'Does that mean I'm to be trained like a horse and then sold off to the highest bidder?' she demanded.
'Selling you off is the last thing on my mind, Princess. I've only just found you again.' He looked at her sidelong. 'Think of acquiring skills, whatever they might be, as armouring yourself against the world. You have learned to survive, to be independent and think for yourself. Now you must learn control; to bite your tongue when it is unwise to speak out. Lady Arlette can teach you a great deal, do not reject her out of hand.'
Julitta nodded sensibly. Her father patted her head affectionately and turned to talk to one of his retainers. A sudden pang of loss swept over her. She desperately wanted her mother, the comfort of her arms, the warmth of her unconditional love. Instead, all she had was the hostile, dutiful care of Arlette de Brize. Her father, for all his kindness and appearance of understanding, was a man and a stranger, self-centred at his very core. He could not even begin to comprehend.
Muttering an excuse about needing to visit the privy, Julitta escaped the hall. Her father's was not the only gaze to follow her hasty exit. Further down the main trestle, Benedict watched her with troubled eyes, and so too did Mauger, a deep frown between his brows.
CHAPTER 43
'She hates me, I know she does!' Julitta mutinously dragged off the wimple that Arlette had said she must wear whenever she ventured out of the private quarters, and tossed it aside.
Benedict paused while saddling up Cylu to admire the glossy tumble of her curls. The July sunshine burnished the strands to a bright garnet red. She was seated on a heap of straw, her legs parted in most unladylike fashion, her modesty preserved by the full folds of her blue riding gown. He knew that, like casting off her wimple, the pose was in deliberate defiance of Arlette. She and Julitta never quarrelled in front of Rolf these days, but it did not mean that the battle between them had ceased.
'She doesn't hate you,' he contradicted. 'You exasperate and baffle her. More than half the trouble that comes your way is your own fault, you know. You should learn to compromise.'
Julitta glowered at him, but Benedict ignored her expression and resumed harnessing the horse. He was learning how to deal with her moods and had discovered that paying her no heed was the swiftest way to bring her out of a sulk. Besides, he was fond of her, and aware that he was the one to whom she turned to air the frustrations and upsets which she kept to herself on the battlefield.
The straw rustled and a moment later Julitta came to the gelding's head, stroking the soft grey muzzle and muscular cheeks. 'She wants to turn me into a copy of Gisele. She wants me to live my life in that room above the hall with nothing in my head but needles and thread and weaving patterns. I feel as if I am in a prison.'
'Gisele has more in her head than just sewing and weaving,' Benedict defended his betrothed. 'Perhaps it is that you do not want to see beyond it.'
Julitta gave him a glittering look, her expression one that he could not define. 'She doesn't like me either,' she said.
'And you don't like her.' Benedict led Cylu out into the fresh early morning. Already saddled in the bailey was Julitta's small chestnut mare. 'Each of you should appreciate the other for her particular skills.'
'Did you never think of becoming a priest?' Julitta snapped waspishly and led her mare to the mounting block.
Benedict laughed. 'What, and become a martyr?'
Side by side they rode out of the yard. Rolf was absent, delivering three young mares to a client in Winchester; Mauger had returned to Normandy; and thus, for three days, Benedict held responsibility for the stud at Ulverton. He was accustomed to such weight, for it had devolved upon his shoulders before – for the first time when he was sixteen. He was a calm, level-headed young man with a maturity far beyond his years -a maturity that occasionally lapsed if not yoked to the plough of serious occupation.
He looked at Julitta's profile, the daintiness of her nose and cheekbones, the sensual cushion of her mouth. He knew well why Gisele did not like her half-sister. It was a matter of jealousy, simple and hot. Gisele's silvery attractiveness became watery and insipid beside Julitta's raw beauty. Men looked at Julitta in a way that they never looked at Gisele, himself included. And God on the Cross, she was not yet fifteen. He tried not to think about that. She turned her gaze to him now, her eyes a dark sea-blue, flecked with green.
'Anyway,' she tossed her head, 'I've found a way of escaping from the hall and still keeping in Lady Arlette's good graces.'
'You have?'
'I'm learning bee-keeping. The hives are out in the meadow and Arlette never visits them. She hates bees even though she values the honey, and besides, all the grass makes her sneeze and her face swells up.'
Benedict compressed his lips, forcing himself not to chuckle at her resourcefulness. 'The bees will suffer if you slack your duties,' he warned.
'Oh, don't be so pompous,' she scoffed. 'I like tending the hives. Did you know it takes three weeks for a bee to grow from a grub to a worker?'
Still suppressing a grin, Benedict shook his head. 'I know nothing about bees except that they make honey and there is no taste like it straight from the comb with new, warm bread. Even the thought makes my mouth water. I remember your mother giving me a piece of honeycomb when we came to stay at Ulverton in the old days.'
'My mother used to like bees too.' Julitta's eyes grew distant. 'She used to tell them everything of importance that ever happened in the hall.'
'What for?'
'So that they would not fly away, of course!' She looked at him as if he were simple-minded. 'If you forget to let them know who has died, or who is to be married, or when a baby has been born, they will swarm.'
Benedict raised a sceptical brow.
'Well that is what the old lore says.' Julitta shook back her hair. 'Of course they swarm when the queen gets old or the hive becomes too crowded, but it's still best to talk to them. Besides, there is no danger that they will carry tales. I can tell them what I think of someone and they won't scold me or lecture me on how I ought to behave.'
'And I suppose they taught you how to sting too,' Benedict said with a wry grin.
Julitta wrinkled her pert nose at him. 'They die if they sting,' she said after a moment. 'The barb lodges in whatever they attack and they cannot free themselves.' A small shiver ran down her spine.
The destrier herd was spread out over the lush midsummer grasslands, mares, foals and yearlings grazing together under the watchful eye of a powerful silver-grey stallion, a son of Sleipnir.
Confidently, Benedict pointed out to Julitta the best horses in the herd, and indicated which yearlings would be kept for breeding and which would be sold and for what purpose. Julitta was an interested listener and an apt pupil with a born eye. She forgot to be prickly and defensive, her natural personality sparkling through.
'When we lived in Southwark, one of our neighbours had a horse that came from Spain. It was a stallion, but apparently it had no seed — no mare it covered had ever quickened. He still kept it though, just to parade on. I have never seen a horse so beautiful, nor so intelligent or good-natured.'
Benedict felt the excitement take and squeeze him as she spoke. 'That is what I want to do with this herd in the future,' he confided with enthusiasm. 'I want to introduce a strong vein of Andaluz blood, put more fire in their hooves. Oh, they're excellent animals now, you'd have to go all the way to Spain to find anything better, but I want the name of Brize-sur-Risle to shine as the best. To do that, we need to buy stock from the infidel lands, but for the moment, that's nought but a dream. It is almost impossible to get the Moors to part with a stallion unless there is some defect – as your neighbour in Southwark discovered. And for now I still have to prove myself to your father.'
Julitta eyed him, her own face flushed. 'But you will go one day?' she said breathlessly. 'When you are able?'
'Yes, I will,' he said with determination. 'Once I have learned all I can from your father, and once I've fulfilled my obligation to
Brize by marrying Gisele and begetting an heir to continue the line.'
The animation left Julitta's face. Abruptly she pulled her mare round and dug in her heels.
Benedict was startled at her change of mood, but dismissed it as Julitta just being her mercurial self. He knew that she was changing rapidly from child to woman. In the months since he had found her, her scarcely budded breasts had developed an alluring roundness, and her hips a gentle curve. She had grown too, was going to be tall for a woman, perhaps even reaching his own height, which was a little short of two yards. But with the changes to her body, came difficult fluctuations of mood. He had endured a similar stage himself as an uncertain youth of fourteen summers, his voice slipping from high to low, like a file across a sword blade, his burgeoning private parts a source of wonder, embarrassment, and pleasure. Of course, it was different for girls, but he still thought he understood, and held back to give her a little space. Or perhaps the space was for himself.
CHAPTER 44
BRIZE-SUR-RISLE, SEPTEMBER 1084
'He's marrying my sister today,' Julitta announced to the industrious bees circling around the entrance of the basketwork hive. It was a glorious autumn morning, and although the insects were not as active as they had been in midsummer, there was still late pollen to be gathered and harvested. 'I know I should have told you before, but I did not want to believe that it was real.' Lightly she spread her fingers against the side of the skep. 'I wish it was me,' she whispered, her throat closing with tears.
Earlier that morning she had helped Gisele to dress in a wedding gown of palest blue silk, cut in the new fashion which moulded to the body. Gisele's supple, boyish figure was well suited to the style, and the colour was a perfect foil for her clear grey eyes. Her fine, silver-brown hair had been washed in chamomile and brushed down to her hips in token of her virginity, and a chaplet of wild flowers crowned her brow. Gisele had always been pretty, but today, attired for her wedding, she looked breathtaking, and Julitta had been filled with bitter jealousy. In the end, to avoid being physically sick, she had fled the chamber full of chattering, gossiping women, and escaped to the sanctuary of her bee skeps.
The morning dew had soaked through Julitta's thin, gilded shoes, darkening the leather. The hem of her dress was damp too. Lady Arlette would scold her, but Julitta did not care a bean for the woman's opinion. Indeed, just now she hated her. Julitta's attire for the wedding had been carefully selected by her father's wife. The gown was cut in a similar fashion to Gisele's, but not quite so closely moulded, so that Julitta's delectable curves were not displayed to their best advantage. While the over-dress was not expensive silk like Gisele's, it was nevertheless of a superb quality linen, heavy and close-woven. Arlette could scarcely be accused of parsimony. Julitta had never owned such a fine gown, but the bright orangey-yellow colour of the fabric was disastrous against her pale, satin skin and rich garnet hair. She looked as if she was suffering from an excess of the yellow bile. Julitta had been more than tempted to take from her coffer the knife of which Arlette so disapproved, and use it to slash the offending garment to shreds.
Julitta was not vain by nature — usually she did not care what she wore, but she was accustomed to seeing admiration in men's eyes, in Benedict's in particular, and was mortified to know that today he would look nowhere save at his bride.
'It isn't fair,' she muttered to the bees. 'Ben should be mine.'
'Found you at last,' said Mauger impatiently. 'They're all looking for you. It's time to go to church.'
Guiltily, Julitta whirled to face her father's overseer. He was dressed in a tunic of dark blue wool trimmed with scarlet braid. His heavy blond hair had the feathery look of recent washing, and there was even a gold ring on one of his fingers. It was easy to forget when his daily garb consisted of plain shirts, worn tunics and dusty chausses that he was a landholder in his own right. Today he was the lord of Fauville, and wore his rank boldly.
'Lady Arlette said you'd be here,' Mauger added when she continued to stare at him without speaking, torn between resentment and surprise. 'She says you always visit the hives when you're out of temper.'
'I'm not out of temper,' Julitta snapped.
Silently Mauger held out her cloak. It was a slightly darker orange than her dress and equally disastrous to her complexion. Gracelessly, she snatched it from him and put it on.
Mauger observed her from beneath his brows. 'Lady Arlette says that you're to stay with me until we reach church,' he said brusquely, and led her to his tethered horse. 'You're to sit pillion.' He gathered the reins and gained the saddle, then reached down for her hand to pull her up behind him. Julitta perched on the horse's rump and grasped his belt to hold herself secure. Mauger's neck reddened, and he shifted uneasily in the saddle as if there was a thorn under his buttocks. The proximity of his lord's young and nubile daughter performed a disturbing alchemy on his body.
They rode in silence. Julitta was in no mood to make conversation and Mauger was more taciturn than ever, his mind occupied with ambitious thoughts, not unconnected with the discomfort of his half-erect manhood.
When they arrived at the church in the village, he dismounted and helped Julitta down from the horse. Her body grazed against his as he set her on the ground and involuntarily his hands tightened. Jesu, it was almost more than a man could bear.
Julitta pulled away from him, disliking the dampness of his palms and the look in his eyes. He reminded her of Merielle's clients at Dame Agatha's bathhouse and she did not want to be with him. She stared round, saw Felice and Aubert de Remy, and in relief hastened over to them. Mauger wrapped his fists around his belt and followed her, his head slightly lowered, giving him the aspect of a charging bull.
Felice greeted Julitta with a warm hug and sound kisses on both cheeks. 'Let me look at you, child! My, haven't you grown!'
Julitta grimaced and plucked at the skirt of the dress. 'I hate this. She did it deliberately. I'd rather be wearing that old blue gown you gave me in London!'
'Nonsense! Look at how rich and heavy this material is.' There was a hint of censure in her voice, as if she thought Julitta was being ungrateful.
'Yes, so I'll have to wear it as my best gown for ever and ever!'Julitta's eyes darkened. 'She didn't even ask me if I liked it, just chose and bought it herself from the mercer. She doesn't want me to compete with Gisele.'
Aubert raised a wry brow at his wife, cleared his throat, and excused himself, pausing only to put his arm across Mauger's shoulders and tactfully lead him away too.
Felice tried to soothe Julitta's ruffled feathers, but with little success, for she was only uttering platitudes and both of them knew it.
'Perhaps you could dye it another colour,' Felice suggested, cocking her head on one side. 'If you could darken it a few shades, it would go well with your hair.'
Julitta's eyes brightened at the thought of stuffing the gown in a vat of water with leaves of lady's bedstraw and pummelling it viciously with a pole. Perhaps she could arrange something next time the homespun wools were being dyed.
'Anyway,' Felice added softly, 'this is Gisele's day. You would not want to outshine the bride, would you?'
Julitta lowered her gaze without speaking. She wanted to be the bride.
Felice eyed her compassionately. 'You are very young,' she said. 'Too young to know your own mind, but old enough to think you do and feel the pain. It will pass, believe me.'
Julitta shook her head. She had known her own mind since she was five yean old, and she had given up believing a long time ago.
The marriage ceremony took place in the porch of the church as was the custom. Bride and groom clasped hands in the presence of the priest and the wedding guests, and spoke the formal, binding words, neither of them faltering, both firm and clear. Benedict was resplendent in a tunic of rich crimson wool and blue chausses, the colours setting off his dark good looks. Julitta had never seen him appear so handsome, nor Gisele so beautiful. She heard other guests murmuring w
hat a well-matched couple they were, how fortunate the families were in having such fine heirs.
Julitta watched Arlette fuss and preen at the compliments, saw the pride in her father's eyes as they followed the bride and groom towards the waiting horses. Beside Julitta, Felice was sniffing and dabbing at her eyes.
'Are you ready to return to the castle, Mistress Julitta?' Mauger said at her elbow. His face, at least, reflected no emotion. She nodded and silently followed him to his mount. As he drew her up behind him, she discovered to her dismay that they were alongside Benedict and Gisele. The couple were pressed close together upon the same horse, Gisele smiling at the unaccustomed pleasure of being the centre of attention, Benedict's optimistic nature made exuberant by the atmosphere of celebration. Averting her eyes, Julitta grasped Mauger's belt and leaned against him, pressing her face against his solid back and closing her eyes as she had once done behind Benedict when he had saved her from the geese.
Bathhouses had taught Benedict several valuable lessons when it came to the art of making love. He knew that such knowledge sat quite at odds with what Gisele had been taught by her mother, and was not a little perturbed. It was like being invited to a feast and then being told that you could not eat any of the food spread before you. And where was the pleasure in that?
Gisele looked at him nervously. The sheets were drawn up to her chin, concealing her pale, slender nakedness. He sat up beside her, his own olive skin tanned deep brown from his busy outdoor life. They were alone and the door was barred, but the sounds of celebration still drifted through the wood. Some folk would stay up until dawn, reminiscing round the fire, talking and singing. He half-wished he was with them now, a guest himself, but he and Gisele had a duty to perform and a bloody sheet to present in the morning in token of that duty accomplished. And the other half of his wish was watching him fearfully for any sudden move.
The Conquest Page 36