by Zelma Orr
“I know who you are. What is your business here?”
“It is rumored thou seek a safe dwelling for the king whilst unease rages in the city. Mayhap I can help.”
“In what way?”
Stephen did not like this man. Rebecca had spent much time in his company, aye, more than a year, and she told Stephen naught of their acquaintance. In his jealousy, he refused to question her, but by God's eye, she should say aught of their time together.
“No one would think to search our humble tent for his royal highness, my lord. If the king would honor us with his presence, we would protect him with our lives.”
“Dost agree that King Henry is innocent of murder even though his knights killed Sir Thomas?”
“ ‘Tis not my judgment, Sir Stephen. I do this because of our friendship with Rebecca whilst she was in our midst.”
“What know ye of Rebecca?”
Hugo looked surprised.
“That she is thy wife, Sir Stephen, but she was a friend and hard worker whilst journeying with our band of minstrels and entertaining. She is well-loved by all.”
“Well-loved, thy sayst?” Stephen took a threatening step towards the Frenchman. “Thou art in love with Rebecca?”
Hugo smiled, showing whiteness behind a thick black mustache. “Ah, Sir Stephen. To love Rebecca is not to be in love with her. She dost not encourage such things. Methinks the lovely Rebecca loves her husband and none other.” Hugo bowed, still smiling.
Stephen's heart jumped but a frown remained on his countenance. This man must not see how affected he was by knowledge that Rebecca loved him. She had not spoken of love for her husband, not even when their bodies united with heat.
“What dost offer as dwelling for the king, monsieur?” Stephen said.
“ ‘Tis only a common tent, my lord, but there is fire to warm him and food to eat whilst awaiting other provisions for his safety. His royal highness will be welcomed by my troupe and no one will allow an enemy in the camp.”
Stephen bowed his head, his thoughts dwelling on the king's danger, knowing the ugly whispers would become outraged cries if justice for Sir Thomas’ murder was not sought, and quickly. There were few paths open to them.
“I thank thee for thy kind offer, Monsieur Benet,” Stephen said. “Willst wait in the hall until I have talked with the king?”
The door closed behind Hugo and Stephen walked slowly towards King Henry. He repeated Hugo's plan. “Your majesty, I respectfully say thou should accept Monsieur Benet's offer.”
The king spun around, the two men stared at each other. Finally, the broad shoulders slumped, and the king said, “Thou art right, Stephen. I must leave here.” He brooded at the backs of his freckled hands. “Ere we go, wouldst see Eleanor and ask that she not provoke the children against me? ‘Tis only right she give me support in this tragedy.”
“Aye, Your Highness,” Stephen said and, bowing deeply, turned and left King Henry alone with his troubled thoughts.
* * * *
“Nay, Stephen, ‘tis not the king's right to our support. He has long neglected our children and me. Yea, even to bringing that ... that woman into my own apartment and tumbling into bed with her on all occasions.” Queen Eleanor's countenance was vengeful, her gray eyes sparkling with anger and a glowing triumph.
Stephen winced inwardly. For all these years, he had fenced his feelings between the royal couple, keeping peace when there was no peace to keep. Shifting his personal opinions to fit those of his lord and master. Would that he had never heard of King Henry and Queen Eleanor.
He was tired. He was frustrated by royal demands. Just ... tired. Tired of it all.
If Rebecca wishes to return to Glastonbury and ride Tor over Moon Cliffs, that is what we will do. New Sarum be damned. I do not need to be closer to London after
this—this damnable thing by the king's knights.
He looked at the queen's haughty stance, her face half turned from him, her nose pointed upward. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her body proudly straight. She did not wish to listen to the king's entreaties.
“ ‘Twould be a brave thing if thou would support King Henry during his trying times, your majesty. Knowledge of his children's love would see him through this horror.”
Queen Eleanor smiled, not a friendly nor a pretty smile, but a taunting smirk.
“ ‘Tis late for Henry to look for love in the family he has neglected lo, these many years, Stephen. Thou knowest as I do it is only that he is frightened, that he feels alone and to blame for the archbishop's murder. And well he should.” She sniffed and turned away. “Henry was warned not to put his friend in such a high place, that only ill could come of it. Methinks Henry's condemnation is well deserved.”
Stephen remained kneeling in front of the queen, and now she looked down at him, a real smile softening her lovely features.
“Ah, Stephen, we art lucky to have such a friend as thee.” She sighed. “I promise to keep the children calm for awhile, but Henry must do his penance alone. I will not be a part of it.”
The queen's promise was more than the king could rightfully expect, Stephen thought, making his way back to the king's room. He gave his report and added what he must.
“ ‘Tis my thoughts thou wouldst be safe with Monsieur Benet for the nonce, Your Highness.”
It was plain the king did not wish to hide in a tent, but if Stephen said he should, then he would agree.
“Aye, Stephen, make the arrangements, and I will accompany thee to this—this minstrel's tent.”
He grimaced in distaste as Stephen bowed and left.
* * * *
“King Henry is being cared for in the main tent, Sir Stephen, and Gerald will guard him with his life. No one will get near nor have any knowledge of who lives there.”
Hugo stood outside another tent where he had moved his and Margaret's belongings to give their room to the king.
“I thank thee for thy help, monsieur. And now, I must needs leave London. If there is trouble ere I return, send a messenger to New Sarum.”
“Margaret is preparing tea with freshly baked bread. Mayhap thou wouldst join us before departing.” When Sir Stephen saw his wife was about, he would be much happier, Hugo thought as he turned away to enter the tent.
“I thank thee for I am sore hungry.”
Stephen sat on a log bench in front of a rough table and rubbed his chin, blinking weary eyes at the dreary sky. It would be good to get home to warm fires and dry clothing.
And Rebecca.
“Good evening, Stephen.”
Stephen's head jerked upward, and he stared at a smiling Rebecca holding out a steaming mug to him. He gaped, mouth open, at his lovely wife.
“ ‘Tis good to see thee well, Stephen,” she said. “I was sore worried about thee.”
“What dost thou here? In this tent with Monsieur Benet?”
“I followed thee, Stephen, because...”
He stood, snatched the mug from her hands and set it roughly on the table. “Get thy things. We leave immediately for New Sarum.”
He was no longer tired or hungry. All had vanished with his anger at finding Rebecca in this man's camp.
“Do not speak to me in this tone, Stephen,” Rebecca said. “Hugo and Margaret and Gerald offered me friendship when I had none. I will not leave ere I have reason to.”
Stephen turned.
“Aubin,” he shouted.
Aubin appeared at his side, his crooked grin wide at the sight of Rebecca.
“Take the Lady Rebecca to the carriage. We depart forthwith.”
“Nay, Stephen, I will not go thusly. Thou art cold and unfeeling, and I will not return to New Sarum. Art not happy that Hugo has offered safe lodging for the king? I thought it kind of him.”
Rebecca bit into her lower lip. This was not as she intended it to be. Stephen should be happy to see her, happy that Hugo provided protection for his beloved king. But, nay, he was the same rough and cold man who demanded t
hat which he wanted. Aye, even her body. Malvina's notion that Stephen would welcome Rebecca's love was sorely misplaced.
Her head lifted. She would not shed tears over this.
“Take her,” Stephen said to Aubin through clenched teeth.
Aubin looked from his master to Rebecca. “My lady,” he pleaded.
“Nay, Aubin,” she said.
Stephen's hands closed on her arms, and he pulled her against his chest. “Thou will do as I say, Rebecca. Thou art my wife, do not forget.”
“How canst I forget when dragged by thee hither and yon whenever thou wishes.” She flung the words at him, hurt and wishing she knew a way to make Stephen hurt. “I was right to leave you. There's no room in your life for a wife. What thou needs is a willing prostitute such as thy king has at his beck and call.”
Stephen, his face like thunder, did not reply as Hugo stepped through the tent opening with Margaret behind him.
“What say, Sir Stephen, we are about to sup.” He looked from Stephen's raging expression to the haughty lift of Rebecca's chin.
“We will away to New Sarum and eat at an inn along the way.”
Stephen turned Rebecca towards Aubin who offered his loosely clothed arm to her. Eyes sparkling dangerously, Rebecca took the arm and walked towards the carriage. She looked back once at Hugo and Margaret and lifted her arm in farewell. She would not satisfy Stephen by fighting in front of them.
But he had not heard the last of her.
* * * *
Stephen's cold countenance showed his displeasure, but Rebecca offered no words of explanation or apology. He deserved none. Her throat choked with unshed tears, and her heart ached for what she wished for and could not have. Wasn't it always so?
Very well. As soon as she could pack, she would leave. He would have to chain her to keep her at New Sarum.
“We will stay the night at the inn near the crossroads,” Stephen told Aubin. “Thou will sleep outside the Lady Rebecca's door.”
Stephen did not need to worry. Rebecca was tired and cold from the dampness. And it was here she found she was not with child as a result of her wild matings with Stephen.
“The gods perchance are looking after me,” Rebecca told her reflection in the cracked mirror, a mirror showing an unflattering image of pale face, big eyes and forlorn droop to soft pink lips. “Stephen does not need to worry about having a son, and I shall see that there is no other chance for such. As soon as a few favored things are packed, I will be gone.”
She slept little, and down the hall, Stephen lay wide-eyed, his body stiff with anger. How dare she leave a safe place such as New Sarum to journey to London to see Hugo Benet and his motley group of minstrels? How dare she disobey him?
He arose and walked around the small room. There was no window where he could stare into the darkness, and if he opened the door, Aubin would awake and wonder at his restlessness.
At least, the king is in a safe house. He stopped. Hugo Benet's offer was generous, and he should not condemn the man for his love of Rebecca. Hugo had said they were friends only. Mayhap he told the truth. But how could a man not love Rebecca?
Stephen continued to pace and only towards morning did he lie across the lumpy mattress to close his eyes in sleep.
* * * *
It was barely morning when Aubin readied the carriage and Stephen helped Rebecca inside. Gathering her skirts closely around her, Rebecca huddled away from him. The wind across the low-lying hills cut into clothing, and her fluxes had her irritable and fussy. She wished for a hot drink, something warm to hold, something to take her mind from Stephen's cold and unfeeling demands.
“Thou art comfortable, Rebecca?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Rebecca steadied her voice, unwilling to let Stephen see her misery.
“We will reach New Sarum by mid-afternoon, and thou...”
There was a yell from Aubin, wild whinnies from the horses, and the carriage swung wildly.
Rebecca slid across the bench to Stephen, arms flailing as she tried to balance herself. Stephen caught her, pulling her upright.
“What trouble is this?” he muttered.
He pushed Rebecca into her corner and threw the lap rug from his legs. He reached to open the carriage door when it flew outward.
Now they saw horses, three of them, their riders wearing masks. Each rider held a heavy club and the one nearest the carriage pointed a short sword at Stephen.
“Dismount, my lord,” a cold voice ordered Stephen. “Thou wilt part with thy purse or thy head. Mayhap both, eh?” The cold voice turned into a high-pitched laugh, echoed by men on either side of him.
Rebecca stared with wide, disbelieving eyes at another figure behind the three. He was clothed entirely in black, even to the mask on his face. A heavy sword hung from his saddle scabbard.
“Thy money, my lord,” the black clad figure said. “Dost hesitate your man will lose his head.” He lifted the sword towards Aubin who sat like stone in the driver's seat.
“I have little money, knave,” Stephen said. “Thou art welcome to it.” He lifted a purse from the case at his feet. Stephen knew enough not to argue with highwaymen and would give up his money ere his life, or allowing Rebecca and Aubin to be hurt. This robber, there was something strange about him. He swayed in the saddle as though weak from hunger, as though he lacked enough sleep of late.
Stephen frowned, studying the masked face, letting his gaze drift over the men nearest the carriage. He had heard the man speak ere this meeting, but he could not recall the voice.
“Ho, what of the lovely maiden, sire? Shall we search for gems on her lovely person?” The man who had opened the carriage door peered in at Rebecca.
“Aye, and the garment she wears is worth more than my lady's complete wardrobe,” another voice said. “What say I remove it for my sweet Caroline?”
“Take as thy will,” the bored voice said. “But make haste. Get the money, and then do as thy will with the passengers. Mayhap they have returned from London where they visit fancy shops and have much we can use.” The black clothed rider urged his horse closer to the carriage. “Perchance did see the king whilst in London, my lord? Is it true he cringes in terror over revenges planned for the murder of Sir Thomas Becket?”
Stephen then knew who the highwayman was, and he turned cold with the knowledge—King Henry's son, the one called ‘The Young King’ by all who knew him. Henry's namesake, a scapegrace with his own band of robber barons. Sir Thomas Becket had taught Young Henry while he and the king were still friends. Is this, then, what the archbishop had taught him? To rob and torment weary travelers?
“King Henry even now plans a penance worthy of his royal highness. He is not afraid.” Stephen watched closely as the big horse pranced and drew near to them.
“Ah, yes, penance. Sackcloth and ashes and loud laments for the soul of Sir Thomas.” The man laughed, the laugh cut short by a wracking cough. It was a moment before the man spoke again. “William, put monies and jewels in the knapsack. Aye, and take the lady out that we might see her beauty.”
“Nay,” Stephen said. He jumped from the carriage to catch the rein of the young king's horse. “Nay, thou canst have all the money and jewels but leave Lady Rebecca alone. She is not to be harmed.”
One of the robbers swung a club, hitting Stephen behind the ear. He fell heavily and lay without moving.
Rebecca was out of the carriage, kneeling by her husband, when the same robber yanked her to her feet. She fought, dropping her black velvet muff, her hands out with short nails raking over the man's mask. Her body twisted, arched and stiffened, and her arm hit the ground, scraping painfully. The man grunted and cursed as Rebecca broke loose and swung her fist, which clutched a stone she grabbed from the mud at their feet. He let go, and Rebecca tumbled beneath the carriage wheel. Above her, Aubin fought with the frightened horses, and then she was pulled upward once more and forced against the heaving sides of one of the animals.
“Ah, th
e female tiger, she is,” the hoarse voice of the black-robed rider said. “Tie her up and bring her along.”
Her hands tied behind her, Rebecca was thrown astride the leader's horse. She looked back to see Stephen lying still beside the carriage and Aubin struggling with the reins to restrain the animals.
* * * *
They camped deep inside the woods out of sight and hearing of the road. Horses, carriages, pilgrims and peasants could pass nearby never knowing Rebecca was being held against her will. She could see no hope of rescue.
She huddled near the fire, willing herself not to be frightened, but the ugly language and brash looks afforded her from the group were not to be taken lightly. Stephen had once told her of being robbed and beaten by highwaymen who had later been caught by the king's knights and hanged in the public square.
With heavy heart, she thought of Stephen lying unconscious in the mud, hurt mayhap badly while trying to prevent harm coming to her. How hurtful were his wounds? She shuddered to think how painful they might be.
She stared into the fire, her mind going over plans to escape, discarding them, and turning to another. What could she do against four rough rogues who had not good intentions? With her hands tied, she could not even scratch or throw stones. Anger erased the helpless feeling. She would wait, and she would watch. Sooner or later, they would make a mistake.
“She will bring fair ransom, Henry,” one of the knaves said. He held a tin cup filled with spirits, sloshing it over his hands as he talked. “'Tis a lovely damsel we steal. Mayhap we can have our pleasure ere she is rescued, eh?”
I will cut out thy evil heart ere you rape me, you ... you scoundrel, Rebecca thought, but she kept her eyes downcast on the fire. Already, she had seen the knife lying beside the one called Henry, the leader of the band of rogues. Her fingers tingled to hold such a weapon. She had not used a knife since leaving Grinwold where she cut thick bushes from the pathways around the animal pens or dug into the damp earth for worms to fish when she and Richard sat on the lake shores during moments stolen from papa's demands.