Forbidden Love

by Maura Seger

  "Is there no way to stop it?"

  He shook his head sorrowfully. "Not that anyone knows. The few doctors who are willing leave their homes to tend the sick are giving purges and letting blood at a fearsome rate. But that only seems to hasten the fever's course. So far as I have been able to find out, no one who gets it survives."

  Roanna set her jaw angrily. She was damned if she would stand by and let death become a triumphant presence in her house. Mustering every ounce of strength and will she possessed, she threw herself into a desperate struggle for life.

  But her efforts seemed to have little chance of success. The woman who was first stricken died, as did two of the men-at-arms. Refusing to give their bodies up to the hooded monks whose creaking carts began to make regular collections throughout the city, she arranged for them to be taken to a nearby cemetery, where they were given what was rapidly becoming the rarest of all luxuries, a proper Christian burial. The rites had to take place without her for she was far too busy tending to the ill to leave the house even briefly.

  Alaric became her only contact with the outside world. He and those of the thegns who were still on their feet made regular forays for food and other supplies. They brought word of the plague's continued spread. It had reached beyond London, following the path of panic-stricken citizens attempting to flee its clutches. Many nearby villages now refused admittance to any stranger.

  William set a stalwart example by remaining in his capital, with the rest of the court having no choice but to stay with him. But many others bribed watch captains to let them slip through the city gates, which were now kept closed day and night

  In the midst of this terrible travail, Roanna gave thanks for her husband's absence. Colin was far enough away that it would still be some time before news of the plague reached him and he could even attempt to return home. His safety was her only comfort as one horror-filled day blended into another.

  Several more men-at-arms were stricken and quickly died. The disease seemed to be increasing in virulence. The sorrowful toll of the death bell could be heard at all hours. Those few courageous or desperate enough to venture out found streets littered with unburied bodies, which often lay where they had breathed their last

  Just when she believed the terror could not possibly become worse, Roanna was faced with even greater despair. Lady Margaret who had worked tirelessly beside her to help care for the sick, joined their ranks.

  Alaric found her collapsed in a corner of the family quarters, her gentle face bathed in sweat and her body racked by fever. Choking back his anguish, he carried her swiftly to a pallet

  Through waves of gathering unconsciousness, Margaret tried vainly to reassure him. "It's nothing. ... I'm just tired. . . . Don't bother Roanna. . . ."

  Alaric ignored her. He sent a thegn rushing off to find his mistress before quickly stripping the sweat-soaked clothes from her and wrapping her in warm blankets.

  Margaret was not so far gone that she could not still be embarrassed by her nudity. She tried weakly to stop him, only to be flatly told, "For God's sake, Maggie, do you think I haven't already imagined you like this many times? Be a good lass and lie still, else this is the closest you and I shall ever come to what I think we both want"

  His gruff frankness succeeded where nothing else would have. With a soft moan, she gave herself up to his care. When Roanna reached them scant moments later, she found her friend nestled in the old housecarl's arms, his head resting on her own and his eyes tightly closed as he sought desperately to pour his strength into her stricken form.

  With shaking hands, Roanna set about what was by now the routine of care. Ignoring standard medical treatment, she did not resort to purges or bloodletting. Instead, she meticulously prepared and administered the potions known to reduce fever, lanced the purulent blisters, and applied the salve which through trial and error she had found seemed to prevent the rash that presaged death.

  As Lady Margaret drifted in and out of delirium, Alaric refused to leave her side. Once Roanna had shown him what to do, he assumed full responsibifity for her care. Drawing on the strength that had carried him through countless battles, he waged a remorseless struggle with the skeletal shadow hanging over the woman he loved.

  The few others who also appeared immune to the plague took their turns beside the sick beds so that Roanna could snatch a few hours' rest. But it was on her, as mistress of the household, that the burden of treating the victims fell.

  At first the struggle was solely to stave off the specter of death. But slowly, imperceptibly, in tiny victories won from moment to moment the tenor of battle began to change. Despite the leaden sense of doom hanging over the city, Roanna found a few tremulous signs of hope.

  Lady Margaret and many of the others she tended did not die. For a while they seemed simply to hang between one world and the next as the fierce battle went on to drag them back from the precipice. But then, so gradually that she could hardly believe it, they began to heal.

  Fevers hesitantly abated, resurged, then departed for good. Blisters shrank and vanished. The deadly rash withdrew, not to be seen again. Patients regained consciousness, blinked with surprise at finding themselves still in this world, and weakly called for water. There was a sudden need for nourishing broths that could be spooned down parched throats.

  A week after the plague first struck, Roanna dared to believe it might be lessening. She still heard the death bell and the creak of carts outside in the streets. But inside, in her own domain, the shadow of doom was rescinding.

  Two of the most seriously ill thegns recovered sufficiently to leave their pallets. Lady Margaret was still weak, but able to take solid food. Alaric sat beside her hour by hour encouraging her to eat, talking with her gently, or simply watching her sleep.

  Others continued to improve slowly but steadily. Roanna was able to rest more and restore her strength. The day came when she could take time out to bathe, wash her hair, and don clean, bright clothes in a gesture less of defiance than impending triumph.

  As the plague retreated, so did the effects of the flood Those so busy caring for the ill hardly noticed that the sun had reappeared. But as the muddy roads and sodden buildings dried, the rats withdrew back to the riverbanks, and the stench of rotting waste was blown away by a fresh breeze. Hesitantly, the survivors turned their eyes to heaven and dared to ask if the cataclysm might be over.

  Roanna herself declared it at an end on the day the last of her patients was able to rise from his bed and stand under his own power. In the aftermath of terror more profound than what any human force could cause, there was a natural desire to rejoice. Though the dosing of the market had stretched their food supplies to the limit, she directed that a special meal be prepared. Divisions of rank were temporarily forgotten as servants and retainers alike gathered in the hall to celebrate their victory over death.

  No food ever tasted better, no drink was ever sweeter than that which reaffirmed life. Roanna received glowing praise as man and woman alike credited her for bringing them safely through an ordeal which had destroyed thousands. Her embarrassment was acute as she tried to convince them that everyone had helped make their survival possible, but no one would listen. She was the living symbol of their triumph, and they would not be denied the right to honor her.

  In the midst of so much joy, there was yet more. Alaric shyly announced that the Lady Margaret had agreed to become his wife. This pronouncement brought cheers from the household that threatened to shake the rafters. It was the cue for yet more courses to be brought out and additional kegs of ale and wine to be cracked open.

  The old housecarl came in for some gentle teasing, which he took with high good humor. The least comment was an excuse for laughter. Musical instruments were brought out, and voices just a bit creaky from disuse lent themselves to love ballads.

  As the revelry proceeded, even the most routine precautions taken in times of peace were temporarily waived. It was unthinkable that any of the guardsmen should m
iss the celebration. They left the posts they had maintained even during the pestilence to join in the rejoicing.

  So it was that the armed men approaching the keep found their path unimpeded. Even the door to the hall was unguarded, allowing them to enter without first announcing their presence. Their grim faces hardened even further as they took in the signs of merrymaking. Not until their leader rapped hard on the floor with his scabbard was their intrusion realized.

  Montague FitzStephen gazed about him contemptuously. Everything he saw about him seemed to reaffirm his low opinion of the Anglo-Saxon waste infesting the country. It made the task he had come to perform all the more pleasant

  With measured strides, the tall, powerfully built knight crossed the hall. His armor glittered darkly and the plume in his battle helmet was dyed blood-red. Onyx eyes gleamed as he threw a rolled document on the table before Roanna.

  Only her quick signal stopped her men from reaching for their weapons. She had caught sight of the seal holding the parchment together. However treacherous FitzStephen might be, he came on the King's business.

  Rising, she faced him calmly. "What is this?"

  The Norman looked her over narrowly before he responded. "A warrant for your arrest"

  "That's preposterous!" Alaric exploded. The other housecarls and thegns joined him in repudiating such an absurdity.

  Roanna had to raise her hand to quiet them. Somehow managing to keep her voice steady, she asked, "On what charge?"

  FitzStephen allowed himself an icy smile as he said, "Witchcraft"

  Chapter 15

  "This really couldn't have happened at a worse time," William complained. He turned from his perusal of the scene out the window to regard Roanna glumly. "You must believe me, I didn't want to have you arrested. But I had no choice."

  Trying hard to look sympathetic, she refrained from mentioning that whatever inconveniences he might be suffering could hardly be compared with her own plight. Instead, she said softly, "I still don't understand how this happened. What did FitzStephen tell you to prompt such action?'

  The King's black eyes focused on her intently, as though trying to judge the degree of her sincerity. He must have been convinced because at length he said, ""You honestly don't know, do you?"

  Roanna shook her head mutely. She sat up straight-er in the hard, wooden chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap and her features rigidly composed. Whatever was coming, she meant to confront it with dignity.

  "Robert d'Almaric is dead" Seeing the shock this blunt statement wrung from her, William went on more gently. "He was one of the first to succumb to the plague. He died crying out that you were responsible. I believe his exact words were to the effect that you had summoned a pox on him. Now ordinarily I wouldn't have paid any attention to that. But with thousands dead throughout the city and your own household relatively untouched, FitzStephen has a rather compelling case."

  Struggling against an almost overwhelming sense of disbelief, Roanna blurted, "You can't be serious! Robert was a disappointed suitor liable to say anything for vengeance! And as for my household, only skill and good fortune saved us from taking losses as severe as anywhere else! In the name of God, would you condemn me for being able to heal!"

  "No, no! But you must try to understand my position. FitzStephen is an old and valued retainer. He is also the leader of the faction that wants to see all the Anglo-Saxon nobility destroyed. As such, your husband has become his prime adversary." Shaking his head, William concluded, "It didn't take much cunning to realize that Colin is most vulnerable through you. FitzStephen hopes to provoke him to some enraged act that will make it impossible for me to let him keep his lands."

  "Colin is far too intelligent to fall for such a trick," Roanna declared firmly.

  "Perhaps, but if that fails, FitzStephen has a fallback position. He knows that it is in large measure Colin's marriage to you that predisposes me to believe him capable of loyalty. If that marriage ends, I will be more inclined to replace him with a Norman lord."

  "Ends? But how . . . Only the Pope can dissolve a marriage."

  William sighed regretfully. "I am not speaking of dissolution. Witchcraft is a capital crime."

  Cold fingers of fear crawled through Roanna. For the first time since assuring her retainers it was safe for her to answer the King's summons, she wondered at .the wisdom of her action. Would William actually stand by and let her die?

  There was no clue in his expressionless features. Studying him in the vain hope of comfort, Roanna was reminded of the merciless expediency he had always shown in matters affecting his own power. From the moment he first put foot in stirrup to win for himself the lands his father could not leave to a bastard son, William had let nothing and no one get in his way. He had triumphed over almost insurmountable obstacles, and in the process had won a well-deserved reputation for ruthlessness. She would have to be a fool to believe the habits of a lifetime would be suddenly ignored for her sake.

  Caught in the middle between those of his followers who wanted an accord with the conquered and those who looked forward only to more bloodshed, William would not willing alienate either. Instead, he would seize any opportunity for the conflict to be settled by seemingly divine intervention. All unwittingly, she had provided him with just such a chance.

  Dimly, she said, "I gather you mean to try me?"

  William nodded, privately relieved that she was intelligent enough not to need everything spelled out In the back of his mind, he regretted that it had to be Roanna who was caught up in such a mess. Besides the genuine fondness he felt for her, there was the far deeper bond of affection for her brother. But Guyon was miles away across the width of the country, and FitzStephen could no longer be put off. Regret it though he might, he knew she could not be spared the confrontation that would at last decide which policy would rule in England.

  "It is necessary." Reassuringly, he added, "But nothing will happen for at least several days. There is much to be arranged."

  "I hope," Roanna murmured tightly, "that some of those arrangements will include notifying my husband and brother of this outrage."

  Impervious to her angry tone, William surprised her by saying, "Messages are already on their way."

  Roanna had to be content with that. Escorted from the King's presence, she was taken to a small, barred room high in the keep. There she was locked in with a sleeping pallet, blankets, a container of water, and her thoughts.

  The tedium she had suffered during her first days as Colin's captive proved as nothing compared to what she now had to endure. Days that only a short white before had been far too short to accomplish all that needed to be done dragged by in relentless monotony relieved only by bouts of fear.

  Her cell, she swiftly discovered, was precisely twelve paces long and ten wide. The small, barred window was set too high in the wall for her to be able to look out comfortably. But if she stood on tiptoe and pulled herself up by her hands, she could just see the bailey below. The effort, however, strained her back and leg muscles, which quickly began to ache.

  The jailers who guarded her in three shifts night and day were at first not inclined to talk. They seemed to take the charge of witchcraft seriously, at least to the extent of crossing themselves each time they came anywhere near her and refusing to meet her eyes. But that behavior fortunately did not last.

  Before very long they apparently decided she was simply a young, beautiful lady who through a set of extraordinary circumstances found herself in their care. This new attitude proved far more pleasant than the other. All three men were sensible enough to treat her with rigorous propriety. But they did unbend enough to express their growing support in a multitude of small ways.

  Little treats began to appear on her trays. From one of the taverns across the road, which provided far better food than the stronghold's own kitchens, came fragrant barley soup and fresh-baked white bread. A handful of daisies appeared next to brighten her drab surroundings. Softer blankets replaced the
regulation issue. Hot water was provided twice daily.

  Her modesty was respected to the extent that none of the guards would enter the cell without knocking first When they did, their conversation was unfailingly cheerful. They brought welcome word of life outside her prison, but no news was as eagerly received as the announcement that William had decided to allow her visitors.

  Alaric and Margaret came first. Their anxious faces brought a lump to Roanna's throat. She embraced them warmly, hastily reassuring them that she was all right

  "There's no reason to look so grim. I'm being quite well looked after."

  Her friends were less certain, but they were not about to inflict their worries on her. Stalwartly, Margaret said, "Well, you'd better be or there'll be hell to pay. The King has given strict orders you are to be treated with all honor and respect"

  Roanna had suspected William was behind her good care but she was glad of this confirmation. Surely if he was as neutral as he pretended, he would not show any interest in her circumstances.

  "If he thinks that makes up for imprisoning you," Alaric growled, "he's an even bigger fool than he seems. Word of your arrest has already spread beyond the city. I've had offers of help from every Anglo-Saxon lord in the area. With Colin away, every one of them is ready to take arms in your defense."

  "Oh, no!" Roanna exclaimed. "There mustn't be any trouble. We would be falling right into FitzStephen's trap."

  Alaric nodded somberly. 'That's what I figured. So far I've been able to keep them under control. But I'm not sure how much longer that can last. Our own men are chomping at the bit. They're all for marching on this keep and taking it apart log by log to get to you. If you aren't released soon, William's going to have a full-fledged battle on his hands."

  "Tell the men they must be patient," Roanna instructed firmly, "and say the same to those who have offered help. I deeply appreciate their concern, but we must look to the future. Even if you did manage to free me, we would only have convinced William he cannot count on our loyalty, which is exactly what FitzStephen wants him to believe. That must be avoided, at all costs."