The Conquest

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  'I only wanted to…'

  'So did I,' she interrupted, her eyes suddenly bright with tears. 'It is not wise for us to be alone together. I do not trust you, Ben, but most of all, I do not trust myself! No, do not follow me,' she snapped. 'What will be said of us if we are seen emerging from the garden together at this late hour?'

  She hurried down the garden path, still smoothing her gown and checking her wimple. Benedict cursed and struck his fist upon the soft turf of the seat. Some of it was natural frustration at the untimely interruption, but most of the anger was directed at himself for handling the moment with such crass clumsiness. He had intended seeking her out to smooth the ground between them, and ended up strewing yet more thorns. Tool,' he muttered to himself, and rising, went slowly to the silent bee hives. 'I am a fool,' he reiterated, and laid his hand against the side of the woven skep. A sense of the enclosed energy of the insects throbbed through his palm and along his fingertips. When a suitable amount of time had passed, he left the garden quietly, and went to discover whose arrival had both saved and stranded himself and Julitta.

  Julitta closed the garden gate behind her, took several deep breaths, and then walked briskly towards the bailey entrance. There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, a combined broil of thwarted lust, guilt, relief, and disappointment. She knew exactly how far she and Benedict would have gone without this interruption, and that she ought to be grateful. But no such emotion beat in her blood just now. With loins that still flickered, and with aching breasts, she went forward to perform the duty of respectable chatelaine.

  A man clad from head to toe in chain mail was dismounting from a stocky chestnut stallion. The horse's neck was crusted with sweat and the scars of recent wounds were dark scabs upon its hide. Julitta's heart lurched and she almost screamed aloud in fear.

  'Mauger!' Her hand went to her mouth, to her lips still full and red from Benedict's kisses. 'What… what are you doing here?'

  He gave the reins to a groom and turned round. 'I could ask the same of you,' he replied while removing his coif and arming cap. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and a short, deep cut under his left cheekbone.

  'I, I…' she stammered, hoping against hope that Benedict would not leave the garden now beneath the full suspicion of Mauger's jealous gaze. Dear Jesu, what if the troop had arrived just a little later into the night. Her face flamed. She sought swiftly for a means of escape. 'Oh, that is easily explained, but surely you will be more comfortable if you come within and let me help you unarm.'

  His eyes narrowed, but he nodded stiffly and consented to follow her towards the keep.

  'You look as if you have ridden hard,' she said to engage his attention, and forced herself not to crane her neck in the direction of the garden.

  'I have.' He rubbed a weary hand over his face. 'There is news, grave news from Rouen. Your father must be summoned, and Benedict too.'

  Julitta's entire spine prickled with cold. Somehow she managed to keep moving. To have stopped and stared at mention of his name would have given her away. 'Benedict and Gisele are already here,' she said, averting her face so that he would not be able to read her eyes. 'They rode in from Rouen just before vespers. Neither of them mentioned anything about grave news.'

  'No, they would have departed the city before Duke William arrived.'

  'It concerns the Duke?'

  They climbed the stairs of the motte slope together. Mauger's breathing grew laboured beneath the weight of his mail and Julitta had to slow for him. At the top of the steps, he paused to regain his wind, one hand pressed to the stitch in his side.

  'The Duke is dying,' he panted. 'We went for the throat of the French, attacked Le Mans and set fire to it. His stallion, the chestnut your father gave him last year, it stepped on a burning ember and shied. The Duke was thrown upon his saddle pommel and it has torn him somewhere inside — mortally torn him. Messengers have gone out. All the tenants-in-chief who are able, are summoned to Rouen to hear his dying wishes for his lands.' He removed his hand from his side and straightening, walked slowly towards the hall.

  Julitta now hastened before him and chivvied the servants to bring food for the returning men. Fires were stirred to life, and people poked to wakefulness. Julitta threw herself wholeheartedly into the duties of chatelaine, hiding her anxiety within her attention to domestic detail.

  Mauger eyed her bustle with pride. Her behaviour these days was all of his doing. He had been right when he told Rolf that all she needed was a household of her own and the guiding hand of a firm husband. And yet the pride was mixed with a certain amount of doubt. She was a little too meticulous in her observations of duty, and he was not sure whether it was deference or fear that caused her to keep her lids lowered and avoid his gaze.

  'That is my reason for appearing so suddenly at Brize's gates,' he said as she helped him remove his armour. 'But you have still not told me yours.'

  She had fine, milky skin that coloured easily. Even though the solar was only illuminated by candlelight now, he could tell that she was blushing. Her lower lip chewed from side to side and she quickly turned away from him to set his discarded garments upon coffer.

  'You said there was a simple explanation,' he said, watching her closely. 'Perhaps it is as simple as Benedict de Remy.'

  He saw her stiffen for an instant before she turned round. This time, although her colour was high, she looked him straight in the eyes. 'Gisele and Benedict did not ride in here until sunset. I came to Brize because Lady Arlette had need of me. That is the truth, and you may ask anyone to confirm what I say.'

  Mauger eyed her broodingly. Clad in the old, sweaty tunic he wore beneath his armour, he sat down at the solar trestle which was adorned with a spread of cold meats, a raised pie, bread, cheese and honey cakes. There was also a flagon of wine. He stabbed a sliver of meat on the point of his knife, and eyed the length of her legs beneath her garments. His loins tightened with pleasurable anticipation. Leaning over, he placed his left hand possessively on her thigh and squeezed.

  'I hated every moment of soldiering in the Duke's army,' he declared. 'Jesu, I almost went mad of a night thinking of you alone at Fauville. You were alone, weren't you?'

  Julitta looked down at the trestle, at his hand upon her thigh. 'Yes, Mauger, I was alone.'

  He reached to the flagon, filled his cup and drank. 'But wishing you were not,' he said, and kneaded her thigh. She blushed again. Smiling, Mauger drained the cup, then drew her towards him. 'Show me,' he said huskily, 'show me how much you missed me, and I will show you how much I missed you.'

  'Here? In the solar?' Her eyes darted. 'Someone might disturb us.'

  'Let them. We are husband and wife.'

  'But…'

  Mauger's expression was tense with desire. 'I laid not so much as a finger on the whores of the Duke's army camp,' he said through clenched teeth. 'I haven't had a woman since I left you. We are alone, and you'll not deny me. Do as you are bidden.'

  With shaking hands Julitta reached to the neck fastening of her tunic. Mauger watched her fumble. She looked as if she might cry. He thought that either he had done an excellent job of teaching her modesty, or that she did not want to lie with him, and because the latter was damaging to the image he had of himself, he chose the former.

  'Come, come,' he cajoled. 'Pretend that we are at home, that this is our bedchamber. Leave that.' Pushing her fingers away from the clasp, he laid her down on the solar floor with its thick covering of straw, and raising her skirts, mounted her. Julitta gasped as his weight covered her. Mauger groped within his braies and his erect organ sprang free, purple and bursting. Once, twice, he jabbed at her, and then he thrust home, full and strong. She was ready for him, he could feel by her moist-ness that she was. Mauger closed his eyes and savoured. Two weeks had seemed an eternity. He held onto the exquisite sensations burning in his groin. Two hard thrusts and he would be home, but he wanted to prolong the agonising pleasure, and so he checked himself, holding hi
s breath and moving just the barest fraction. Lifting himself a little, he was able to fondle Julitta's breasts. He almost wished that he had let her undress so that he could caress them unhindered. Beneath the slow rubbing of his palm, he felt her nipple bud and harden and heard her breathing quicken. Usually she was passive, as befitted a dutiful wife, but tonight he felt a change in her, as if she had caught the scent of his own desire.

  Mauger had found his rhythm now, a gentle rocking that kept him on a plateau beneath the pinnacle and allowed him to explore his wife's body. Now and again she whimpered softly. Her eyes were closed, and there was a slight frown marking the smoothness of her brow. Her hips began to rise and fall against his, urging him to more vigorous motion.

  Had Mauger but known it, he was only completing what Benedict had started in the rose garden. Julitta's earlier arousal had left her body receptive to Mauger's intrusion. And Mauger himself, by exerting more control than usual, had brought her to fever pitch.

  Her hands clenched upon his spine, and her legs parted further. The whimpers rose in volume and became a drawn-out cry. Unable to resist any more, Mauger seized her buttocks and plunged, his body shuddering in the throes of climax.

  He was still pushing lazily in and out, responding to the twinges of aftermath when Benedict walked into the solar. The young man stopped dead and for a shocked moment stared at the two of them. Mauger did not rise off Julitta, or try to conceal himself. Instead he smiled at Benedict with triumph in his eyes. Julitta, her eyes still closed, made a soft sound and rotated her hips, seeking further pleasure. Benedict whitened. Without a word, he turned on his heels and left.

  Julitta's lids fluttered as she felt the swirl of cold air from the disturbed curtain.

  'It's all right,' Mauger said, 'nought but a draught.' Then he gave a rich, self-satisfied chuckle, and pinched her thigh. 'I see indeed how much you have missed me.' He withdrew from her, and did not turn away as he usually did to tuck himself back inside his braies. Mauger's sexual confidence had increased by leaps and bounds during the last quarter candle. The look upon Benedict's face had been the gilding on the moment though.

  Julitta stood up and shook down her rumpled, straw-decked skirts. Her legs felt shaky; her woman's parts still quivered and pulsed. She had closed her eyes and imagined that she was still in the garden with Benedict; that the floor was made of crushed herbs, not straw and that the body to which she was joined, owned a slender, wiry strength, instead of a stocky bullishness. Indeed, she had almost sobbed Benedict's name aloud as Mauger brought her with him to the moment of supreme pleasure. It was the first time he had ever done so. She thought she knew the reasons, and yet she was disturbed by the very sensuality of her own nature. Perhaps any man would suffice to satisfy her if she just imagined him wearing Benedict's face. She just wanted to be left alone, and was too relieved to be resentful when Mauger told her to go and join the other women while he attended to 'men's' business.

  'Were you looking for me a moment ago?' Mauger asked innocently as he joined Benedict before the fire in the hall. He chuckled. 'You must forgive us. Julitta was as eager to greet me fittingly as I was to greet her. Time apart whets the appetite.'

  Benedict gazed down at his hands and fought the urge to clench them into fists and punch the supercilious smile off Mauger's face. If a man could enjoy bedding with different women, then it must work the other way around too. He did not blame Julitta, but he was brimful of jealous pain all the same, and he did not need Mauger's heavy-handed boasting. He made a non-committal sound and shrugged. 'I was told that you had ridden in with the tidings that the Duke is dying?'

  The smirk left Mauger's face as he was recalled to the wider arena of the political world. 'It is true. I saw him after his horse trod upon the burning ember in Le Mans, since I was the one summoned to deal with the crazed beast. Our lord Duke is not long for this world. He was in such pain that they had to bear him in a litter to Rouen. He has summoned all his vassals. You will have to represent Rolf if he does not arrive in time.'

  Benedict did not miss the curl of Mauger's lip. Not only Julitta sat like a poisoned cup between them. So did the fact that Benedict was Rolf's heir, while Mauger, although he was Rolf's son-in-law too, was only a vassal. Benedict knew that Mauger thought him a jumped-up merchant's son whose only claim to nobility was through his marriage into a higher bloodline. And he, in his turn, saw Mauger in a less than favourable light and was all too willing to denigrate any good points that the man possessed. 'Certainly I will go,' he replied, 'but I hope to God that Rolf will be able to represent Brize himself. He knew the Duke well; I only saw him from a distance.'

  Mauger nodded. 'It was always Rolf's prerogative to select William's mounts.'

  'Oh, I have selected horses for the Duke before now. His tastes were predictable – the larger and meaner the better, but Rolf always did the negotiating himself. The Duke was not fond of younger men. I think he had been soured by the behaviour of his sons. I wonder what will happen now,' he added thoughtfully.

  'What do you mean?'

  'Well, if William is dying, what will happen to his lands? Will they remain whole in the possession of one son alone, or will they be divided up? And if they are, will Rolf find himself owing allegiance to more than one man?'

  Mauger gently fingered the scabbed cut on his cheekbone. 'I had not thought about it,' he said. 'I suppose that by tradition the hearth lands will go to the eldest son, and the conquered lands to the second one. Robert for Normandy, Rufus for England, and whatever scraps remain to young Henry.'

  Benedict pursed his lips. Mauger was probably right. Albeit that William's eldest son, Robert, was currently in rebellion against his father, the young man would doubtless inherit Normandy, and William Rufus would take England. It was a worrying prospect. The relationship between Robert and Rufus was a stormy one, compounded of brotherly love and brotherly hate in equal proportions. It would be laughable if it were not so frightening, that one day the men of Brize and the men of Ulverton might be called upon to fight against each other. Himself against Mauger. He chewed his lip on the thought. It would be all too easy. Between them there was no love to temper the hostility, only sense, and he knew how easily that was lost.

  CHAPTER 51

  On the ninth of September 1086, William, Duke of Normandy and King of England died at St Gervase on the outskirts of Rouen. To his eldest son, Robert, he bequeathed the duchy of Normandy; upon his second son William Rufus, so called because of his ruddy complexion, he bestowed the kingdom of England, and to his youngest son Henry, nineteen years old, he gave five thousand pounds of silver from the treasury, and his blessing.

  None of the brothers was pleased with his share of their father's inheritance, the word 'share' in itself a stumbling block. Each desired the whole, and the Norman barons who had served the Conqueror faithfully found themselves having to choose between his sons. As Benedict had foreseen, men such as Rolf with lands on both sides of the narrow sea, had no option but to break their faith with one of their disgruntled overlords.

  'In Normandy I will serve Duke Robert for the fealty owed by Brize,' Rolf told Benedict at William's funeral in Caen. 'In England, I will serve William Rufus, since his father designated him king. And if they come to blows, I will commute all my military service to payment in coin and let them fight it out between themselves. I have no desire to be torn in two.'

  Following the funeral, Rolf repaired to Brize for the winter season. His wife was slowly dying, and he knew that he had to be with her, as he had not been with Ailith. When Benedict crossed the narrow sea to Ulverton, Gisele remained at Brize to nurse her mother, although she dutifully sent her husband an embroidered belt as a Christmas gift.

  Benedict presided over the Yuletide feast in Ulverton's long hall. Despite the presence of the villagers, the priest, retainers, soldiers, grooms, servants and anyone else who could squash into the festively decorated room, he felt utterly depressed. The revelry which he had always taken pleasure in before, no
w seemed trivial and garish.

  A villager capered beneath the high table. He wore a fantastic costume composed of shredded fabric in different shades of green — pea and emerald, sage and olive. His face was smeared with the colour too, and a pair of antlers crowned his shaggy brown hair. He was The Green Man, Jack-in-the-Green, denizen of Maytime and Yule alike.

  Benedict desired no reminders of the month of May. Once it had dwelt like fire within him. Now there were only ashes. Taking a flagon of wine, he left the hall and went to his solitary chamber. To think about Julitta increased his depression. Not to think of her was almost worse. Torn between one and the other, he sat in a grey haze of self-pity while Christmas, season and spirit, passed him by.

  Late the following month, he was out in the fields, inspecting the mares soon to foal, when King William Rufus arrived at Ulverton unannounced, and demanded to see the bloodstock. Summoned by a groom, Benedict hurried back to the wooden keep, and bent the knee to the monarch who still sat upon his horse, his pudgy hands toying with a decoration on the saddle pommel.

  'Get up, boy,' Rufus commanded.

  Benedict concealed his irritation at being addressed as 'boy' and rising, went to hold the grey stallion's headstall whilst the King dismounted. 'Sire, this is an unexpected pleasure.'

  'I have no doubt that it is,' Rufus answered with an edge to his voice. It was gravelly and harsh, suiting the scoured, ruddy features. He was smaller than the Conqueror, but possessed the same stockiness of build. A barrel on bandy legs was how Rolf had once described Rufus, and the comparison was entirely appropriate. Benedict was slightly above average height and Rufus's eyes were on a level with his mouth, and this the King stared at for a long moment, before his gaze drifted down Benedict's body in a fashion that men usually used when they were eyeing women.

  It was not the first time that William Rufus had made his interest known. Glancing round the group of retainers accompanying the King, Benedict caught the pouting scowl of the current court favourite, a slender young man with a bright blue Phrygian cap set at a rakish angle on his blond curls.