, he blushed, the hot blood singeing his face. He could but hope his men would wonder not if being wed had made him soft. From his corner, Wurth launched into a song about a lovesick warrior besotted by a maid he could never have, ignoring Fallard’s scowl.
Trifine leaned over and said, “’Tis not so bad a thing, my captain. I admit I am as equally enchanted with my lovely Roana, and there are others here who are besotted with their ladies, as well. The men are content to see it in you, but now they know, you must make ready to bear their jests.”
Fallard frowned, but then shrugged. He would bear them, for he was sorry not to admit himself enamored of his wife, for already she satisfied him in ways he had never thought to consider. Aye, as a woman of rare grace and beauty, she played the role of lady of the hall with composure and wit, charming her guests. This he had originally desired from her. He also harbored no doubts she would bear him strong sons and lovely daughters.
But she was so much more than the sum of his prideful and selfish expectations. She was intelligent in her thoughts and wise in her decisions. He found, to his constant surprise, he enjoyed conversing with her. His equal in knowledge, he had yet to introduce a subject beyond her ken. He had discovered in her an ability to look beyond that which was obvious, to see from a perspective different than his own. In so doing, she aided his judgments in many ways.
She made him laugh and she had made him blush, and always she quickened within him a desire not only of the body, but of a depth of the heart no other could satisfy. He needed her, if his life and breath were ever to have meaning, or if life itself were to be worth the living. He had not before known how hollow his existence had been, now that she filled and completed him.
Under his eye, she took up a second piece of vellum and began to write, then she brought the page to him. “These are the words I wish written on the runestones for Angelet and my father.”
Fallard read what she had written, and nodded in approval. “The stones will be finished in time for the new moon.”
She slanted him a flirtatious glance, wished all in the hall a good eve, and took herself up the stairs.
A short time later he, too, bid good eve to all and rose to follow her, leaving the others to head for their beds at their leisure.
She was not in their bower when he arrived. Curious, he climbed to her sitting room, but finding that room dark, he moved to the doorway that led to the crosswalk. She stood on the wall, silhouetted against the moonlight, waiting for him. He ran back to the bower to retrieve his cloak and went to join her. The shadows that were the sentries patrolled to either side, but respectfully maintained their distance.
“’Tis so beautiful,” she said as he approached.
She stared across a landscape drenched in moonlight, black and silver, barren of the hues of life. Then a blackbird called, its chirping trill stretching to them across the silence of the night, and they were reminded the seeming emptiness was a false perception.
Fallard stepped close behind her. He slid one arm around her waist, the other about her shoulders and pulled her close, yet mindful of her bruises. She relaxed, seeming grateful to let him take her weight. He pulled aside the edge of her hood to find she had removed her headrail and loosened her braids for him, for he loved to play with her soft hair. Gently pulling a thick strand from beneath her mantle, he wrapped it loosely around his fingers and began to slide its length between them.
“Did you ever wonder, my love, about the stars in the heavens?” The warmth of his breath stirred the hair that lay along the curve of her ear. “Have you read the ancient stories of lands far away, or of the mysteries of life that have yet to be fathomed?”
***
Ysane trembled with joy at the simple feel of her husband’s embrace, at the rapture his touch evoked. She loved this man and almost, she told him so. But even as she thought to speak, the cruelty of another slithered in icy paths through her memory and for the nonce, she held her words.
She wished him to know. She would tell him soon, but not at this moment, for she still harbored uncertainty of his feelings. She feared that although he held some small care for her and called her his love, she was still little more than warmth in his bed and grace in his hall. From the beginning, he had failed not to advise her that was all he required of her.
So she waited, and sought to find words to answer his query.
“When I was very young,” she said, “’twas my belief the stars were tiny pieces of ice sprinkled about the sky. One of my fondest remembrances of my mother was the day she showed me snow is made up of individual flakes of innumerable number. We went outside on a day when the snow fell softly. She placed a cloth of black on the ground and we knelt beside it. I watched as the flakes showed clearly against the cloth and then I knew the stars were falling, for what else could the snowflakes be but the beautiful stars of ice brought down from heaven to earth? I feared that one day, so many stars would fall to the ground none would be left in the sky. My mother laughed, but ’twas many twelvemonths ere she convinced me my thoughts were in error. I was quite
relieved, but also a little disappointed. I was so certain my belief was right, you see. ’Twas rather humbling to learn I could be so mistaken.”
Fallard chuckled at her rueful tone. “Methinks disappointment still lives within you concerning this.”
“Aye, it does. But then methinks, who knows in truth what the stars truly are? Of what material are they made and what is their size or their purpose, beyond that of beacons to guide us in the night? Are they the same in lands far away? Do their mysteries truly have meaning for our lives, as some would have us believe? I know not, but I marvel at their beauty and wonder at their consequence.”
Fallard nuzzled her temple while his hand moved beneath her cloak to find a warm haven. She trembled, but he only chuckled. “Mayhap, I can answer some part of your query. It has been told to me by men of the sea that in lands far to the south, where brave men live nigh to the edge of the world, the stars in the night sky are different than those here. Howbeit, some of those men also insist there is no edge to the world, that the world indeed is not flat but round, like an apple. Thus, one must hark to their words with discernment for mayhap, they seek to make jest with those who are bound to the land.
“Yet, ’tis no secret among the learned that great scholars of the past also believed in the circle of the earth, among them Pythagoras and Aristotle of the Greeks and Pliny of Rome. I myself have read not of this. But Father Gregory, who has told me of his great fortune to sojourn in Rome in his youth, said certain scholars of our own Christian beliefs have also expounded a circular earth. He, himself, believes this not, but merely states that some, such as Bede, have done so.”
“Aye, that is true,” Ysane’s interest in the subject was keen. “Yet St. Bonifice is said to have objected to the belief. But if such wise and learned scholars can agree not, how then does one consider what the truth might be?”
“That I can answer not, my rose. I, for one, have no wish to follow the paths of the sea to learn of these things, whether to Rome or to the lands of the far south.” Unabashed amusement colored his tone. “The crossing from here to Nourmaundie is more than enough for my liking. My stomach appreciates not the waves and my feet prefer the firm ground beneath them too well.”