One clear look at his companion’s face had Guillelm out of his chair and striding from the dais. ’Thomas? What news?’
Let this not touch upon Alyson, he prayed, but surely that was impossible. His wife was safe and healing, snug on her roof-garden at the very top of the keep. How then could Sir Tom’s grim face be connected with her? ‘Speak!’ he commanded, a coil of dread winding tight about his guts.
‘The lady Alyson has gone hunting a wolf that made off with a child,’ Sir Tom said bluntly. ’Fulk has just learned that she and a rag-tag party of old men and boys have been gone this last hour.’
Rushing off to save another without thought for her own recent injury—that was Alyson all over. Guillelm longed to box her ears but even more find her, hold her tight, make her safe.
‘Saddle my horse,’ he said through bloodless lips.
‘Already done. Fulk has gathered our best trackers.’
Guillelm nodded. ’Then we ride,’ he said.
The child of the cottar had done what Alyson would have done at the same age if chased by a wolf. She had scrambled into the tallest tree she could find and, when Alyson and her party of archers and villagers spotted her, close to the track she had used to gather firewood, she waved and shouted to them gleefully, her tears of fright forgotten.
Soon the wiry eight-year-old was tight in her mother’s arms, gabbling tales of her adventure as her mother rocked her on her lap, the pair of them sitting on a fallen tree-trunk while the archers prowled through the undergrowth, seeking tracks. The wolf had been scared off by their approach, but the child said it had emerged from the middle of the woodland, where she herself had been forbidden to venture. ’I keep to the track at the edge of the wood, as I am told,’ the child piped, receiving a kiss from her mother as the woman tried to untangle burrs and leaves from her daughter’s grubby yellow-brown hair.
The thanks of the cottar to Alyson were heartfelt. ‘You have given us back our lives, my lady, with this our youngest, our only daughter,’ he said. ‘If there is anything we may do for you, please call upon us.’
‘Any help we can give, it is yours,’ the wife of the cottar agreed, glancing at Alyson’s slim shape.
Guessing what help she meant, Alyson asked, ‘How many children have you?’
‘Five, your lady, and all living, thanks be to God,’ said the cottar, squeezing his wife’s shoulder. Standing beside her, one could see the love between them, warm as the summer’s day.
‘I will remember your kind offer, Harland, Elfgiva.’ With a nod to both, Alyson spurred Jezebel forward before these two handsome, sinewy, rose-complexioned and above all loving parents noticed the tears in her eyes. To Harland and Elfgiva, a daughter was not a disappointment, but a treasure.
‘My lady!’ One of the squires clutched at her saddle. ‘What must I eat for a headache?’
‘Drink less beer!’ called back another squire, to general laughter.
Alyson chuckled too and was about to lean down and suggest another ’cure’ when the squire released her saddle and straightened, like a man on sentry duty. She heard it as well, the galloping of many heavy horses.
‘Sericus! Gather everyone about in a circle, archers to the front!’ she ordered, shielding the cottar’s family with Jezebel’s broad flanks. Who was this, breaking through the stands of elders and hazel at so furious a rate? Please, God, not Étienne the Fleming, returning again to wreak more havoc.
She saw Guillelm’s fluttering standard and breathed out in relief. A shout of joy broke from her lips as Caliph burst into view through the trees and Guillelm hurtled towards her, ahead of all his men. He was bare-headed and she could see his face.
He was not smiling.
They returned to Hardspen in silence, where Guillelm issued swift orders that the wolf be hunted down by what he called a ‘proper’ party of men and dogs. Lunch was yesterday’s bread and soft new cheese: a snack since the cook had not known at what hour any of them would be dining.
‘My lady will be spending the afternoon in the solar, at her needlework,’ Guillelm announced to the astonished company in the great hall—none more surprised than Alyson herself.
Leaving her bread, she leaned across her seat to murmur, ‘You know there is no solar here at Hardspen.’
Guillelm shook his head. ‘I had your previous bedchamber cleared out while we were eating, and tables and chairs taken in. That will be your solar. It is large enough for you and your maids.’
‘But I thought —’ Alyson stopped, disappointed that she and Guillelm would not be spending time together on the roof garden. ‘I have stills and potions to work on,’ she remarked, shocked when Guillelm took her hand in his and said softly but firmly, ‘No.’
‘What are you saying?’ Alyson felt a chill of alarm. Farther along the table, Fulk was openly grinning.
‘I have decided, wife, that in future you shall be best employed inside this castle. Hardspen is a bare place —’ Ignoring the sword and shield of his famous ancestor on one wall, Guillelm swept an arm up to the high rafters as if to illustrate his point—’Other ladies do embroidery and tapestry to add warmth and colour to the rooms of their menfolk. I have decided that it will be more fitting if you follow their example.’
Do not argue with him before Fulk and his men, Alyson scolded herself. ‘As you wish, my lord,’ she agreed, while her stomach coiled itself into knots of rage. ‘For this afternoon.’
‘All afternoons.’
How had he arrived at this folly? Of course she knew—she could hear Fulk’s insinuations in Guillelm’s every boorish idea. Alyson put a hand to her mouth, as if stifling a yawn. ‘I had no notion you were so ordinary in your expectations, my lord.’
Next moment, Alyson felt a heavy hand upon her back. She moaned, the pain of her injured shoulder jolting through her nerves, and would have tumbled from her seat, had Guillelm not been there, tugging her none too gently off her own chair onto his lap.
Ever the jester, Thierry called out some ribald comment in French but Alyson had ears only for Guillelm’s searing whisper.
‘I barely touched you then, Alyson, and see how you flinched! Your shoulder is not even half-healed and yet you shame me by cavorting around the countryside on a wolf-chase! When I found you this morning, were you about to dig a wolf pit yourself, too?’
‘That is not fair!’ Alyson hissed back, stung by the truth of his words and even more by the hurt shining in his eyes. She wanted to give an account of herself, not to win but to give him a reason for her actions, so he would understand she had no choice. ’I never meant to shame you —’
She stopped, overcome for an instant by a burning sensation in her throat, the prelude to tears. Digging her fingernails tightly into her palm she regained some composure and continued. ‘I knew you could not set out yourself because of the envoys and yet with a child missing there was no time to be lost.’
‘You did not think to send me a message? I would have sent Fulk and a troop of men out immediately.’
And would Fulk have acted promptly, for the child of a peasant? I think not. Alyson stared at her hands. ‘I did not think I should disturb you,’ she said, as much as she dare admit. ‘I realize I acted impulsively.’ She forced herself to raise her head and look him in the face. ‘I am sorry. Truly, I thought you would be pleased.’
She hoped to see forgiveness in her husband’s compelling eyes, a gentling of his lips. To her inward dread, his harsh features remained locked in a frown. ‘Pleased that my injured wife is putting herself in peril? There cannot be any more of this, Alyson, even if a child is in mortal danger.’ Guillelm’s right hand tightened about her narrow waist. ‘Promise me there will be no more, or I shall have no peace.’
‘My lord!’ Fulk had no qualms in interrupting their conversation. He clearly felt himself in the ascendant: now he pushed himself away from the table and the dais and walked towards Alyson and Guillelm, glowering at a hunting dog that had crept into the hall until it slunk off to the lowe
r tables. ‘My lord, be not harsh to your lady. She is young, and unschooled in the ways of a large household.’
He smiled at Alyson—that is, he showed his teeth—and added, ’Will you see Sericus now, my lord?’
Now you have said enough words to act as fat on the fire of Guillelm’s anger, Alyson thought, but said quickly, ’I would send Sericus on an errand.’
‘You have done enough,’ Guillelm said. ‘Now I will have my say.’
Alyson met his steely glance, inwardly sending a prayer to Christ that she had not made matters worse. ‘What business have you with my seneschal?’ she asked, fearing the answer.
‘Bring him inside,’ Guillelm said to Fulk. He tipped Alyson off his knee. ’Call her women.’
‘Talk to me,’ Alyson said, hating the pleading note in her voice. ’Guillelm, you cannot fault the loyalty of Sericus —’
‘Not to you, perhaps, but where was his sense?’ Guillelm’s large hand captured both of hers and he dragged her close again. ’If I choose to punish that old man for his folly, then I shall, and that will also be your chastisement. Get to your solar, Madam, or I will have your women carry you there.’
Hot speech flooded Alyson’s mind but she was mute, shocked. She had not seen Guillelm this coldly stubborn before. Seated beside him, Sir Tom was shaking his head. On the tables below the dais, men were suddenly busy with their drinks or dice. I have no allies here, she thought. They all think I was wrong. ‘Dragon, please —’
‘No more.’ Guillelm released her and Alyson forced herself to walk away from him, her footsteps crackling on the freshly-strewn rushes and meadowsweet.
‘Excellent, Guido,’ remarked Tom, clapping a flea on the back of his neck. ’I have seen you deal with lepers with more care.’
‘It is not Alyson whom I blame.’ Guillelm could not drag his eyes from the straight-backed, retreating figure. He longed to rush after her and somehow make everything right between them. He wished she would look back; just a glance over her shoulder. Then he would not have to live with the dread that she was as angry with him as he had been with her. An anger on his part that he suspected was unwarranted, in spite of Fulk’s snide comments.
But if she had been injured on the wolf-hunt, or worse—his mind shied from the final thought, his thoughts leaping back as if from the jaws of the wolf itself. He could not stand to think of Alyson hurt. She had been hurt so often at Hardspen. What kind of man, of husband was he, that he could not protect her from her own fierce charity? He should have remembered about the wolf himself, sent out hunters days ago, before the joust, and not trusted to that old fool Sericus, who had told him the beast had vanished.
Alyson had also vanished. He watched the shadowy entrance for several more moments, hoping against hope that she would return. Even to have her quarrel with him would be a relief because it would be contact. She was gone now and he felt bereft: stupid, arrogant unreasonable and, more than anything, alone.
‘Where is Sericus?’ he demanded. He and Fulk had not yet entered the great hall. What was keeping them?
‘That old man did the best he could.’ Tom again, an unwelcome conscience. ‘You should not vent your spleen on him. It is unfair, as your lady says and —’
‘When I need your advice, Thomas, I shall ask for it.’ Guillelm glowered at the entrance but still the two seneschals did not appear. Instead a page scampered over the rushes, missing his footing once on a discarded meat-bone. Before sprawling full-length amongst the milling dogs, he righted himself in time and gabbled his message.
‘Lord! The holy Sister Ursula is outside the hall this very moment, with Sir Fulk and Master Sericus. She begs leave to speak with you.’
As Guillelm cursed under his breath and rose, braced for another chilly encounter with Alyson‘s sister, Tom put down his cup.
‘Will you tell her anything?’ he goaded, in a low, carrying voice. ‘I for one wish that you would share with Alyson’s sister the real reason why Alyson was asked for no favours at the joust. Did you not notice how that blonde piece Petronilla preened over the many trinkets she gave out? Women care about such matters. If you told Sister Ursula the truth, she would tell Alyson.’
‘I think that unlikely: they are not close. Besides, the joust is over.’ A fiery jealousy was burning in the pit of Guillelm’s belly: he wanted to slam Tom‘s head into the trestle for even raising the subject. ‘I admit I was wrong, Tom—I did so at the time and I do so again.‘
‘Yet you say nothing to Alyson herself. Do you wish her to feel entirely friendless, wondering why no knight approached her?’
Feelings, thoughts, guesses—Guillelm felt to be in a trap of his own devising, and the knowledge that he had created this current bad blood between Alyson and himself made another burden. ’She has me. She needs no other defender.’
‘And do you think Alyson remains convinced she has you now, this moment? Guido! How can you be so thick-headed?’
Very easily, Guillelm admitted bleakly. He knew he was being stubborn. He knew he should have spoken to Alyson earlier about her favours and the joust; he knew—
‘Enough!’ Guillelm slammed back his chair, saying to the page, ’Lead on, boy.’ The sooner he could be finished with the nun and seek out his wife to forge some kind of peace with her, the better.
Sister Ursula was waiting on the stairwell where, if Guillelm had known it, Alyson had waited a few months earlier, on the night he had returned to Hardspen. Standing beside her, Fulk wore the bright look of a fellow conspirator.
‘Where is Sericus?’ Guillelm asked him.
‘I suggested that my sister’s seneschal leave, to give us some privacy,’ Sister Ursula answered, and, before Guillelm could protest, ‘Sericus was ever…partial to my sister and this gentle knight tells me that you and Alyson are estranged.’
Guillelm stared at Fulk with raised brows. ‘You have been busy.’
‘I speak only the truth, my lord.’
‘Leave us.’ Guillelm spoke as curtly as he had done to the page.
‘You doubt his loyalty,’ Sister Ursula remarked, when she and Guillelm were alone.
If I do, it is no concern of yours, Guillelm thought, though he said nothing. Again, he was ashamed of Fulk, and of his own misjudgement. He had been almost wilfully blind, reluctant to admit to the man’s glaring faults because of his excellent fighting skills. Habit and old companionship could not easily be set aside, but Fulk had made no effort to outgrow his prejudices. Guillelm’s own small hope that his seneschal would mellow in time towards Alyson was revealed as futile.
Putting that thorny matter aside for the moment, Guillelm studied the svelte, black-robed figure before him. He chose to be blunt.
‘You are pleased to think that Alyson and I have fallen out.’
Sister Ursula clasped her bony hands together, as if in prayer.
‘Why?’ Guillelm persisted.
The nun shook her head. ‘I am here, as a mark of penance, to speak for my order,’ she said through pursed lips.
Guillelm put his right hand behind his back and made a fist of it. He could sense Sister Ursula’s distaste of him, revealed in her rigid stance and in the way she would not look at him directly. Yet she had been speaking to Fulk and the pair had looked easy together.
Heloise too had laughed and joked with Fulk in Outremer…. Swiftly, before the old bitterness overwhelmed him, Guillelm tried again. ‘First answer me this. Do you not wish Alyson to be happy?’
‘I wish her to be alive.’ Now Sister Ursula raised her face to his, her narrow features schooled into a mask of loathing. ‘You men! All you think of is war and killing! The Prioress wants me to beg you that you allow us to stay on at Hardspen for a little longer, when I —’
‘Gladly,’ Guillelm intervened, but Sister Ursula would not be denied.
‘In a castle full of the same brutes who would have cut us down in our convent without a qualm!’ she retorted. ‘It is madness! Evil.’ She raised a quivering hand towards Guillelm, her
index finger thrust out like a dagger. ‘You are evil, my lord de la Rochelle, for you have murdered others and will do so again. Including my sister!’
‘Stop!’ Guillelm sprinted ahead of the nun as she turned to go back to the chapel, using his own body to block the stairs. ‘Do you think that habit gives you the right to say anything you please? What do you mean? I would never, never harm Alyson!’
‘You want a son, do you not? An heir? Men always do!’
She has gone mad, Guillelm thought, as Sister Ursula leaned closer, her eyes wild as she prodded his chest with her finger. A cascade of words broke from her mouth and from sheer shock he sat down on the stone steps, listening in appalled fascination to her rave.
‘You took Alyson when you must have known that the womenfolk in our family are fated to die in childbirth, so do not speak of never harming to me! You knew she wanted to be a nun! You might say you know differently, but Alyson would say the moon was made of gold because of you! I think she is either bewitched or terrified. She does not know her own mind.’
‘And you do.’
‘No! But Christ knows! God knows!’ Sister Ursula straightened, tucking the simple wooden crucifix that hung around her neck out of sight as she smoothed down her habit. The action seemed to calm her: when she spoke her words were more measured.
‘Every woman in our family, without exception, has died in childbirth. My mother, her mother, the sisters of my mother, my great-grandmother. If you care for Alyson as you claim, then you will allow my sister to depart with my order when the time comes, to spend a period of contemplation and prayer with us. Allow her that space and peace so she may come to know what God desires for her.’
Sister Ursula withdrew by another way, leaving Guillelm sitting on the stairs, staring at the soot-encrusted walls and seeing nothing.
He was still there when a boy came later, to light the torches.
Love and Chivalry: Four Medieval Historical Romances Page 22