Hostage Bride

by Anne Herries

  ‘Pull him down. What are you—weaklings? He is but one man.’

  ‘One man too many for you,’ Raphael cried and dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks. The beast snorted and leaped forward, shaking off the men on the ground. Raphael rode at the baron, who drew his sword and prepared to defend himself. ‘Will you fight me now? Call off your dogs and fight like a man?’

  The baron lashed out at the horse, causing it to shrill, rear up and almost unseat Raphael. He clung on, bending low in the saddle to sweep down with his sword arm and strike at the baron’s arm.

  Sigmund gave a scream of anger or pain and struck again, his sword striking the metal guards that protected the lower half of Raphael’s leg.

  His men were watching the battle, looking uneasily from one to the other. Then the sound of bloodcurdling cries alerted them and suddenly thirty or forty men were pouring out into the courtyard. They wore the same colours as Lord Mornay and charged towards him as Raphael whirled on his horse and then rode at the baron once more.

  Men-at-arms, who had been trying to decide how best to help the baron, were suddenly under attack themselves. They called for help, and their comrades who had been watching from the battlements began to make their way down the stone steps, but there was room for only one or two at a time.

  Raphael had dismounted and was now engaged in hand to hand combat with the baron. Outside, the sound of a fanfare could be heard. Some of the men on the ramparts looked down at the huge company of knights that had gathered below their walls. Suddenly, a cheer came from every throat on the battlements and someone gave the order to lower the drawbridge.

  Raphael and the baron fought on, but the rest of the men fell silent and put down their swords, disengaging as the fanfare sounded again and they saw the advance party of knights. They carried the King’s standard and, as they saw it, man after man took up the cheering! Then they threw down their swords and one by one fell to their knees as a tall man rode forward.

  ‘God save His Majesty! God save the King!’

  Gradually becoming aware of what was happening, Raphael stood back, lowering his sword. He would not fight in the presence of his king, for all men must bend the knee. In that moment, the baron struck a terrific blow against his shield and sent him staggering back.

  The baron stood over him, his sword hovering as Raphael fended his shield and struggled to rise.

  A woman’s scream was heard and suddenly Rosamunde came from nowhere; racing towards the baron, she flung herself on his back and put both hands over his eyes, blinding him. He had been so intent on his kill that he was taken aback, and turned round and round in a circle, trying to shake her off and roaring in frustration. Her nails scratched across his face, poking at his eyes and making him yell out in pain. In seconds Raphael was on his feet. He picked up his sword and struck at the baron’s legs, which was the only place he could strike without injuring her. Rosamunde fell off and lay on the ground, winded and shaken, until Janquil rushed to pick her up and carry her to safety.

  ‘Enough!’ the King cried. ‘The next man to use his sword in anger will be hanged by my order.’

  Baron Sigmund’s head swivelled. He saw Richard’s face and his own fell, his mouth opening in shock. He stood back, finally dropping his sword. Then he went down on one knee, leaving Raphael and the King the only two men still standing.

  ‘Well, my old friend, it seems that I am in time,’ Richard said and smiled. ‘Though from what I could see you were well on your way to victory before I arrived.’

  ‘It seems someone else had less faith in me than you, sire,’ Raphael said, and looked angry. Across the compound Janquil was trying to control Rosamunde but she broke from his hold and ran to Raphael’s side. ‘That was the most foolish thing I have ever seen. I sent you home. Why did you defy me and come here?’ he asked furiously.

  ‘We all came through the secret way,’ Rosamunde explained. ‘We feared treachery from the baron—he might have killed you had the men not come to your aid.’

  ‘Go back to Janquil at once,’ Raphael ordered, his lips white.

  ‘You are angry because I tried to help you.’ The colour drained from her face. ‘You were down. I thought he would kill you before you could rise.’

  ‘I should not have allowed that to happen, lady,’ the King said and smiled at her. ‘Your action was brave but unnecessary. Your lord was in command of the situation.’

  ‘How could he…?’ Suddenly realising who she was addressing, Rosamunde’s cheeks flooded with colour and she sank into a curtsey. ‘Forgive me, sire. I meant no disrespect.’

  ‘Go with Janquil, as your lord requested,’ Richard advised her. ‘Yet I would not have you leave us too soon. Your lord hath told me of his intention to wed, and you have proved yourself worthy of our respect. It is in my mind that I would speak with you later in private—after I have dealt with the situation here.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’ She glanced at Raphael but his expression was icy cold. ‘Forgive me.’

  Rosamunde bowed her head and returned to Janquil. She knew from Raphael’s manner that he was very angry indeed with her.

  ‘I have offended my lord,’ she said dismally to Janquil.

  ‘He was so angry with me. What have I done that was so very wrong?’

  ‘You have made a fool of him before his men,’ Janquil explained. ‘It was clear that you imagined he needed help, and that shames him.’

  ‘But the baron stood over him. He would have killed him.’

  ‘He was in no way finished,’ Janquil argued. ‘The baron struck a foul blow after Raphael put down his sword because he was in the King’s presence. However, I have seen him down, without either shield or sword, and yet winning the contest. My lord is a mighty warrior indeed. You should not have acted as you did, lady.’

  ‘Then why did you open the secret way for the rest of us?’

  ‘Because the baron is an evil man who would not have stuck to his bargain. He reneged on his promise to meet Raphael in single combat. Had the men not disobeyed his orders and entered the castle, Sir Raphael might have been hanged in revenge for Sir Edmund.’

  Rosamunde bit her lip. She looked across the compound, wishing that she could be there and hear what was going on.

  ‘What will happen now?’

  ‘The King is mediating between them,’ Janquil said. ‘It might be that he will decide they should settle this by combat.’

  ‘No!’ Rosamunde caught the sob that rose to her lips. ‘My lord may be killed after all.’

  ‘No, look—the baron is on both knees before the King.’

  ‘Now he has risen to his feet.’ Rosamunde wrung her hands in distress. She dared not disobey either the King or Raphael by approaching them and she could only watch as the King began to speak.

  ‘Oh…’ she gasped. ‘The baron is picking up his sword. What is going to happen?’

  Janquil placed a warning hand on her arm. ‘Stay here, lady. My lord will not forgive you if you interfere now.’

  ‘They are going to fight again,’ Rosamunde said, her eyes stinging with tears. ‘I cannot watch this…’

  ‘You must, unless you wish to shame both yourself and your lord,’ Janquil said. ‘Your King is here. The fight will be fair, because the baron knows that if he tried treachery he would be severely punished.’

  ‘Yes.’ Rosamunde lifted her head, holding back the tears. Her heart was beating wildly but there was nothing she could do other than stand and watch. It was unbearable but she must bear it because she had no other choice.

  * * *

  The fight was fast and furious but over very quickly. Rosamunde could scarcely believe what she was seeing. The baron was a huge man and must have been tremendously strong, his blows enough to send any foe to the floor, but to her surprise Raphael was more than a match for him, meeting blow with blow and seeming faster and more skilled. For what seemed an endless agony for her, they thrust and parried, but finally the baron’s sword went spinning and he dropped to hi
s knees.

  Rosamunde was too far away to hear what was being said, but she saw Raphael look at the King. Richard inclined his head and Raphael held his sword to the baron’s throat, but then he said something and dropped his sword. Baron Sigmund bowed his head, then rose to his feet. The King stepped forward, indicating that the two men should make up their quarrel. The Baron offered his hand; Raphael took it and a sigh of relief went through the assembled watchers.

  ‘What has happened?’ Rosamunde asked Janquil.

  ‘My lord has shown mercy. He has given the baron his life and in return received his homage. Raphael is now lord of this manor and its demesne, but he will allow Baron Sigmund to remain as the lord here—providing that he gives allegiance to the King. The baron must hold the castle in the King’s name, and come when my lord commands, but otherwise he is his own man. My lord asks nothing more than his allegiance.’

  ‘I do not understand. How do you know this?’ she asked, bewildered.

  ‘I am able to read expressions and words,’ Janquil explained. ‘It is one of my skills that my lord prizes. I am not certain of it all, but I have seen this kind of surrender before at Acre.’

  ‘Do you think the baron will keep to his bargain?’

  ‘He must. If he does not, his life is forfeit. My lord would need only to say the word and he would be outlawed.’

  Rosamunde bowed her head, saying nothing more. The baron was offering hospitality to the King. Servants were scurrying here and there. Raphael sent one furious glance towards her and then strode past her into the hall with Richard.

  Feeling unsure of what she ought to do, Rosamunde followed at a distance. The baron had ordered food to be brought and the hall was a hive of activity.

  Raphael was ignoring her. Rosamunde felt hurt and angry; did he not understand that she’d acted impulsively out of love for him? She had not meant to embarrass him before his men—indeed, she saw no reason for him to be humiliated by what she’d done. The baron had struck a foul blow and she’d gone to his assistance. How could that be so very wrong?

  Tears pricking her eyes, she turned and fled from the hall. There were men everywhere and she did not wish to be seen weeping. In despair she fled to the tower room where she had been held captive by the baron, took the key from its lock and locked it on the inside before throwing herself on the bed to weep.

  * * *

  It was perhaps an hour later when someone knocked at the door. Rosamunde asked who it was and Griselda answered her.

  ‘Your lord sends for you to come down, lady.’

  ‘I do not wish to come,’ Rosamunde replied dully.

  ‘A meal has been prepared. Everyone is waiting for you. If you keep them waiting, both Lord Mornay and His Majesty will be angry. You have no choice. I have brought you a clean gown to wear.’

  Reluctantly, Rosamunde answered the door. Her tears had dried and now she was angry too. It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, but she realised such behaviour would seem childish. She would not give Raphael an excuse to treat her as a naughty child, but would instead treat him with cool dignity. She had had enough of his coldness. Now he should see that she too could be proud.

  Some minutes later, dressed in a gown that the party from the castle had brought with them, she went down to the hall. Everyone turned their heads to look at her as she entered and stood hesitating, uncertain of her place here. Then the King walked towards her, a smile of welcome on his face.

  ‘Come, my lady,’ he said kindly. ‘I would have you sit at my left hand. ‘I thought your action brave, if fool hardy, and would not have you hang your head in shame.’

  ‘You are generous, sire,’ she murmured, her cheeks pink.

  Rosamunde took his hand and let him lead her to her place beside him at the high table. Since Raphael sat at his right hand, she was spared the necessity of looking at him or speaking to him.

  ‘Now, my lady Rosamunde, tell me how your father fares. I have heard that he has been ill-treated in my absence and it is my intention to make recompense as far as I am able,’ the King said.

  ‘Baron Sigmund told me my father was dead, but I have since heard that he lied. I would like to go home and see for myself, sire,’ she said.

  ‘Then I shall arrange an escort for you,’ Richard said. ‘Tell your father that I am mindful of all he has done for my cause in the past and will do what I can to help him. I return to debts and turmoil, but something will be arranged as soon as it can be managed. I do not forget my friends.’

  ‘I thank you with all my heart,’ she said, smiling at him.

  The servants were bringing dishes of rich meats, soups, stews and roast boar to table. As always, a page first tasted everything the King ate, but nothing untoward happened, and the atmosphere was a merry one.

  Gradually, Rosamunde felt some of the tension leave her and she ate a little of the food placed before her, particularly the soft cheese, figs and dates. She drank sparingly of the wine, for though it was sweet and fruity it was also very strong.

  As the company ate and drank, minstrels sang songs of brave deeds and lovelorn knights to entertain them. There was also a juggler, and a dwarf who did acts of tumbling and buffoonery.

  Now and then the King spoke to her, but most of the time he was talking with Raphael in a low voice. She caught snatches of their conversation and knew that it concerned Prince John, who had presented himself to his brother with alacrity once he had heard that the people had flocked to the King’s standard.

  ‘My brother blames his council and bad advice for the evil that has taken place here,’ Richard was saying. ‘I know that he lies, but he is my brother and carries the same blood. If I exacted a cruel punishment, my soul would carry the stain of his blood. I am minded to be lenient on this occasion.’

  Rosamunde could not hear Raphael’s reply but the King nodded, obviously pleased with what was said. When the evening was well advanced, she asked the King if she might be excused. His permission given, she rose to her feet, curtsied and then walked away. She did not dare to glance at Raphael for fear of what she might see in his eyes. He had promised to wed her, but that had been before she had humiliated him before his men.

  Griselda had waited to help her undress, but she sent her away and sat on a deep stone window-ledge recessed into the thick walls, brushing her long hair as she gazed out at the night. The sky was dark, but a crescent moon was behind the clouds, and now and then its silvery light brought a glow to the darkness.

  Hearing the knock at her door, she stiffened, then got up and went close to it, asking who was there.

  ‘It is Raphael,’ he said. ‘Please allow me to come in and speak with you, Rosamunde.’

  She hesitated, then sighed and turned the key, standing back as he entered and then turning away. She went back to her window and continued to look out at the night.

  ‘Richard tells me he has promised you an escort to your father’s home,’ he stated.

  ‘Yes.’ She did not turn to look at him. ‘My father is ill and I would care for him.’

  ‘I told you that he is well cared-for by Beth and Ferdie and lacks for nothing. Did you not believe me?’

  ‘I would see him for myself,’ she said stubbornly.

  ‘Very well, I shall take you there.’

  ‘A small escort is all that is needed. I dare say you are too busy to concern yourself with such things,’ she said coolly.

  ‘Have you learned nothing?’ Raphael’s voice grated and she heard the suppressed anger in it. ‘Do you not know that you will never be safe unless you marry? Your husband must be strong enough to protect you or others will seek to steal you away for their own ends.’

  ‘Perhaps you would have me retire to a nunnery?’ she shot back. ‘If I shut myself away from the world I shall cause no more trouble—for you or anyone.’

  ‘Foolish woman!’ She felt his hands on her shoulders. A shiver ran down her spine and for a moment she felt as if she would faint from desire. He turned her to face him.
‘Look at me and tell me you wish to become a nun.’

  His eyes blazed at her passionately. Rosamunde’s gaze dropped from the heat in his. She could not lie to him. All she wanted was to be his wife and lie in his arms the night long.

  ‘I have caused you so much trouble. I do not wonder that you hate me,’ she said brokenly.

  ‘I could never hate you,’ he said huskily, giving her a slight shake. ‘How could you think it?’

  ‘You do not love me. I know your heart lies in the grave with your first wife.’

  ‘I cannot deny that I did care for her,’ he said, and a nerve flicked in his throat. He hesitated, then spoke again. ‘She was a sweet child and did not deserve to die so foully. But you must know that I care for you deeply,’ he continued awkwardly. He’d never avowed his love for any woman before and he was suddenly uncertain of what to say to her.

  ‘No. I thought…I did not know.’ She spoke the words so softly that he hardly heard her. She saw him frown and took a deep breath. ‘I thought it would be enough for me to be your wife without love, my lord—but I find it is not.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ His question was swift and angry, but also uncertain.

  ‘I want to be loved passionately,’ Rosamunde said earnestly. ‘I know that you cannot give me the love I desire and so it will be better if I go to my father.’

  ‘You are renouncing your promise to wed me?’ he asked in disbelief, stung by her rejection of him.

  ‘I…No…’ she faltered and the tears trickled down her cheeks. ‘Yes, perhaps. I must have time to think. I am no longer sure what I want.’

  Raphael stared at her in silence for what seemed an eternity, then he bowed his head grimly. ‘Very well, if that is your wish. I shall take you to your father.’

  ‘Raphael, I didn’t mean…’ The words died on her lips as he turned and walked out, closing the door hard behind him. ‘I love you.’

  She sank down on the edge of the bed, lowering her head into her hands as the bitter tears came. Raphael cared for her, and would wed her with all honour, but he did not love her as she wanted to be loved—as he had loved Messalina.