Redemption (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 3)

by Anna Markland

  Agneta fidgeted with her embroidery. “I love him with all my heart. If he doesn’t return—”

  “Have you ever told him you love him?”

  Agneta hung her head. “No, if I had he might have been better able to cope with the shock of finding out the earl is his father. He believes I don’t love him. When he despised himself, he had no love to cushion his fall.”

  Mabelle reached out and patted Agneta’s hand. “You can’t blame yourself. But now you’ve a child to consider. You must make sure that you take care of yourself, then, God willing, your baby will be born healthy and you’ll survive. When Caedmon returns, you must tell him how much you love him.”

  “I will,” Agneta sighed.

  She decided the countess was right. She took good care throughout her pregnancy and kept a positive outlook about Caedmon’s return. The alternative couldn’t be borne. In her ninth month, when she’d grown large, she walked daily and ate the good food Trésor prepared for her. She was determined her baby would grow up with at least one parent. After all, her mother-by-marriage had raised Caedmon alone in difficult circumstances.

  Mabelle provided Agneta with the best of care. She had many questions and the countess was able to allay some of her fears. The day her labor started she wasn’t as afraid as she had been, and took it all in stride. As she strained in the birthing stool, fighting the pain, she concentrated on Caedmon—his smile, his face, his hair, his hands, his body, the sound of his husky voice. She envisaged welcoming him home, showing him his child for the first time.

  She was comforted by the presence of Mabelle, who insisted on being the one to support her shoulders during most of the labor. Agneta jested she would tell her son as he grew that he’d been brought into the world with the aid of a countess.

  The last leaves were clinging to the trees outside as the cool autumn winds assailed them. Agneta had never been as hot in her life as she travailed to give birth, and in the afternoon of her second day of labor, she heard the wail of her first born child.

  “It’s a boy,” cried Mabelle. “A beautiful strong boy. He has Caedmon’s black hair.”

  The midwife was worried. “My lady, there’s another babe,” she whispered to Mabelle.

  “What is it?” Agneta whimpered. “My son?”

  “Non,” Mabelle soothed, wiping her brow. “Don’t worry. But we’ll need to mark him in some way. There’s another babe. I need a knife, something to mark him with.”

  The midwife handed over a knife, but Agneta stopped her. “No, go to the armoire. In the bottom, there’s a dagger, wrapped in cloth. Use that. It’s an heirloom, from my Viking ancestors.”

  Mabelle quickly found the weapon and nicked the baby’s forearm to mark him as the first born. Minutes later, Agneta gave birth to a tiny girl. She was exhausted, but the good care she and Mabelle had taken with her health came to her aid and the midwife assured her everything was as it should be. They cleansed Agneta and helped her to bed. After a while, they brought the two newborns to her, swaddled and hungry. Mabelle laid the girl to her breast.

  “She’s not first born, but she’s tiny and needs you first,” she said. “Ram’s blue eyes will glow with pride at the sight of these grandchildren. Now October will have a happy memory associated with it.”

  The Long Journey Home

  “We’ll rest a few days before beginning the journey back,” Ram decided. “The ordeal has taken its toll on your body, Caedmon, but you’re strong, and you’ll soon regain your strength. You have good bloodlines.”

  Caedmon smiled at the wink his father gave him. “With the Emperor’s lavish hospitality, I’m confident you’re right,” he replied, putting his feet up on an ottoman.

  “Baudoin and I have met with the Norman knights who survived with you. All expressed their gratitude for your saving their lives. They praised you as a man of fortitude who bore the trials and ordeals of the journey with courage and forbearance. I’m proud of you, my son.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without Amadour de Vignoles,” Caedmon replied.

  “I’ve invited Amadour and the others to join our forces if they wish. They were honored, recognizing the Montbryce name. Allying themselves with our family may bring them renewed hope after the terrible failure of this crusade. Once we reach Normandie, if they meet our standards, they can either remain at the castle in Saint Germain or go with us to England.”

  Caedmon jumped to his feet. “Is Burel among them?” he asked.

  Ram raised his hand in reassurance. “Non, all spoke of his incompetence and arrogance.”

  Caedmon sat back down, but not before he grabbed another handful of grapes from the groaning board set out by the Emperor. “It’s as it should be.”

  Ram helped himself to a sweet confection and joined his son on the divan. “Baudoin is making sure the men-at-arms sharpen their weapons, repair armor and prepare horses before we set out. It won’t be an easy journey back to England.”

  “Speaking of horses,” Caedmon said. “Abbot has weathered the ordeal remarkably well. I might not be here today if he hadn’t kept going. Thank God for Tybaut’s keen eye for horseflesh.”

  Ram nodded. “I understand how you feel. I had a steed named Fortis who kept me alive at Hastings. Perhaps one day I’ll tell you about it.”

  After a few days rest, all were anxious to be on the road home.

  “You look like a Byzantine knight,” Baudoin mocked when he first saw his brother in his new equipment, provided by Alexius. Caedmon wore a fine new chain mail hauberk, a lamellar leather cuirass over it, metal arm and leg braces, and a helmet, clothing and boots. His own were beyond repair.

  Tens of thousands of people were still flocking to join the next crusade and Ram deemed it best to keep to the routes those travelers were taking, though in the opposite direction. While there were risks, it would be safer than journeying through sparsely traveled territory where they might be vulnerable.

  Instead of following the Danube we’ve decided to go overland through Macedonia to Dyrrhacium, which ironically fell briefly to Norman forces many years ago. From there we’ll take ship across the Adriatic to Bari in Italy.

  “I’m not sure why I want to go the sea route,” Ram complained as they made their plans. “I’m a terrible sailor.”

  “So am I,” said Caedmon.

  Just as at the outset of my journey, I couldn’t stop retching throughout the voyage across the Adriatic, but now I know from whom I’ve inherited this malady. The earl was as sick as I was. Baudoin deemed it amusing. Bari was shrouded in fog from the sea and the landing was difficult.

  From the heel of Italy they made their way to the Duchy of Naples. At first they traversed rolling hills, but the terrain became more difficult as they followed trails through high rounded mountains, sometimes catching sight of villages perched high above.

  The magnificent Arch of Trajan in Beneventum is a testimony to the ancientness of these towns we’re passing through. The earl seems to have made an ally of the Archbishop here in this Papal stronghold. He has gifted us with some of the fine wine from this region. We’ve packed it well and the earl hopes we can get it back to Ellesmere safely. He wants his countess to taste it. He talks about her as much as I talk about Agneta.

  I’m developing a taste for olives.

  Ram and Caedmon and Baudoin had many hours to get to know each other and it seemed to Ram their respect and liking for each other grew. The conversation one day turned to the Battle of Alnwick where Agneta had found Caedmon wounded on the battlefield.

  “I must tell you, my lord Rambaud,” his son confided, “this crusade has resurrected memories of Alnwick I’d sooner not remember. I hear the screams of the injured and dying. I’ll never forget the gut-wrenching fear. It’s not very Norman of me to reveal such a thing to you.”

  Ram shifted in the saddle, and it was a while before he replied. “Caedmon, a warrior who says he has never been afraid is a liar. I can tell you that during the Battle of Hastings, I was terri
fied. At one moment I thought my head had been severed and I was looking into my own dead eyes. Then the horror struck me that the blow had felled the knight who rode at my side.”

  It suddenly occurred to him he’d never told anyone about his near decapitation. But Caedmon had fought and fallen in an equally horrific battle.

  “The sights and sounds of that day have haunted me all my life. But courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s acting in spite of the fear. When you made the decision to flee the abandoned ruin and sail to Constantinople for help, were you not afraid?”

  “Aye, I was. But you’re right. I had to act in spite of the fear. I heard Turkish voices in their camp, but I kept going.”

  “That makes you a man of great courage,” Ram answered proudly. “You saved thousands of lives.”

  “But I was a coward when I first found out you were my father. I ran away from my fears then,” Caedmon lamented.

  Ram was thoughtful for a while, contemplating the landscape around them. “My belief is that when we experience a tremendous shock of some kind, violence, bad news, something completely unexpected, our bodies have a number of ways to react. Yours chose to forget when you were at Alnwick. When you understood you were my son, it chose denial and flight. After Hastings I chose to try and overcome my emotional turmoil, and the frustration of losing the confrontation with a Welsh rebel, by seeking solace with your mother who was also in need of comfort. Mabelle had cancelled our betrothal. We’d both suffered a loss and your mother faced a future filled with fear.”

  It was the first time the two men had ever spoken about Ram’s coupling with Ascha.

  Caedmon was silent for long minutes and then said, “I’m ready to hear the whole story.”

  Starting with the preparations for the invasion and omitting nothing, Ram told his son the account of how he’d come to be, ending with his discovery of Ascha’s flight to Scotland. He didn’t try to make excuses for what he’d done.

  “You were not conceived in violence, Caedmon. In fact, I recall it as a brief time of beauty amid a sea of despair and horror. I didn’t love your mother, but we filled a desperate need in each other. It was a mutual joining. Neither forced the other. I took care of her afterwards, made sure the manor was safe.”

  “But the moment you saw me you knew I was your son, yet you didn’t choose to fight, or flee, or deny. You immediately chose to face the reality and embrace it.”

  “That’s because, my dear boy, I’m much older, and thus wiser than you,” Ram replied, smiling. “And I’ve had the great good fortune to be that most unusual of things—I’m a nobleman married to a woman who loves me and who has helped me see that without love, life means little.”

  “I would wish for such a love from Agneta, but I doubt she’ll want to see me when we get home. This is the second thing I’ve done to give her unbearable pain.”

  He told Ram about the attack on Bolton.

  “Do you love her?”

  For a few minutes, Caedmon couldn’t speak, then he swallowed hard and admitted, “She’s all I’ve thought about during this long odyssey. In the midst of the hardships, the stupid quarrels between the different groups, the mayhem, the slaughter, it was the memory of Agneta that kept me sane, kept me going. She was my beacon of hope.”

  Ram nodded, glad his son had found a great love. “Have you told her you love her?”

  “No. I knew when I asked her to be my bride that she could never love me, because of my part in the raid. I was willing to settle for the passion we share.”

  Ram laughed. “This sounds remarkably like history repeating itself. Mabelle and I spent many years trying to deny the fact we love each other. It took a cruel kidnapping and separation to make us see that without the other life wasn’t worth living.”

  When Caedmon looked at him questioningly, Ram recounted the story of Mabelle’s kidnapping by Rhodri. Baudoin rode up to travel at their side while Ram told the tale.

  Caedmon suddenly reined his horse to an abrupt halt. “Rhodri ap Owain? It was he who kidnapped your family?”

  Ram halted his horse, as did Baudoin. “Oui, why do you have such a surprised look on your face?”

  Caedmon shook his head. “You won’t believe this, but Rhodri ap Owain saved my life.”

  He told Ram and Baudoin the story of how Rhodri had rescued him from near-drowning.

  “It’s strange the twists and turns life sometimes takes, isn’t it?” Baudoin remarked. “Papa, tell him the rest of the story about Rhodri and Rhonwen.”

  They set the horses in motion again. “Rhodri ap Owain and I have a sort of tacit understanding. He hasn’t attacked any of my lands since the kidnapping.”

  “Part of the agreement for the ransom?”

  “Non. He married Rhonwen Dda, the healer from Ellesmere who was kidnapped with my wife and sons. Rhonwen was like a daughter to my wife. Though we call our daughter Rhoni, her name is Hylda Rhonwen, and Rhodri’s eldest child is named Myfanwy Mabelle. Rhonwen has visited us numerous times at Ellesmere, often bringing her children. They have five now, three boys and two girls. Baudoin can likely tell you their names.”

  Baudoin smiled. “Oui, besides Myfanwy Mabelle, there’s Rhys, Rhun and Rhydderch, who are twins, and Carys. Rhodri taught me useful raiding and defense tactics during my captivity. I liked him.”

  Caedmon had been nodding as the account was told. Now he smiled. “Rhys helped rescue me, and Rhodri told me about Rhonwen and her friendship with your wife. No wonder he looked at me strangely when I told him he would be welcome at Shelfhoc. Come to think of it, he told me then I reminded him of you.”

  Ram shook his head and laughed. “The wily old fox has probably already guessed your parentage.”

  “Rhodri actually saved all our lives by killing Phillippe de Giroux as he was about to behead Robert,” Baudoin said. “I for one will never forget that experience.”

  Ram added, “Rhodri could easily have finished me off at Ruyton, but he chose not to.”

  “You didn’t mention the name of the rebel you fought with at Ruyton. I didn’t know it was Rhodri.”

  “Oui, anyway, the first thing I told Robert and Baudoin when I saw them again, after the ransom was paid, was that I loved them, and I discovered it wasn’t that hard. Fortunately, Mabelle wasn’t abused during her captivity, but if she had been, it wouldn’t have made a difference in my feelings for her. If you want a father’s advice,” he winked at Caedmon, “you’ll tell Agneta you love her.”

  “What if she doesn’t love me in return?”

  “You keep telling her. Over and over. Show her you love her. I barely know Agneta, but I think you’ll find she cares for you deeply. A woman may say she’s only marrying for passion, but—perhaps Agneta was as afraid as you to avow her love, fearing you didn’t love her in return.”

  I’ve much to learn from the Earl—should I be calling him Father?

  I’ve seen a volcano for the first time, the mighty Mons Vesuvius. They say it hasn’t erupted for two score years, but it’s a daunting sight. Dramatic clouds of smoke still rise from the mouth of the beast.

  Leaving Naples they followed the coast, heading north. In Roma, the earl sought out members of the powerful Frangipani and Pierleoni families. Afterwards, lounging in an opulent chamber provided by the Frangipanis, he explained his ideas to Baudoin and Caedmon.

  “I’m pleased with our talks with them. They’ll make excellent contacts. The world is changing. The Crusades will open up trade and commerce like never before. Look at the three of us. Like thousands of others, we’re crossing new lands.”

  He took a pear from a bowl of fruit and sat down again, rubbing his knees.

  “I have to start eating more fruit. Too much rich food in Constantinople. It made my rheumatism worse. Travel doesn’t help, either. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, oui. People used to live in one place and never leave it. The wealth of these two patrician clans comes from trade and commerce, not lands. We need to make allies of such people. Then Engla
nd and Normandie can take advantage of the new trade routes which will develop.”

  “I understood Frangipani and Pierleoni are bitter enemies,” Baudoin remarked.

  Ram put his forefinger on his lips and whispered with a smile, “They are. That’s why I met with them separately. However, they both understand the power of money. It’s ironic the Pierleoni family, descendants of Jews, are the strongest protectors of the Popes.”

  Rome has risen from the ashes like the phoenix in the myth of old. Will I be able to rebuild my life with Agneta, after destroying her hopes and dreams?

  The weather turned cold, windy and wet as they crossed Tuscany, through Siena and on to Firenze, where they attended mass at the Basilica di San Miniato al Monte. They came out into the bright sunshine and were watching artisans and masons working on high scaffolding on the exterior of the neighboring baptistery. Baudoin wandered off to explore the other side of the renovations.

  “This is incredibly decorative work,” Ram commented to Caedmon, his hand shielding his eyes from the glare.

  “Aye. It is indeed.”

  Suddenly, there was a frenzied shout from high above them. A portion of scaffolding had collapsed and a large slab of marble hung precariously. Baudoin was directly below, but he seemed not to have heard.

  Caedmon sprinted towards his half-brother, waving his arms. “Baudoin!”

  As Baudoin turned, Caedmon leapt forward, knocking him out of the way as the marble came crashing down. The block shattered on impact, inches from where they lay, and shards sprayed over them. Caedmon shielded Baudoin and a sharp sliver struck him on the shoulder, embedding itself in his flesh.

  “Mon Dieu,” Baudoin gasped. “Qu’est-ce qu—”

  “Mes fils,” Ram shouted as he reached them. “My sons, grâce à Dieu, you’re safe. Godemite, Caedmon, you’re hurt. Your shoulder is bleeding.”

  “What?” Caedmon said with a chuckle.

  Ram looked at him strangely. “What is amusing?”