The Conqueror (Hot Knights)

by Gillgannon, Mary

  Jobert leaned back on his heels and pondered what to do. Should he take the assassin’s ruined body to the king? He grimaced at the thought of arriving at Westminster carrying a bloody corpse. Nay, he had no stomach for such an errand. Already, he was exhausted and half-frozen. ’Twould be all he could do merely to make his way back to the king on his own.

  Stiffly, he rose. He made the sign of the cross over the dead man’s body, then turned and left the alleyway. Surely someone would find the corpse and carry it to the church for burial. It made him a little uneasy to leave without really even knowing what the man he had killed had looked like, but there was no help for it. He must keep moving.

  He finally reached the stables, and after rousing the sleeping ostler and then soothing the man’s bad temper with silver, set off for Westminster.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “What have you done?”

  Edeva flinched as Fornay bore down on her, eyes flashing. The news about the priest rattled her. She did not feel so certain of her decisions as she had been a few moments before. What if Bourges went to the king and told him that the villagers of Oxbury had killed a Norman priest?

  Osbert rushed toward Fornay. “Sir Alan, thank God. We could use your assistance. I fear those bastards are going to take another run at us. What can we do? We’re near out of arrows already and the walls won’t hold if they get any siege engines up here.”

  “We’re under attack?” It was Fornay’s turn to frown.

  “Yea, sir,” Osbert said. “The Lady Edeva was right about Bourges. Not a fellow to be trusted. They’ve taken Rob prisoner, and there’s no telling what they mean to do.”

  “Rob—a prisoner?”

  “Yea, sir. Are you certain you feel all right? You look damned pale.”

  “Who is Bourges?”

  “The leader of the men who have Rob.” Osbert pointed to the palisade walls. “There’s a whole troop of knights in the valley. Remember, that’s why you and Lady Edeva were up on the gatetower. You do recall that part, don’t you, before you fell off the ladder and hit your head?”

  Alan’s jaw tightened when Osbert mentioned him falling off the ladder, and Edeva thought Alan would blurt out the truth. He did not, merely saying to Osbert, “How many are there?”

  “Oh, two score at least, plus squires and servants. They could put us down easy, which is why their retreat is so puzzling.”

  “They’ve retreated?”

  Osbert nodded. “For now, but I vow they will be back, and this time with proper siege engines. These old walls will crumble like twigs,” he added gloomily.

  “I don’t understand any of this,” Alan said “Did these men say what they wanted, or simply attack?”

  “Bourges claimed to have a message from the king,” Osbert said. “But he would not produce it. And when Rob went out to speak with them, they took him prisoner.”

  Alan shook his head, as if trying to clear it. Edeva did not doubt it still ached after the blow she had landed.

  “What do we do, sir?” Osbert asked again, obviously made anxious by his captain’s silence. “Somehow we have to defend this place. If Brevrienne returns to find Oxbury destroyed or in the clutches of another Norman lord, there’ll be hell to pay!”

  “Send the squires and village youth out to gather up the loosed arrows,” Alan said. “And if you fear a siege, have all the oil stores put in pots over the fire and heated until it boils. We’ll dump it on their heads if they get too close to the walls.”

  Osbert, looking much relieved, started off to do his bidding. A few paces away, he turned. “What about the priest, sir?”

  “The priest?” Alan asked blankly.

  “What should we do with his body?”

  “Jesu, how did the priest die?”

  “No one knows. The men found him outside the palisade with an arrow in his back. A grim way to go. I’d not wish it on any man, even a sour-faced, stingy cleric like Father Reibald.”

  Alan shot Edeva a’ suspicious look. “Have you examined the arrow that killed him?”

  “Of course. Plain ashwood, fletched with goose feathers.”

  “A Saxon arrow.”

  “In truth, sir, but that does not mean a Saxon shot it.” Osbert gestured toward the gate. “With all the arrows launched by both sides in the last skirmish, there were likely some that were reused. ’Twould have been as easy for the enemy to have shot him in error as for our own archers. That fool priest had no business wandering around outside the palisade during a battle!”

  Alan shook his head again. “Have his body put in the souterrain,” he ordered Osbert. “’Tis cold enough the corpse will not putrefy. We’ll wait until Brevrienne returns before burying him.”

  Osbert ran off to carry out the orders. Edeva stood where she was, waiting for Fornay to confront her. “So, you were right,” he finally said. “There is treachery afoot.”

  Edeva breathed a sigh of relief. He accepted their predicament. Though he might despise her for what she had done, he would not sacrifice Oxbury’s safety to punish her. “You think this man Bourges means to seize control of Oxbury?” she asked.

  “I know not. Indeed, I can fathom none of it,” he answered flatly.

  “Mayhaps this is the danger Brevrienne feared, the reason he spoke to us about working together to defend the manor.”

  “I wish he had told us more.” Fornay’s gaze met Edeva’s. “Have you thought of sending a message to London?”

  She glanced up at the leaden sky. “If it snows, a messenger would not be able to get through.”

  “If it snows, that will delay Brevrienne’s return.” Fornay turned away from her, his hands clenched into fists.

  “We’ll simply have to carry on as best we can without him,” Edeva said. “I was thinking of sending the women and children to hide in the woods. That way they would be safe if the palisade was overrun.”

  “But if there is a siege, they would be caught outside in the weather.”

  Edeva nodded. There was no good solution, at least until they knew the intentions of the enemy. Would they be satisfied to claim the manor, or did they mean harm to the people of Oxbury?

  “The priest warned me of this,” she said. “He came to me soon after Brevrienne left and suggested Jobert would not be able to hold Oxbury and that another Norman would come and claim it. He implied I could make a better match with the new lord.”

  “God’s toes!” Fornay exclaimed. “Why did you not tell me this sooner?”

  “I did not think you would believe me. Besides, the priest was always saying strange things, and I knew he disliked Brevrienne. I thought his musings naught but wishful thinking.”

  “But mayhaps he knew that Bourges would come. Mayhaps he was even part of the plot.”

  “Then, why did they kill him?”

  “It could have been the Saxons,” the knight argued. “Or simply an accident. As Osbert said, ’twas senseless for him to be outside the walls.”

  “Unless he was meeting Bourges.”

  Fornay nodded. “It seems likely the priest was part of this, but I still do not see the logic behind the plan. Bourges may seize Oxbury, but he will have no legal right to it. What man would risk King William’s wrath for a demesne no richer than this one?”

  They stared at each other, both troubled by their inability to reason out the purpose behind the enemy’s actions. “What do we do now?” Edeva asked.

  “We prepare for their attack.”

  She nodded, feeling utterly helpless. After a moment, she started to walk away.

  “Lady!” Alan said sharply.

  She jerked around.

  “You have a mighty arm for a wench, but your knots are a disgrace. It took me only a moment to wriggle free.” There was a slight quirk to his mouth as he spoke.

  “What of the drug? I gave you enough poppy juice to make you sleep until sunrise.”

  “Luckily, I puked it up. Again, you miscalculated, lady.”

  He was actually grinning
at her. Edeva stared at him in astonishment, and then smiled back. “I must say I would not have risked hitting you if I was not certain that you were such a hard-headed stubborn lout that you could survive it.”

  “Yea, I am that, lady. Mayhaps at times, I am too stubborn. I don’t always listen to reason.”

  Could he actually be apologizing? Edeva could scarce believe it. She approached him and reached out to examine the livid bruise on his temple. “Tincture of woodsage and wine would bring down the swelling.”

  “I have not time for it,” he said, pulling away. “If you would help, then think of a way to fortify the walls ere we are attacked again.”

  * * *

  William frowned as Jobert entered the spartan bedchamber. The king sat on a stool with his legs stretched out as a servant unfastened his crossgarters. Without his armor, wearing a plain linen tunic and with his eyes smudged with weariness, he looked like an ordinary man rather than the formidable Conqueror.

  “Brevrienne, what is it this time?” he demanded sharply.

  Jobert moved into the lamplight so the vivid stain on his mantle was plainly visible. “I come to you wearing the blood of my would-be assassin. Before he died, the man spoke a name to me, the name of the lord who hired him—Valois.”

  The king’s brows lifted, but his eyes betrayed nothing. Jobert waited. A dozen heartbeats passed before the king motioned the servant to leave.

  When they were alone, the king rose, a slight jerk in his movements revealing the stiffness in his legs from which all old soldiers suffered. “You have his name from the lips of a dying man,” he said, then grunted. “’Tis not enough.”

  “My lord—” Jobert began angrily.

  William raised his hand to hold back his words of protest. “I did not say I did not believe you. I am convinced that Valois does plot against you.” He reached to pick up a chess piece from the game set up on a nearby table and fidgeted with the piece, turning it over in his fingers. “You must see my predicament, Brevrienne. I may be king of England and duke of Normandy, but my power still depends on the good will and support of other men. God may have granted me success, but He daily tests my worthiness.”

  Jobert took a deep breath. “You won’t accuse him?”

  “Not publicly. I will send a carefully worded letter reminding him that the lord of Oxbury has my favor, and if he comes to harm I will have the matter investigated.”

  “But your highness, the man has tried thrice to murder me!”

  “And, through the grace of God, you have survived.”

  “Worse yet,” Jobert continued heatedly, “his reason for hating me is a false one. ’Tis not my fault that his daughter chose the Church rather than a wealthy husband! Why should I be the victim of his greed and bitterness when I am innocent of any wrongdoing? Why should his treachery and evil go unpunished?”

  The king carefully set the chess piece down. “I did not say he would go unpunished. He has broken faith with me. I warned all my barons that I would not allow them to pursue their grievances against each other in England. But as the Lord in his wisdom says in the scriptures, ‘for every thing there is a season’. This is not the time for Valois to pay his debt.”

  Jobert was silent. The king’s decision frustrated him, but he could see there was no point in arguing further.

  When he looked up, the king watched him, an amused expression on his face. “Mayhaps giving my permission for you to wed the Oxbury heiress will help ease your disappointment. Consider what I have done for you already, Brevrienne. I have raised you from a landless knight to a baron, and from what I hear of it, Oxbury is a wealthy demesne with the potential to be even wealthier. You should be rejoicing in your good fortune, rather than cursing me.”

  Jobert nodded. In truth, William was giving him much more than he had once hoped for, not only land and a title, but also the woman he loved. Possessing Edeva was worth much more to him than gaining revenge against Valois. He was a fool if he did not accept that.

  He bowed low. “Never would I curse you, sire. You have indeed made me a fortunate man. I will repay you with a lifetime of loyalty, and should Edeva bear a son, I vow to name him ‘William’ after the most generous and valiant of men.”

  The king approached and raised him. “Hurry back to Oxbury then, and wed your heiress, lest she bear another `William the Bastard’.”

  The two men laughed, then Jobert quickly departed, but not before inviting the king to visit Oxbury when he had an opportunity to pass that way.

  Outside the Westminster compound, Jobert paused to look up at the sky. A heavy mass of clouds still concealed the stars, and that and the cold, damp air suggested a snowstorm was on the way.

  He urged his horse into a trot. Now that things were settled with William, he was anxious to get back to Oxbury. Though he was already weary beyond measure, he had made up his mind to rouse his men as soon as he reached camp and set off for home before the weather closed the roadways.

  * * *

  Edeva sat up on the hard bench and stretched her stiff muscles. She had insisted that Joan, who was near to her time to have her baby, and several of the other village women with very small children, use the upper chamber while she bedded down in the hall.

  She smoothed the wrinkles from her gunna and tucked a stray lock of hair into her braid, thinking of all the work ahead of her. Though she was grateful for their battle expertise, neither Alan nor Osbert had an inkling of what must be done to maintain a fortress full of people. Merely baking enough bread to feed everyone required hours of labor. And there were other foodstores to prepare, water for drinking and washing, clean rags for swaddling babies...

  Briskly, she shook out the mantle she had used as a blanket and put it on, then made her way from behind the screen to the main portion of the hall. Most of the adults were awake, although a few soldiers who’d had guard duty the night before still snored. She directed some of the women to tend the fire and the others to cut up the remaining loaves of bread and feed the children.

  A shower of icy pellets struck her face as she opened the door of the hall. This was no soft, gentle snowfall but a vicious, treacherous mixture of sleet and freezing rain.

  Edeva pulled her hood farther over her face and hurried to the kitchen shed.

  As she entered, the heat from the ovens instantly melted the ice on her mantle and face. She nodded to Beornflaed. “I see you have the bread started. Make some bean and bacon pottage as well. ‘Twill help warm everyone as well as stretching the food supply.”

  “You think we are in for a siege?” the cook asked.

  Edeva hesitated before responding. Although she hardly thought it possible that they could hold out for more than few days, she dared not share her fears with the servants and the villagers. “I’m not privy to Sir Alan’s battle strategies, but it seems to me only wise to ration our food supplies.”

  The cook nodded vigorously. “Pottage it is. I’ll send the pit boys for a few baskets of beans and a flitch of bacon. You should eat yourself, lady,” the woman added. “You look as pale as a wraith.”

  Edeva sank down on a stool by the bread oven as the familiar queasiness struck again. Despite her churning stomach and woozy head, she knew a sharp sense of satisfaction. ’Twas almost certain she was pregnant.

  The cook approached Edeva with a steaming jar. “Whist now, drink this down. ’Twill strengthen your blood and hearten the babe.”

  Edeva met her gaze. “What makes you think there is a babe?”

  Beornflaed rolled her eyes. “I saw your mother through six pregnancies, not to mention all the slutty kitchen wenches I’ve had to endure, puking out their guts a few weeks after your brothers—and now these damned Normans—had their way with them. I know the look of a woman who’s breeding, and you have it.”

  Edeva took a sip of the hot broth and then another. As her stomach settled, she released a long sigh.

  “’Tis a good thing, my lady,” Beornflaed said. “The two of you will make a son as can h
old Oxbury against any man. You are both brave and strong, lusty and proud. ’Tis a fine match and it bodes well for all of us.”

  Edeva felt a sudden stab of anxiety. If only she could be as certain of the future as Beornflaed. All she could think of was Jobert returning to find Oxbury burned and ruined. Worse yet, what if he never returned at all? What if she never had a chance to tell him about the babe?

  “Drink it all,” the cook ordered sternly. “You won’t feel better until you learn to eat and drink soon after rising.”

  Edeva obeyed, and then got to her feet. She would not dwell on her worries, not when there was so much to do.

  She left the kitchen shed and started toward the well, intending to see if the men had drawn enough water so the women could do some washing. The sudden clanging of the chapel bell made her change direction.

  By the time she reached the gate, she saw that Osbert and Alan were already up on the tower, conferring. She rushed up the ladder, shouting, “What’s happening? Have they brought siege engines?”

  Osbert shook his head as she arrived on the tower. “Nay, they look as if they mean to negotiate.”

  Edeva went to the tower wall and gazed down at the trackway. It did appear the enemy came under truce. Their weapons were not drawn. “What if it is a trick?” she said.

  “It does not hurt to hear what they have to say,” Alan responded. “Mayhaps there has been a mistake—mayhaps they did not mean to attack us yesterday.”

  Edeva and Osbert exchanged a skeptical glance. They both knew there had been no mistake.

  Alan climbed up on the battlement so the approaching army could see him. “Halt and state your intentions,” he called out.

  Edeva saw Bourges signal his men to stop, then he rode forward alone.

  “Who are you?” Bourges asked as he saw Alan.

  “I am Alan of Fornay, first captain of Lord Brevrienne’s mensie.”

  “Sir Alan,” Bourges spoke ingratiatingly. “We are pleased to treat with you. I fear our actions yesterday were misconstrued. We come today in the hope that we can settle things peaceably.”