"I, too."
"When do you plan to take up residence in Corby?"
"I hardly know. My father has not mentioned the matter and I—I scarcely like to press him."
Hereford maintained his indifferent expression with an effort. If Lincoln thought he was going to void that part of the contract so easily, he was mistaken. "It will be a great disappointment to my sister if you do not take her to her own home directly. She has been greatly looking forward to being a lady in her own keep."
"I—I know. She has spoken much to me of it, but my father says as she is so young it might be better to stay a while at Lincoln until she is more able to manage her own household."
"Anne is well trained and perfectly capable of running a home," Hereford replied stiffly. "Her youth is nothing to do with the matter. There is no better housewife in the kingdom than Lady Radnor, and she was a year younger than Anne when she took Gaunt Castle under her hand."
Rannulf turned away looking really distressed. "She … I might have pressed the point if she continued to urge it, but … she … When I spoke of it in the night she was most cold to the proposal, and—and this morning she would not speak to me at all."
Clumsy ox, thought Hereford, irritated. "You should have handled her more gently. Are you as much of a virgin as she that you knew not what to do?"
"Plainly I know not as much about the matter as you do, my lord." Rannulf’s voice was cold, his eyes angry, and Hereford cursed himself for a worse clumsy fool than the young man beside him. What a stupid thing to say.
"Wait, brother," Hereford said as Rannulf raised his legs to put spurs to his horse. "That was an uncivil and unkind remark. You must pardon a brother's blind fondness for a gentle sister."
It was true, too, that it was blind fondness. Anne should have known better herself than to behave in such a fashion to her husband. He would have to talk to her, and firmly too. If she followed this path she would lose her chance of a hold on her man and her chance of happiness also.
"Moreover," he continued, putting a hand on his brother-in-law's wrist, "it is not even true. All maids are so." He was stretching the truth a little, of course, but in a good cause. "And the more gently nurtured the worse they are. Mayhap it is my mother's fault and my own for watching her so close. She is very ignorant of such things."
"I do not suppose my cousin Elizabeth acted the same. But then, Lord Hereford, no doubt, knew just how to make all easy."
Hereford laughed. "You should know better than to ask if Elizabeth would not speak to me. That could never be my trouble. Indeed, she had much to say, but none of the words were so sweet as you might expect from a new bride. If your ears were offended with silence, at least you may consider yourself fortunate that they were not scorched as mine were."
Resentment dissolved in laughter as Rannulf looked at Hereford's rueful expression. "Each man must carry his own pack. I suppose if we measure burdens, I prefer that of silence." The frown returned almost at once, however. "Yet it is no pleasure when a wife will do nothing but weep and cringe away when a man seeks her lips. What difference then between that and taking a woman in the fields?"
That rather pleased Hereford as indicating that Rannulf was interested in a good relationship with his wife rather than seeing her only as a brood mare. "Custom will make her more yielding, and if you have a little patience and use her gently in the beginning, pardoning her youth and inexperience, she will become willing—even eager-in the fullness of time. You know, Rannulf, she will be more docile if you have her to yourself. When she comes to realize that you alone are to make her life, she will seek by all means to please you—thus has she been bred. But if there are other women to hide behind and perhaps to give her comfort, like your mother who will be sorry for her, she may be slower to come to terms with your ways."
Hereford had not lost sight of the main point, which was to get Rannulf into Corby Castle. Plainly the young man was not given to brutality for brutality's sake or he would have enjoyed Anne's resistance. It was best for them both, under those circumstances, to be alone together, and best also for Hereford's interests.
"I did not think of that. Certainly there is sense in what you say, but—"
"If you like, I will talk to your father. In a sense it is really my business because the contract was made with me, and it is a matter of my sister's consequence. Our arrangement was that she was to be a lady in her own manor."
Relief was clear in Rannulf's expression. The fear and respect engendered by many years of domination were difficult to shake off quickly, even though the desire to be a man on his own stirred his very bowels. "If you really take it to be your affair, of course, it would ease matters for me. I am no coward, I hope, but it seems disrespectful to me to quarrel with my father."
"Good. Leave the matter in my hands then."
"One more thing," Rannulf said, blushing hotly and looking with great interest at his horse's ears. "Anne says she will not stay with me, that she will run away and you will protect her."
"Me?" Hereford exclaimed, really angry with his sister. "I am more like to school her with the buckle end of my belt for such a trick. When my mother hears of this she will flay Anne alive. She is no believer in women with minds of their own. If she ever speaks to you so again, let her feel your hand. That will amend her manners shortly."
"There is no need to be harsh with her." Rannulf was moved to rise to his wife's defense by his brother-in-law's ferocious look. "She is, as you say, young. Belike she was frightened and sought protection where she was wont to find it. My father uses my mother in that way too often for me to find pleasure in it. Mayhap if your mother were to speak to her—"
A light dawned in Hereford's mind. Here was a way to rid himself of two problems at once. "Do you like my mother, Rannulf? You do not find her company a burden?"
"Nay, she is a most gentle lady, I like her well."
"You could do me a service then, help Anne, and still your father's objections all in one breath. Do not feel that I wish to push this upon you, however. If you have the smallest doubt, speak your mind and be assured I will be in nowise offended. Let my mother go with you and Anne to Corby." Hereford smiled mischievously. "I said she was no friend to headstrong women, and she and Elizabeth—well, it has been a little warm in Hereford Castle this last week, as you may have noticed."
"I would have said it was a little chilly, but have it your own way, Hereford." Rannulf was flattered by being asked for help and spoken to as an equal by the important earl of Hereford. "I will take her gladly."
"Warm, chilly, whatever you will, but it was not comfortable. It will only be a few weeks at most. Elizabeth and I will move on to her dower lands very soon so that her people may come to know me. Then my mother must return to guard Hereford in my absence. By then Anne should be well settled."
"I hope—hark!"
The alaunts somewhat to the fore had begun to bay on a new note. They had picked up a scent. Hereford and Rannulf both spurred forward, leaving the track to follow the direction of the sound. The lymers leapt forward, too, leaving the horses in the rear with their burst of speed. They may not have scented the quarry but responded to the baying of their hunting companions. Hereford drove his golden spurs deep into his mount's side in an effort to keep up with those silent coursers. He grunted as a low hanging branch slashed his face and bent over his saddlebow to avoid a repetition of the experience and to ease his horse's stride. Behind him Rannulf pounded hard, and the corner of his eye caught a flash of a surcoat banded in black and gold that could only be Lord Radnor as could the husky "Ha" with which the big man urged his black stallion.
The baying changed, the deep notes of the lymers and alaunts now mixed with the sweeter belling of the braches. The boar was on the run. Hereford's blood pounded with excitement and the cold air stung his nostrils. The hunt turned; Hereford's left knee pressed hard against his horse to change its course. They crashed through a section of bracken, the thorns catching and tearing back
s and chausses and further maddening the horses with the pain of scratches.
"On him, on him, so my loves, soooo."
That was Chester urging the dogs forward, and Lincoln's voice followed his.
"Earth him. Bring him to ground. Hold hard my sons. Courage! Courage!"
The belling was now an excited chorus of yelps and Hereford knew that the boar was standing at bay. A moment more and he could see the dogs leaping back and forth in sharp charges and retreats. He dismounted, nearly tumbling off his horse in his hurry. The serfs and huntsmen following on foot would catch the mounts if they did not stand where they were left. The short, sturdy boar spear was out, and in swift and automatic motions Hereford pulled at the crossbar to be sure it was firm and pulled at the long knife in his belt to be sure that was loose. The crossbar, set eighteen inches from the tip of the spear, was to prevent a speared boar from running right up the shaft and killing the hunter. So vicious and stubborn were those beasts that the agony of the piercing spear meant nothing to them if they could get at the man behind it.
An agonized scream indicated that the boar had killed or injured one of the dogs. Hereford broke into a run, Rannulf panting beside him. Another scream and a series of yelps; the boar would charge in another moment. Hereford and Rannulf moved apart by about five feet and knelt in the snow. They were in a fairly open space blocked at one end by the trunk of a huge fallen tree. That was where the boar had turned on his tormentors as was evident from the crowd of leaping dogs and the bloody, trampled snow. Hereford set the haft of his spear firmly into the ground, holding it point forward about two feet off the ground at the tip. No man could hold back the rush of a matured boar; the earth would take that shock. Rannulf was to his right, Lincoln and Chester equally spaced to his left, and Radnor coming up more slowly, because of his lameness, to Rannulf’s right. There was little chance that the boar would run between them and escape because once those animals were enraged they desired to attack their enemies, not to escape from them.
The dogs flew off in all directions, yelping in anguish as the great beast charged. Hereford had a few seconds clear sight of him, black and ugly, the tiny eyes blazing red, the bristling lips pulled back to show tushes four inches long emerging from a froth of blood-flecked saliva. Then there was nothing but the thunder of his hoofs as he made for Rannulf, straight as an arrow, seeming irresistible. There was a bellow that made the wood ring as the creature ran onto the spear, but it was too low. Rannulf had caught him in the abdomen rather than through the chest. Insane with pain, the animal writhed in an arc, tearing the spear from the ground and from Rannulf's hand. Hereford, leaping up to help, saw Rannulf go down, saw the flash of his hunting knife as he stabbed, heard his cry as the boar went over him head lowered to slash. Then he was on the animal himself, his left hand reaching for the snout to pull up the head and stab in the throat. He heard his own voice cry out as a searing pain tore his left calf just as his knife went home.
A sharp flash passed his right arm as Lord Radnor thrust under it with his boar spear behind the animal's foreleg, the power of the thrust smashing the ribs as the spear went home into the heart. The coup de grace was not necessary, however. Hereford's thrust had cut the jugular, and the boar slipped in the blood that poured from his torn throat and went down jerking in the convulsions of death.
"Are you all right?" It was a chorus from Lincoln and Chester, Lincoln addressing his own son, Chester bending over Hereford.
"Here, Roger, tie up that leg of yours, you idiot. What were you trying to do, wrestle with the creature?" Radnor handed Hereford a strip of cloth cut from his tunic with his hunting knife.
Hereford laughed a little shakily. "I could not chance that he would turn and charge Rannulf again. I did not know that you could cover ground so fast."
"Here, that wants to be tighter, you are bleeding through." Chester knelt beside his son-in-law and Lord Radnor turned his attention to the dogs, whipping them off the boar.
"Never mind me, I have come to no hurt." Hereford remarked impatiently, getting to his feet with a grimace. "How badly is Rannulf hurt?"
"No harm done here either," Lincoln replied, "except that he is a little short of breath."
"I think the son of a sow stepped on my stomach," Rannulf gasped holding his upper arm from which blood streamed, dyeing his blue surcoat purplish.
"Take your hand away," Lincoln growled, "and let me stanch that bleeding, Did he tear your shoulder?" Rannulf shook his head, still breathless, wincing as his father tightened a band around his arm and drove the torn ends of the leather jerkin into the flesh. "Do you want to go back or will you continue with us? What about you, Hereford?"
"I will ride on, I am barely scratched. Rannulf?"
"I too, if I can ever catch my breath, only I am not sure my hand will be steady enough to hold a spear. When my father gets through trying to kill me, I will see. I would not miss seeing the sport anyway. Ouch!"
"Ah," Lincoln remarked, putting the finishing touches to the bandage and then hitting his son affectionately in the head, "if your hide was as thick as your skull you would be better off."
Radnor was blowing the mort, and the other hunters were streaming in to look at the kill. "Whose kill is he?" he asked Hereford in an undertone.
"Rannulf’s. Had I not thought the beast would charge him again even in his death throes I would not have interfered. He hit him firm, the spear is still imbedded."
The huntsmen cut the animal open according to immemorial custom, threw the entrails to the leaping, yelping hounds, and then tied and slung the beast to be carried back to the castle. Ordinarily the entrails would have been mixed with blood and bread and cooked as a reward for the dogs, but there were two more boars to hunt and no time to bother with that particular refinement. Hereford, with his master-of-hounds, limped over to the dogs who were too hurt to come for their prize. A quick look sufficed to show that none could be saved, and the two or three that were still living were swiftly dispatched with kind words, tender hands, and a sharp, sure blade.
***
Elizabeth, having been dressed in a favorite combination of beige tunic and brilliant red bliaut, dismissed her maids and turned her attention to the room around her. There was very little to be done; it was nearly perfect as it was. She decided quickly where to put her prize possession, a very large flat plate of silver, polished so smooth that one could see every mark and hair on one's face reflected back from it if the light were good. A table inlaid with various precious scented woods was beside it and the chests with her clothing nearby against the wall. All that was needed else was a cushioned, low-backed chair to set before her mirror so that she could comb her hair and dress herself in comfort, and the room would be as she wished.
She made a mental note to tell the steward to bring her a suitable chair and turned her attention to Roger's things. Basically there was no need for this. Under Lady Hereford's excellent management there was a large and well-trained group of women who wove, sewed, and even embroidered with great skill, and Lord Hereford was always beautifully dressed. He even had a body servant who folded and cleaned his clothing and helped him dress if he did not wish to have his mother or sisters about for some private reason or simply did not wish to trouble them.
Elizabeth had decided that the personal attentions of that servant must now come to an end. She herself would dress Roger, bathe him, and perform other similar tasks. She had no sentimental idea of making herself necessary and beloved by taking over these duties, merely she did not want any servant about who had the right to walk in and out of her chamber. Elizabeth was clear-sighted enough to know that she and Roger would have many tussles, and, whoever won, she was determined that no servant should carry the tale of their strivings. It was this thought which made Elizabeth's voice rather sharp as she called out in answer to a sound at the door.
"Who is it?"
"Lady Elizabeth, may I come in?"
Elizabeth looked up from the contents of the chest she had
turned out. That was a gentlewoman's voice. "Certainly," she said more civilly as she rose and then, "Why, it is Anne. Do come in."
"May I speak with you a moment, Lady Elizabeth?"
"Of course." Elizabeth smiled and came forward. The smile faded as she got a good look at Anne's face. "Why, my dear, whatever is wrong?"
"Lady Elizabeth, you must help me, I am so very unhappy."
Receiving the shuddering and sobbing girl in her arms with surprise but very little sympathy, Elizabeth wondered whether Roger, discussing Anne so glibly that morning could have been wrong. "If I can help you, Anne, I will, but—"
"I am sure you can. Roger loves you so much he will do anything you ask, I am sure of it. He will not listen to me or to my mother, but he will listen to you. I do not wish to be married," the girl burst out. "Please, I wish to stay here. Make Roger let me stay. Make him send Rannulf away."
"Anne, no matter how much Roger loves me, I do not believe I could convince him to do such a thing, especially without a reason. What in the world has happened? I know you were looking forward to being married and you seemed to like Rannulf very much."
"It is not Rannulf's fault. I am not fit to be married. I cannot bear it. He—he hurts me. I am afraid."
"But Anne," Elizabeth exclaimed, finally comprehending that her problem was sexual, "you cannot be sixteen years old and not know what was to be. Have you never seen the beasts mate? Did your mother tell you nothing?"
"Yes, she told me, but I—" Anne burst into tears again and sobbed, "I thought it was going to be wonderful. I must be ill-made. There is something wrong with me. I am not fit to be a wife." She cried despairingly in Elizabeth's arms, adding pathetically, "And I wanted to be so much, so much …"
Elizabeth was temporarily stunned but slowly began to understand. Roger was right, after all, about his sister. She was apparently a very simple child and either had not understood what Lady Hereford and the other women told her and suggested to her or had been guarded too carefully, told nothing, and had drawn no conclusions from what she had actually seen with her own eyes. Too timid and obedient to question and experiment on her own, Anne was sexually ignorant, and Elizabeth was ready to wager Rannulf was almost equally ignorant, since his experience was confined to whores and serfs.
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