The Conqueror (Hot Knights)

by Gillgannon, Mary

  “Why are they all going to London?” she asked. “Is it to see the Conqueror?”

  Jobert spoke behind her, half-shouting to be heard above the din. “I fear so. I had hoped to be early, but God’s toes, this is worse than the crowds in St. Valery before we sailed. We may be hard put to find a place for the night.”

  After they crossed the bridge, they were crowded into a small lane filled with horses and people. When a man passed by carrying a newly-butchered sheep’s carcass over his shoulder, their already-nervous mounts began to snort and prance. Edeva experienced a renewal of the panic she had first felt when she climbed on a horse’s back. ’Twas such a long way to the ground!

  She gave a gasp of dread and Jobert’s arm tightened about her waist. “Steady now. If the mare senses your fear, she’ll grow even more skittish.”

  Edeva tried to relax, but it was harder than ever. All the way from Reading they’d seen signs of the devastation the Normans had wrought after the Battle of Hastings. Although William’s victorious army train had passed through more than a year before, the countryside still lay in ruin. There did not seem to be a hamlet or a farmstead left untouched.

  The wanton waste reawakened Edeva’s animosity. Now she was in London, seemingly surrounded by Norman knights on every side, and her anger was edged with fear. She recalled the horror and loathing she felt when she first beheld the enemy. Their cone-shaped helmets turning them into slit-eyed demons. The brutal glint of their heavy mail like the scales of a monstrous fish. The terror their huge warhorses inspired.

  What had she been thinking of, to allow one of these bloodthirsty devils to steal her heart?

  “Easy, girl.” Jobert spoke soothing words to the horse, and Edeva tried to calm herself. Jobert was not a beast. She’d seen him behave kindly and generously. If there was harshness in him, ’twas tempered by reason. He did not cause suffering intentionally.

  Besides, she had no choice but to trust him. She was in a frightening, hostile city, and she was a Saxon, one of the vanquished.

  Around them, vendors called out their wares, offering eel pastries, skins of wine and ribs of beef. “The people of London appear to have accepted the Normans,” Edeva said, a touch of bitterness in her voice. “One would never guess that only a little more than a year ago they rang the alarm bells warning of the enemy’s landing.”

  “People in cities are different from those who make their living from the land,” Jobert said. “Over the centuries most of them have been conquered and reconquered many times. They are used to changing masters.”

  “It seems so disloyal,” Edeva grumbled.

  “They see Norman coin as profitable as English, and they must sell their wares or starve.”

  Was she any better? Edeva wondered. She had made peace with the enemy. Did she capitulate to save her skin and keep her belly full?

  Nay, she had done it because she felt it was her duty to her people, that she could not safeguard their well-being without yielding to the conquerors.

  And she had done it because of Jobert. There was something about the proud red-haired knight that moved her, touched some tender woman’s place deep within. A shudder went through her as she recalled how she had felt when he had been brought to Oxbury wounded and delirious. She had been so terribly afraid for him.

  “I think there are some inns down this street,” Jobert spoke close to her ear. “With luck, and plenty of your father’s treasure hoard to grease palms, mayhaps we will find one where we can get a room.”

  * * *

  A room, that was all it was. A single chamber with a hearth they could all bed down around. No privacy, no luxuries. And they had paid dearly for it, spending a handful of coin from the purse hidden beneath Jobert’s tunic.

  They unloaded their saddlebags and found stabling for the horses—almost as dear as the roof over their heads. Then Jobert decided to visit the taverns and seek news of the king.

  Edeva looked miserable as he took his leave. “London at night is not a place for a lady,” he told her. He fingered one of her golden braids, trying to make her smile. “Especially one who looks as you do.”

  She seemed very unhappy, and he could not blame her. The rented chamber was already rank with the smell of sweat, horse and damp wool. “When I go to see the king, you will go with me, I promise,” he told her. “There might be ladies in attendance, and they will admire the fine needlework decorating your clothes and your fair hair.” She looked doubtful.” ‘Tis true. All Norman women wish for blond tresses. Mayhaps because so many of them have dusky skin and dark locks.”

  He leaned over and kissed her, despite the crowd of knights around them. “I will return as soon as I can.”

  Jobert had no interest in the strumpets and tavern girls glimpsed now and then among the horde of soldiers, but the two men he took as escort were not so particular. They reacted to the women like hounds scenting a bitch in heat. “God’s teeth, would you get your mind off your cocks,” Jobert grumbled as Hamo near-dragged him into a tavern called The Black Horse.

  They were packed into the place like so many pikes in a barrel, but Hamo quickly found the object of his quest—a girl with dark hair, laughing black eyes and a face not yet careworn.

  Hamo jerked his head, indicating his plans.

  “Go on, then,” Jobert said, “but meet me here before vespers.”

  Roald remained at his side, but looked so miserable that Jobert urged him off. “Find a wench, if you are so desperate. If you don’t mind swimming in the seed of the half-dozen men before you.”

  Jobert took a seat at one of the scarred tables and struggled to find room to stretch out his long legs. He had always hated the crudeness and emptiness of bedding whores. Now he would never have to do it again. He had Edeva—beautiful, sweet-smelling, passionate Edeva.

  Not that it did him a bit of good under the present circumstances. By the Rood, how was he to endure it, with Edeva so tantalizingly near and yet so inaccessible? Mayhaps they could find a quiet copse of trees beyond the city proper. An outdoor tryst would be better than nothing. But the weather would have to clear, which it was not like to do. A soft drizzle had fallen all day, growing colder as night approached.

  A barmaid finally brought him a jar of wine. Blowsy and with a face disfigured by knife wounds, she smiled at him seductively after he gave her the money. He shook his head and she sauntered off. He felt a stir of pity for the unfortunate woman, and then realized that in this market, she would keep busy all night.

  He took a swallow of wine and found it good, rich and full-bodied, not sour at all. Much better than anything they’d had at Oxbury. Jobert made a mental note to purchase several casks before they left London. They could strap them to one of the extra horses and take their time returning.

  “Brevrienne, you ugly bastard, what are you doing in London?”

  Jobert jerked around and spied a familiar countenance and a bushy head of hair brighter than his own, “Girard of Evreux, you puffed-up pig’s bladder! Well met, well met.”

  Jobert stood, but soon realized he would be foolish to give up his seat, even for a moment. He waved the other knight over. “Come join me.”

  Although a sturdy fighting man, Girard was half a head shorter than Jobert and moved more easily through the cramped quarters. When he reached Jobert, he seated himself on the rickety bench, then took the jar of wine the serving wench had left and poured himself a cup.

  “I’m in London to see William,” Jobert said, “as it seems the rest of Normandy is. What do you here?”

  “I came over with the king. I’ve been with him in Dieppe these past few weeks.”

  “The king is here?”

  “Should be. My ship sailed before his, but the Mora was to put in before sunset.”

  “Jesu and there are a million courtiers and knights waiting to speak to him,” Jobert said in disgust. “I will be fortunate to get an audience before Christmas.”

  Girard took a gulp of wine, then regarded Jobert with ste
ady hazel eyes. “What’s your business? I thought he’d already awarded you some land. In Wiltshire, isn’t it?”

  Jobert nodded. “He enfeoffed me with a fine piece of property, and now I seek permission to build a castle there and to wed the Saxon heiress who comes with the place.”

  “You’d wed a Saxon?” Girard asked, his expression disgusted.

  “You have not seen my Saxon,” Jobert said, irritated with his friend. Why did so many Normans think that Saxon women were all rough-mannered, homely wenches?

  “A beauty, is she? Still, you might take her for a concubine and have all the benefits. Why buy a cow when you can get free milk?” Girard winked.

  “William has encouraged his men to claim the land by legal means. Marrying the old thegn’s daughter will legitimize my right to the property and ease my acceptance with the local people.”

  “The English have no say in who rules them,” Girard scoffed. “If they do not accept your authority, intimidate them until they do.”

  How much he had changed, Jobert thought. Only a few months before, he had seen things much the way Girard did. Now he knew that conquest was more complex than subduing the natives with brute force.

  “’Tis not that you wed a Saxon that surprises me,” Girard said “but that you wed at all. I thought you’d given your heart to Damaris and were prepared to die celibate.”

  “Damaris was the fancy of a green boy. I believe my passion for her burned so long and so bright because she was forbidden to me.”

  “Well, she is forbidden to all men, now. She went into a convent this summer, St. Mary’s in Caen.”

  “I had heard that. I am surprised Valois relented. I thought the greedy whoreson was determined she would make a rich match.”

  “He did not accept the situation graciously. Indeed, I heard that he went to William and accused you of ruining his daughter.”

  Jobert brought his cup down on the table with a thud. “That’s a lie! Damaris and I did naught but kiss, and that only once!”

  “Valois obviously thinks there was more to it.”

  “Why, that puling, cowardly...” Jobert took a deep breath and wondered if he could find an epithet foul enough to use against his enemy. “And what does the king think?” he asked quickly. “Does he believe Valois?”

  “I’m hardly privy to royal opinion. You will have to ask him.”

  Jobert gave a long, drawn-out sigh. This was the ill news his instincts had warned him about. Valois was a powerful, wealthy Norman baron, and the king needed his loyalty. Even if he could convince William that Valois accused him unfairly, that did not mean the king would take his part.

  “Jesu, Brevrienne, I am sorry if I’ve brought you bad tidings. At the time, I thought little of the story. I still cannot think that William would be so unreasonable as to blame a man for winning a maiden’s heart.” Girard preened. “Some of us cannot help being irresistible.”

  Jobert gave a choked laugh. “Irresistible, are you, you worm-faced lout! I’ll wager here and now that you can’t find a woman in all of London who will bed you unless you pay her.”

  Girard looked around the teeming tavern, where men outnumbered women nearly a score to one. “I’ll admit the odds are a bit daunting, but there must be a lonely merchant’s wife somewhere...” He turned back to Jobert. “I’ll take up your challenge, Brevrienne. What do you offer if I succeed?”

  Jobert tried to remember what treasures they had brought from Oxbury that might please Girard. “My woman is a seamstress of amazing skill. If you have any ceremonial garments, I could prevail upon her to embroider them with whatever design you wish—a device you could be known by.”

  “I’ve always fancied being known as the Red Cock of Evraux.”

  Jobert raised his brows. “I’m certain she can fashion an image of a proud, strutting cockerel. That is what you suggest, isn’t it?”

  Girard grinned broadly. “They are feisty, lusty creatures. ’Twill serve me well in both battle and...” His mouth curved lasciviously. “In other pursuits.”

  Jobert rolled his eyes at his friend’s crudeness. “And what do you offer me if I win the wager?”

  “An audience with the king as soon as he settles in at Westminster.”

  “You have that power? Jesu, you have risen high!”

  “Nay, ’tis merely that William trusts his loyal soldiers to give him truer advice than the scheming noblemen who surround him.”

  “If you could do that, Girard, I would be most grateful. I would have Edeva sew your device no matter which way the wager goes.”

  “Done!” Girard rose, gulping down the last bit of wine in his cup. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must be about the other business.”

  Jobert rose also. “We’re staying at an inn near here called The Bishop’s Mitre. Send me word there.”

  Girard disappeared among the crowd, and Jobert looked around for his men. Neither Hamo nor Miles was anywhere to be found. Jobert decided to return to the inn without them. He would not begrudge them a night spent in the London brothels.

  As he walked to the inn, a sense of unease crept over him, chilling him even more than the icy rain. Valois had gone to the king and spread lies about him. His enemy had not forgotten him, but pursued him to England.

  Recent happenings took on a sinister cast. The crossbow bolt might have come from an assassin’s bow rather than a Saxon one. His unanswered message to William could have been deliberately intercepted rather than lost or ignored

  The hairs stood up on his nape and he glanced around the nearly empty street. Did Valois have someone watching him now, a cutthroat lurking in the shadows?

  His hand went to his sword hilt and he walked more rapidly. Now it was even more important that he speak to William and defend himself against Valois’s lies. If only Girard had the influence that he said he did.

  With relief, he reached the inn and made his way to the room. Inside, his men slept sprawled around the hearth. In the middle, nearest the fire’s warmth, lay Edeva, wrapped in the fur cloak. Jobert stepped around the other bodies and went to her. The sight of her lovely face peeking out of the cloak’s hood warmed him as much as the fire’s heat.

  For a time, he simply looked at her, admiring the enticing fullness of her lips, the curve of her smooth cheek, the way tendrils of her hair glinted pure gold in the firelight.

  Sweet heaven, she was beautiful! He wanted to possess her, to hold her and love her forever. He wanted to make her his wife, to fill her womb with his sons.

  The intensity of his feelings made him breathless. Oxbury was his dream, but it would not fulfill him without Edeva. She was the thing he sought, the light he had prayed for when he was imprisoned in Valois’s dungeon.

  He took off his sword belt and eased himself down beside her. She murmured in her sleep, until he pulled her against his chest and she settled there with a sigh.

  TWENTY

  The next morning, a bleary-eyed squire came to the inn and said “Girard says to come to Westminster today, and the king will see you.” When Jobert gaped at him, the youth gave a smug smile. “Oh, and Girard also says to tell you that you have lost the wager. He’s merely doing this as a favor to an old friend.”

  “That clever wretch!” Jobert guffawed. He gave the squire a penny for his trouble. Then he went to tell Edeva.

  She sat by the fire, eating one of the pasties Jobert had purchased to break their fast.

  “The man was lying when he called this an eel pie. Why, ’tis naught but pastry!” She wiped a dribble of broth from her chin. “You should have let me purchase food. If the merchants knew they were dealing with a Saxon, they would not try their cheating tricks.”

  “Mayhaps I will let you bargain when we go to the market, but for now there are other concerns. We go to see William today.”

  At his words, she gave him a stricken look. “I’ve scarce washed off the traveling dust.” She glanced around the room where several of the knights still slept sprawled on the floor, snorin
g. “How am I to get ready?”

  “I’ll get rid of them and have some hot water fetched for washing. Then I will help you dress.”

  She gave him a doubtful look.

  “Don’t worry so.” He approached, took the pastry from her hand and had a bite. “Salty,” he mumbled.

  “You think the king will see you? You worried yesterday that he would be overwhelmed by those requesting favors.”

  “I met a friend last night who promised to smooth our way.”

  He heard her sigh and watched her twist the skirt of her kirtle in taut fingers. She was terrified. For all his own worries, he dare not aggravate her already potent fears. “What is the worst that can come to pass?” he soothed. “If William refuses to see me, then we will go back another day.”

  “But I am a Saxon, the enemy.”

  “There will be other Saxons there, and you speak Norman French, which will aid you in being accepted. Norman knights are taught to show respect to women, and William is no exception. He will not scorn you because of your blood.”

  But will he scorn me because I am your leman? Edeva found she could not voice the painful thought. She had not wanted to come to London, to meet the conqueror of her people. “Why cannot I wait here while you go?” she asked.

  “Mayhaps I have a thought to show you off, wearing the exquisite garments sewn by your own fingers, decked in jewels that reflect the wealth of Oxbury.”

  Edeva sighed and went to the saddle packs piled in the corner and began to dig through them. With luck, her clothes would be utterly crushed and she could use that for an excuse not to go.

  Jobert began to rouse the men, poking them with his boot. They got up, groaning and protesting. She heard Jobert tell two of them to fetch hot water from the innkeeper.

  By the time she’d found their banquet clothes, she and Jobert were the only ones left in the room. “You wash first,” he told her. “I’ll be back anon.”

  Buckets of steaming water had been pulled up near the hearth, but Edeva still shivered as she stripped down to her kirtle and began to bathe between her breasts and under her arms. She had brought a handful of cleansing herbs to add to the bathing water, and their subtle, sweet aroma filled her senses, relaxing her.