At the end of the third day, Ellowyn took an egg from the chicken coop and, opening the barrel, cracked the egg into the murky water. Brandt, Dylan, Stefan, and her four helpers watched curiously as the egg floated on the top and Ellowyn declared her satisfaction. The lye was sufficiently leeched. Unplugging the hole at the bottom of the barrel, she had her assistants fill buckets with the white stuff, now ready to be used.
The giant iron pot was filled with water again and put to a boil along with a bucketful of the white lye concoction. The bed linens were all thrown into the pot and the massive bed was broken down, brought outside, and scrubbed with lye.
Meanwhile, Ellowyn and one of the soldiers went inside and began scrubbing the floors and walls down with the lye. When Brandt caught sight of his lovely wife on her knees, scrubbing like a washer woman, he sent Stefan into the village to acquire servant women to do the dirty work. He had promised her, after all, and the truth was that it had slipped his mind until he saw her on the floor with a horse bristle brush in her hands. Then, he was fired into action.
Stefan returned with four women by the evening, a widow and her three daughters, and Ellowyn was thrilled. She had already managed to scrub most of the bedchamber but was happy to turn it over to someone else. While two of the daughters got to work finishing the master’s bower, Ellowyn spoke to the old widow, Miss Maude, and discovered that she was mostly deaf but seemingly very willing to work and very knowledgeable. Ellowyn put the old woman to work with the now-boiled bed linens while the third daughter, a surprisingly attractive red-head, started to work on scrubbing down the solar.
The keep was lit up with torches that the soldiers had ignited when the sun began to set. The narrow windows of the keep made it a fairly dark place, even in broad daylight, so there were a variety of wall sconces for the torches and black soot on the walls above them. Satisfied that her new worker women were proceeding nicely with their tasks, Ellowyn went in search of her husband.
Descending the long and edgy stairs that led down the motte and into the bailey, she headed for the great hall. It was nearing suppertime and she could smell the roasting meat.
A few soldiers and male servants were already in the hall, milling about. It was a long and slender room with a greatly angled thatched roof and a massive fireplace built of stone against the southern wall. The chimney wasn’t in good repair so smoke seeped into the room, clouding up near the ceiling. Two long, well-used tables filled the room, each one of them seating at least thirty men.
Ellowyn hadn’t really made it into the feasting hall since her arrival because she and Brandt had taken their meals in the keep, and she hadn’t much been out of the big stone structure. But now, she looked about with interest as an old male servant put fresh bread upon the feasting table. It was brown bread, coarse, but there was plenty of it. Ellowyn got the man’s attention.
“Have you seen the duke?” she asked.
The old man was very old and very tiny. He shook his head. “Nay, my lady,” he replied. “He has not been here.”
Ellowyn’s face twisted thoughtfully. She looked around the room, her thoughts moving from one to another.
“What is your name?” she asked the servant.
“Gilbert, my lady,” he replied.
“Who does the cooking here?”
Gilbert pointed to his right, towards a darkened alcove. She could see an open door at the end of the alcove.
“Servants, my lady,” he replied. “Men servants. They served the duke’s father.”
Ellowyn’s eyebrows lifted. “They must be very old.”
Gilbert simply nodded, both fearfully and eagerly, and skittered after Ellowyn as she proceeded through the alcove and out of the feasting hall.
The kitchen yard was vast, backing up all the way to the outer wall. There were various small structures; chicken coop, pig pen, goats roaming free, sheep penned near the outer wall, a buttery that was made of uneven gray stone and resembled a bee hive. There was also an enormous stone oven that was blazing in the early evening and a fire pit near the oven contained the carcass of a sheep, roasting on the open flame.
Everything was fairly open, unlike the kitchen at Erith that was actually enclosed on the lower level of the keep. There were two big, burly men carting around sides of meat and other things, obviously preparing for the coming meal. Gilbert, a nervous little man, made haste to run them both down and bring them to Ellowyn.
As the men drew near, Ellowyn could see that they were indeed quite old. If they served Brandt’s father, then they had to be nearly ancient. One man was big and bald, perhaps once muscular that had now gone to fat, and the other man had long gray hair, huge hands, and was missing an eye. Ellowyn was a bit taken aback at the “cooks” of Guildford. She had only known women cooks, not two old men who looked more like thieves or murderers.
“I am Lady de Russe,” she said, introducing herself. “I wanted to see who it was that prepares the meals for the duke.”
The two big men bowed to her while Gilbert fluttered at her side nervously. “This is John, my lady,” Gilbert said, pointing to the man with the long gray hair. “His companion is Lune. Lune cannot speak, my lady, but he will understand you.”
Ellowyn nodded in understanding. “I am told you both served the duke’s father.”
Eyeless John nodded. “My father served the duke’s father, my lady,” he replied. “I have served Exeter all of my life. We travel with his army.”
She cocked her head. “Truly?” she said. “I never saw you.”
“We did not go with the duke to Erith, my lady,” John replied. “We came straight from the docks.”
“Ah,” she understood. “Then you were with the group that Arundel sent away.”
“Aye, my lady.”
Ellowyn understood now. She thanked the men and headed back to the hall, still on a quest to find her husband, but she felt as if she were coming to know Guildford a little better. It was to be her home, after all. It was important she understand the workings so she could better oversee the operations.
The hall was starting to fill in with some of Brandt’s lesser knights, whom he had not yet introduced her to. In fact, Ellowyn realized that he had mostly kept her to himself bottled up in the keep for the past three days. Furthermore, whenever she had moved from the keep, he or another knight had been by her side. She had never been alone. Just as she pondered that particular realization, she ran straight into Brandt, who was just entering the hall.
It was a collision of sorts as he reached out to keep her from falling over. Startled, she gasped until she saw who it was. Then, a smile lit up her face even though she saw that he wasn’t smiling in return. In fact, he looked rather perturbed.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded quietly.
She picked up on his tone but wasn’t sure why he was irritated. “I came to look for you,” she said. “The women are working on the keep right now but I need straw for the mattress. There was no one to ask so I came to find you.”
He sighed sharply, looking around at the men milling in the great hall, and took her by the arm. Leading her out into the deepening night, he spoke as he escorted her towards the motte.
“You must never go anywhere without an escort,” he told her. “Too much can happen and I do not want you in danger.”
She looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”
He looked down his nose at her. “Do you remember when we were in the garden of Erith?” he asked, watching recognition register on her features. “I told you there are assassins in my ranks. You have seen the evidence with your own eyes. You should have thought about that before you went wandering around without an armed escort.”
She was contrite and defiant at the same time. “So I am to have no freedom at all?”
“You can have all the freedom you want provided you have a proper escort.”
She didn’t like that answer. “What about after you leave for France?” she demanded, coming to a halt just
as they reached the stairs leading up the motte. “Am I to be kept caged in that stone prison of a keep until you return?”
He let go of her and faced her. “I thought we were not going to speak of my leaving for France.”
She threw up her hands. “Evidently we must speak of it because I must know if I am to be held a prisoner until you return.” She put her hands on her hips. “It is not fair to expect me to stay caged until you come back, Brandt.”
“Stop saying that you will be caged,” he said irritably. “That is not the case. I realize you are used to having free reign at Erith, but this is not Erith. You must adapt, Wynny. You must understand your environment now. Dangers lurk everywhere. It would destroy me if anything happened to you and you know it.”
She just shook her head in frustration. She wasn’t happy about it but she didn’t want to argue with him.
“As you say,” she said, holding up a hand to signal surrender, although they both knew it was not the end. “Now, let’s get back to my original question. May I have some hay so that I may have the mattress stuffed? As much as I like sleeping on a hard floor, I do believe I would prefer a real bed tonight.”
He was glad she wasn’t going to argue the point further. In fact, he had been fairly terrified when one of the soldiers assisting her up at the keep had told him she had gone wandering down in the outer bailey. It had been a panicked flight to find her and he was grateful she was whole and safe. Still, he let the subject go for the moment, and gratefully so. He didn’t want to fight with her about it.
“As would I,” he said, glad to change the subject. “I will take you over to the stable and we shall see about getting some hay.”
The stable master was able to provide them with a great deal of soft, dry hay, which made for a wonderful night’s sleep in their newly boiled bed linens. In fact, it was so wonderful that Ellowyn slept well into the morning even when Brandt rose at dawn to go about his duties. He let his wife sleep, watching her as he silently dressed, and thinking he’d never in his life been so happy or content. It was a remarkable feeling.
Ellowyn probably would have slept until noon had the sentries not awoken her mid-morning and Brandt went to make sure she was awake. It would seem that the Duchess of Exeter was required to make an appearance.
Visitors had arrived at Guildford.
*
Lady Sabine de Ferrers, Baroness Albury, and her daughter, Daphne, had been sitting in the cold and rather darkened great hall for a half hour before Brandt made an appearance. Wife and daughter of Lord Albury, a vassal of Brandt’s, they were dressed in their finest for their visit to the duke. Lady Sabine had a pure white wimple on that was surely cutting off the circulation to her head while her daughter, dowdy and round, dressed in scads of flowing robes, jewels, and a corset that was so tight that her bosom was nearly pushed into her chin. Couple that effect with her plain dough-like face and the results were truly hideous.
Brandt didn’t have time for visitors so his patience was strained. The only reason he agreed to greet them was because Lady Sabine’s husband was very wealthy and commanded nearly eight hundred men. Propriety dictated that Brandt be polite to his vassal, so after he made sure his wife was up and getting dressed, he begrudgingly made his way to greet the visitors.
He met the pair in the great hall where he had purposely made sure they were not offered anything more than a small cup of wine. He didn’t even want them up at the keep, and he certainly didn’t want to socialize with them beyond necessity. He simply wanted to know their business so he could get on with his day. When Lady Sabine saw him enter the cold hall, she bolted to her feet.
“My lord de Russe,” she said happily. “It is so good to see you alive and well after your campaign in France.”
Brandt barely cracked a polite smile. Lady Sabine extended her hands to him in greeting and he forced himself to respond. Her icy fingers clutched at him.
“Ladies,” he greeted the pair, trying not to look at the blob-like daughter. “I am honored by your visit. How may I be of service?”
Lady Sabine wouldn’t let him go even when he tried to force her to sit. “We heard that you had returned to Guildford,” she said. “Imagine our horror when we heard Arundel had possession of your castle. What gall! Were you forced to throw him out to regain your seat?”
Brandt finally peeled her fingers off of him and indicated for her to sit. He sat opposite the pair at the table, a safe distance away.
“Not in the least,” he replied. “When Arundel realized I had returned, they were happy to leave.”
“Why did they confiscate it in the first place?”
“I was told that they possessed it in the event I did not return from Edward’s wars. Evidently, Fitzalan wanted first claim.” He shifted the subject, mostly because Lady Sabine was a terrible gossip and he didn’t want to fuel her imagination. “Now, I would be happy if you would tell me the reason for your visit. I am afraid I have much to do and little time to spare.”
Lady Sabine’s face fell somewhat that he wasn’t prepared to engage her in a nice, long visit, but she recovered. She wasn’t going down without a fight.
“My husband sends his regards,” she said. “When he heard you had returned, he wanted to make sure you were welcomed properly.”
“Where is your husband?”
“Ill with gout, my lord. He cannot travel.”
“I see,” Brandt replied, his patience evaporating. He was done with pleasantries and stood up from the bench. “I thank you for your welcome, my lady, but you must excuse me. I have many tasks requiring my attention.”
Lady Sabine couldn’t hide her disappointment any longer. She stood up as well, dragging her plump daughter to her feet also.
“Are you planning on remaining in England, my lord?” she asked quickly. “Surely you have been away long enough.”
Brandt shook his head. He was already moving around the table in preparation for escorting them out of the hall.
“I do not plan to remain long,” he said. “I am returning to France within the month.”
“Oh,” Lady Sabine appeared crestfallen. “I am sorry to hear that. We were hoping you would stay for a time.”
Brandt had the woman by the elbow. He looked at her curiously. “Why?”
Lady Sabine blinked. “Because… well, because we simply were, my lord. My husband is fond of you and I believe he feels secure when you are in residence at Guildford. We never had a son, you see, and I believe he has oftentimes looked upon you as a son in a manner of speaking.”
Brandt resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her statement. Baron Albury was a selfish man with bad health and a penchant for heavy drink. He didn’t care for anyone unless they carried a bottle of wine with them. More than that, he and Brandt barely knew one another beyond their acquaintance. But Brandt remained polite.
“Then I am flattered,” he said. “Please give him my regards.”
He was effectively shutting the conversation down as he forcibly escorted Lady Sabine to the door. Her daughter trailed along behind. But Lady Sabine would not be cut off so easily.
“I will, of course,” she said. Then, she grabbed at her daughter, pulling her forward. “Daphne is home from fostering at Portchester Castle. I do not believe you have seen my daughter for many years.”
Brandt paused as they neared the hall entry, facing the round and pale young woman. She was even uglier at close range. “Lady Daphne,” he greeted with forced politeness. Then he looked at Lady Sabine. “Considering I have only seen you four or five times in my adult life, I will admit that I have only met your daughter once. She was very young, as I recall.”
Lady Sabine looked at her daughter with a beseeching expression that she was trying very hard to mask. Say something, you silly girl! Fortunately, Daphne received her mother’s silent plea and cleared her throat nervously.
“I was ten or eleven years of age, my lord,” Daphne said, her voice thin and weak. “Did you enjoy your time in Fra
nce?”
Brandt could see through the paper-thin attempt to keep the conversation going and it was a genuine struggle not to rudely chase them away.
“I was at war, my lady,” he said frankly. “I do not consider that an enjoyable time. Now, if you will….”
Daphne cut him off. “How long have you been in France this time?” she asked. “You have been there before on campaigns, have you not?”
Brandt sighed impatiently. He couldn’t help it. “I have been there almost three years,” he said with increasing annoyance. “Before that, I was in France on two separate campaigns, each one lasting nearly four years. During that time, I have spent no more than a year in England intermittently. All of my focus is on Edward and his desire to claim what is rightfully his. Now, if you ladies will excuse….”
“Perhaps you will come and visit us at Albury before you depart for France,” Daphne said, clumsily interrupting him again. “My father would like to see you and we would have a great feast in your honor.”
“Although I appreciate the offer, you will understand if I decline,” Brandt said, moving them through the front door and out into the mid-morning sun. “I have a great many things to accomplish and do not have time for social events.”
Daphne’s hopeful expression dampened. “I am sorry to know that,” she said sincerely. “I was hoping… well, perhaps you will allow me to return to Guildford and play for you. I am most accomplished on the harp and I would consider it an honor to play for you.”
Brandt eyed the woman. Now he was coming to understand the purpose of their visit and it had nothing to do with welcoming him back to England. He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him before now. Lady de Ferrers was on a husband hunt for her daughter and evidently thought the duke would be easy prey now that he was newly returned from the wars in France. He quickly sought to make his position very clear.
“Although your offer is gracious, I will have to ask my wife if she would be agreeable to such entertainment,” he said. “I will send for you if she has an inclination to listen.”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 94