The Conquest

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  The world could not be shut out forever, even if his oath to Ailith had been made for all time. As the season progressed, a niggling voice ate at Rolf's contentment, telling him that whatever his indifference toward his wife, he still had a duty towards her and his daughter. And for all Tancred's competence, the herds at Brize-sur-Risle still required his attention.

  It was May eve and the green fertility of the land was being celebrated with enthusiasm. The village blacksmith, hidden within the fluttering skirts of a hobbyhorse costume, flirted with the maidens and became blatant with the married women. Mead and ale were consumed with true, Saxon capacity, and the three pigs slaughtered especially for the occasion vanished as rapidly as the bread and broth accompaniments.

  Ailith joined the festivities with a childlike enthusiasm. Seeing her standing among the village women, eating slivers of roast pork with her fingers, and laughing at the antics of the blacksmith, Rolf contrasted her behaviour with Arlette's prim coolness, and was filled with a warm glow of pleasure, followed quickly by a feeling of depression.

  Raising her head, Ailith caught him in the act of scrutiny. Their eyes locked. She left the crowd and hurried over to him, her freckled face aglow. The spring evening was as mild and warm as new milk and she wore only her shift and her best undergown, of blue wool. Her hair was decently covered by a light wimple, held in place by a chaplet of white May blossom. He rested his fingertips gently on the garland.

  'In Normandy, at Brize, a chaplet like this would signify your willingness,' he murmured.

  Ailith stooped to wipe her greasy fingers on the grass and looked up at Rolf through her lashes. 'My willingness to what?' she asked saucily.

  Rolf drew her to her feet and then against him. 'To honour the May with the gift of your body to any man who asks.'

  'Then it is a blessing we are not in Normandy, for if so, you would have to wait your turn behind the blacksmith.' She giggled and then hiccuped and put her hand to her mouth. 'I mustn't drink any more mead, it's too strong.'

  Her mention of the blacksmith, a lusty, dark-eyed fellow, sent a pang of jealousy through Rolf, so unaccustomed, that it thoroughly unsettled him. The thought of leaving her for the duty of Normandy grew even less palatable. She was looking at him with an air of provocative mischief that sent an unbearable ache through his groin. He needed to possess her, here and now.

  She seemed somewhat surprised at his sudden urgency, but followed him willingly into the shadows, where he spread his cloak and pulled her down onto it.

  'I cannot wait,' he groaned, tugging at her gown and shift. 'I will burst!'

  She laughed, the sound low and throaty with power, almost a purr. 'My, you have taken the May fever badly,' she said, but altered her position to smoothly accommodate his desperation. Her hands upon him were cool, her thighs too, as she clung to his flanks and returned each hard surge of his body. It was a primitive lovemaking, befitting the rites of the May Eve. There was no finesse, only the raw power of the mating instinct. The plough in the furrow, the sowing of the corn, the begetting of new life.

  In the aftermath, as their heartbeats slowed and their breath grew quiet, Rolf traced the contours of her strong, honest face with his fingertips and thought her beautiful, and yet the releasing of physical tension had given no ease to his mind.

  'Ailith, I have to leave for a while,' he said, gently following the outline of her lips with his forefinger. 'There is a horse fair in Paris that I must attend, and other matters at Brize-sur-Risle that I cannot leave to Tancred.'

  Her half-smile faded and her eyes opened to search his face. 'Other matters? Your wife and child, I suppose?'

  'Don't look at me like that.' He shifted uncomfortably. 'I owe them my duty, you know that. And I have to make decisions about the horses — I'm not going for the sole purpose of seeing Arlette and Gisele. Christ knows, I would rather be with you.'

  Ailith sat up and smoothed her rumpled garments. 'I know you must go to them,' she said with dignity, 'and that you must find horses to breed, to buy and to sell. It would be foolish of me to cling and weep, to beg you not to go. I only wish that you had had the wisdom to tell me on another occasion. First you take me in the grass like a stag in rut, then you announce that you are going to your wife. Or were you afraid that I would deny you once you had spoken?'

  'Yes, I was.' He threw his arms around her, and although she averted her head, she did not shrug him off. 'All I could think of a moment ago was that I did not want to leave or lose you, but that I might do both. You looked so beautiful and I wanted you so much.'

  Her manner softened and with a light sigh, she turned in his arms and laid her head on his chest to hear the steady thud, thud of his heart. 'When must you go?'

  'As soon as I can find a galley to take me across the narrow sea.' He grimaced as if his mouth was full of sour wine. 'The sooner there, the sooner home to you.'

  CHAPTER 28

  At harvest time, Felice and Aubert escaped from London's heat and an outbreak of the spotted fever, and came to spend a month at Ulverton. Although Aubert had visited on several occasions, it was the first time that he had brought his wife and son. Ailith was both delighted and pensive as she greeted the family and made them welcome. Rolf was still across the narrow sea and she was filled with anxiety. What if he chose not to return? What if he sent Tancred in his stead? He had only been away for three months, but it seemed more like three years. She was in half a mind to confide her doubts and fears to Felice, but she held back, unsure as to how her friend would respond. But four days after their arrival, the decision was forced upon her.

  She and Felice were walking by the shore, both women keeping a sharp eye upon Benedict as he skipped along the beach at the very edge of the waves. His pudgy baby fat was melting to reveal coltish, slender limbs. He had his mother's quickness and grace, her sparkling dark brown eyes and regular features. His impish grin, however, was all Aubert's.

  'Aubert is never going to make a wine merchant of him.' Felice laughed indulgently as the little boy lifted a stone and threw it as far into the waves as he could. 'I might almost believe he were Rolf's the way he loves horses.'

  Ailith tried to smile and respond naturally, but she knew that her attempt was poor. Her stomach felt like a cauldron full of boiling broth. The breeze off the sea did nothing to cool her hot brow.

  'Still,' Felice added, her gaze upon her son, 'we have plans for him that will take him far beyond the wine trade.'

  Ailith tried to look interested.

  Felice eyed her sharply and halted. 'Ailith, what's wrong? Are you ill?'

  'It is too hot.' Ailith swallowed valiantly. 'If I can just sit down in the shade of that rock for a moment, I'll feel better.'

  Felice called Benedict to her side, and taking Ailith's arm, drew her up the beach to sit down. Ailith leaned against the cool, dark stone, her head thrown back and her breathing shallow while she fought her nausea. Felice eyed her critically. She knew that Ailith possessed the stamina of an ox and in the normal course of her life was seldom hampered by illness of any kind. A niggling suspicion at the back of her mind began to gain ground.

  'Ailith, are you with child?'

  Ailith swallowed again, and flickered a sideways glance at Felice. 'Is it so obvious?' she asked weakly.

  'Only because you are never sick. I noticed this morning that you broke your fast on dry bread and ale, and there are shadows beneath your eyes as if you have not slept for a week. It must be Rolf's,' she added with certainty. 'I knew when I saw you both at Yuletide that it was only a matter of time before you became lovers.'

  'It happened in February when he returned whole from the north.' She looked sidelong at her friend. 'I love him. Are you going to rail at me and call me foolish?'

  Felice clucked her tongue. 'Where would be the point?' she said with some exasperation. 'I tried to warn you once before in London, and you almost bit my head off. I know how stubborn you are.' She shook her head slowly. 'I remember the way Rolf used to look
at you when you were feeding Ben. He has desired you for a long time.' She was not so cruel is to add that from what she knew of Rolf, the hunt was frequently more important than the capture. Surely Ailith must have that intuition too. And who was to say that Rolf had not finally found what he was looking for? 'All I will say is that you must be careful. Do not give him everything, for I know that he will never return it to you.'

  Ailith placed her hand upon her belly and her smile became wry. 'It is too late for that. And besides, in a way, I belong to him.'

  Felice saw Ailith lightly touch a narrow pink scar on her left wrist. Often she did that when discussing Rolf. The action reminded Felice of the way other women fingered favourite pieces of jewellery, or the nuns at St Aethelburga's their crosses while they prayed.

  'He is in Normandy now, with his wife,' Ailith murmured. 'It is very hard for me to think of him with her. I try not to be jealous. What does she have of him but brief visits of duty?' She looked up at Felice, a haunted expression in her eyes. 'When I was married to Goldwin, I knew that he was mine alone. Had it not been for the war between England and Normandy, we would have lived out quiet, companionable lives. Instead, I find myself tied to the tail of a comet. I have never been so happy, or so lonely and afraid at one and the same time.' She lifted Benedict onto her lap and cuddled him, seeking the comfort of his warm, small body.

  Felice could think of no reassurances to offer to Ailith. Indeed, she was inclined to agree with her that she had tied herself to the tail of a comet. 'When is the child due?' she asked. 'Do you want me to be here for your lying in?'

  'In February.' Ailith gave an ironic smile over the top of Benedict's glossy black hair. 'At the feast of the Virgin. And I would be more than pleased if you were there.'

  'Of course I will!' Felice declared with more enthusiasm than she felt. Having almost died giving birth to Benedict, she had little desire to attend at a childbed. But she owed Ailith too much to refuse her.

  The sea breeze was fresh and the galley frisked through the waves like a two-year-old colt, bucking exuberantly and leaping high.

  Rolf watched the English shoreline approach. The first grey-blue smudge of sighting had yielded to striated gleams of marble cliff topped by green pasture. Gulls and cormorants wheeled above the vessel's striped sail. His heart was filled with anticipation like the bulging linen canvas. He was returning to Ailith, to the harbour of his heart. If he looked back, he would view only sea, the coast of Normandy was far beyond the horizon now.

  He thought briefly of Arlette, of the tears in her eyes as she bade him Godspeed, Gisele clinging to her hand and obediently waving. Returning the gesture, he had felt relief and guilt. He was a visitor, bidding polite farewell to strangers whose hospitality he had shared on his road to a greater destination. Arlette was no fool, she knew that something had changed. At one point, it had been on the tip of Rolf's tongue to tell her about Ailith, but those wounded grey eyes had chained him to silence.

  'Ah God,' he cursed softly to the salt-splashed deck.

  A sound behind him caused Rolf to abandon his brooding and turn round. Tancred's son Mauger was retching over the galley's side, his face a suffering greenish-white.

  'Won't be long until we make landfall,' Rolf said encouragingly.

  'I'm all right, sir,' Mauger said defensively and wiped his mouth. He was small for his age, but what he lacked in stature he made up for in stocky breadth which gave promise of bull-strength in later years. He had a mop of sun-streaked blond hair and eyes of a woodsmoke blue-grey. The distance between his nose and upper lip was short, and like his father, he had a wide expanse of chin.

  Rolf leaned against the tall mast of the galley and felt the creak of her ropes and timbers as if they were a part of his own body. He narrowed his eyes towards the coastline, and although his stance was nonchalant, his blood was fizzing with impatience.

  'Do you think we're safe?' the boy asked.

  'Safe from what?' Rolf smiled and cast his eyes to the solid blue of the sky and the rapid progress of white clouds.

  'That Danish fleet we were told about in Honfleur. What if their ships are here in the narrow sea?'

  'They'll be headed for the north lands, for their allies in the old Danelaw,' Rolf said. 'And like as not, the King has already gone there to deal with the threat.'

  'But that merchant said there were upward of two hundred warships.'

  'That is not as many as we brought to Hastings, and even Swein of Denmark and the sons of Cnut are not match enough for William. Stop fretting, lad, we're almost home.'

  Mauger spun to heave over the side of the galley again. As far as he was aware, they had just left home, and their destination could never aspire to that title. His apprenticeship to his father was finished. He was now to serve Rolf, and hope to prove Tancred's expectations. It was a heavy responsibility and Mauger had only just turned thirteen years old. Sick, miserable, he stared at the white churn of the wave crests three feet from his nose and longed for the familiar haven of Brize-sur-Risle and Fauville. His imagination, not usually vivid, was peppered by visions of the boat capsizing in a sudden squall, and of himself drowning in a high and murky sea. Even when the lookout perched on the mast cried landfall, the terror remained, and Mauger was taken with a fresh bout of retching.

  'A baby?' Rolf stared at Ailith as if she had addressed him in old Norse. He looked her up and down, but she was wearing her loose Saxon garments again in which she could have been a full nine months round and a pregnancy would not have shown.

  'I wore the white hawthorn on May Eve,' she said, 'there are two women in the village due at the same time as me. Are you not pleased?'

  There was an anxious note in her voice. Rolf strove to compose himself. 'Yes, of course I am, but grant me a little space to recover from my surprise. When I left you, you were as slim as a wand.'

  'Well I'll soon be as round as a pease pudding,' she retorted.

  'I'm twice the size I was when I was carrying Harold, and I have quickened already.'

  Her tone was hostile, as if she was blaming him for her condition when the begetting had been a mutual pleasure. Rolf slipped his arm around her waist and drew her against him. He had embraced her on the harbour side, but that had been in front of a host of villagers and castle folk, and without benefit of information, he had not noticed her increased girth. Now he ran his hand lightly over her belly and easily detected its round swell.

  'February?' he repeated, mentally counting the months and feeling dismayed, for whenever Arlette was pregnant, she insisted that they must not lie together because it was against the teachings of the Church. Besides, there was always the danger that she might miscarry. And even after the child was born, the Church declared that a man might not lie with a woman until she had been out of childbed for forty days.

  'Rolf, what's the matter? Why are you scowling?'

  He deliberated for a moment, then told her. 'I am selfish, I know, but I cannot bear to be near you and not touch you.'

  The anxiety cleared from her brow and she laughed with relief. 'Is that all?' She patted her belly. 'Well I might be growing by the day, but I'm not too huge yet, and when that time comes…' She cocked her head on one side. 'Well surely there ire other ways?'

  Rolf laughed too and shook his head. Just when he thought he had her measure, she would surprise him anew. 'Do you recall in your first months at Ulverton, when I used o call you Abbess Ailith?' he chuckled. 'You would not even let me lift you down from a baggage wain without scolding my ears off!'

  She had the grace to blush. 'That was before I yielded up ay common sense,' she murmured, looking at the floor.

  'And found your reason,' he retorted, unpinning her wimple to nibble at her ear and her throat; and from that moment, all conversation ceased for no small time.

  'Keep an eye on Mauger for me,' Rolf requested in the lazy aftermath of their lovemaking, his long body stretched at ease beside hers in the great bed, the palm and fingers of his right hand spread up
on her stomach to feel the tiny, flutterings of the life she carried within her. 'He was sick all the way across the narrow sea, and he's homesick too.'

  'I will do what I can,' Ailith murmured, and rolled into the warmth of his body, savouring the feel of his flesh against hers. 'But I am not his mother.'

  His shoulder moved beneath the web of her hair. 'She died soon after he was born, and Tancred's never taken another wife. The lad's only ever known wet nurses and the women of the castle. He never complains, but a matronly eye would not go amiss.'

  'And you think I have a matronly eye?' She snuffled at him, inhaling his scent — the sweat of love-play, the tang of woodsmoke from the hall. Her tongue came out. Her teeth playfully nipped at his bicep.

  'Certainly you have a matronly figure.' The palm of his hand gently rubbed; his fingers arrowed lower with delicate precision and she caught her breath.

  'Whose fault is that?'

  'Mine, I suppose,' he murmured, and once more they ceased to talk.

  CHAPTER 29

  Julitta of Ulverton was born a little after sunrise on a bright February morning in the year 1070. Having kept her mother awake all night with severe labour pains, she shot into the midwife's spread apron and announced her presence to the world in no uncertain terms. She had a fuzz of dark red hair and a face to match, although that soon became a more healthy pink as each resounding cry cleared her airway.

  'And I thought Benedict was loud,' Felice remarked as the baby was cleaned of blood and mucus and wrapped in warm swaddling. The sight of Ailith labouring had swept her on a flood of memories to her own travail, and at the moment of Julitta's birth, she had been unable to watch. Nor was she at ease until the midwife, Dame Osyth, a woman with nine children of her own, had delivered the afterbirth and pronounced that the blood Ailith had lost was 'nought but a smidgin'.