The Sword and The Swan (6 page)

This year the rebels were quiet, almost too quiet. Maud's eyes went blind although they seemed bent on her stitchery as she thought about holy days, fast days and feast days, any excuse for a great celebration which could promise sufficient excitement to keep the barons in London. There was Easter, of course, but the Church frowned on tournaments and would certainly object to that method of celebrating the event of Christ's rising. Nonetheless, the men needed to fight and the women needed to see blood spilled. That alone would keep them quiet.

"Madam." The soft voice of a lady-in-waiting broke Maud's chain of thought. "Sir Rannulf desires a word with you."

Now what, Maud wondered, as she hurried down to meet him. Perhaps she should have called a priest and had him marry Catherine immediately after he had agreed. He was not given to vacillation, but that worked both ways. Perhaps he was regretting having changed his original opinion. Her heart sank when she saw him pacing uneasily. Rannulf was a man who knew the value of rest because he had very little of it. He was not one to walk the floor unless he was deeply disturbed. However, his face, when he turned it to her, held a look of deep embarrassment, not grim determination.

"I scarcely came prepared for this eventuality," he began irritably as soon as she was near enough to hear him.

"What eventuality?" Maud asked steadily, subduing a desire to cry out that she could face no more problems.

"My wedding," he replied wryly, and Maud could have wept with relief.

"In what way are you unprepared, my lord? We stand as parents to the bride and will furnish the feast and all other matters. If you provide a willing heart and," she added despairingly, "a less black countenance, that will be all that is necessary."

"Hmph," Rannulf grunted. "That is all I am like to provide. It came to me just before that all the garments I have are what I stand in. A pretty sight I will be, ruststained and mud-splattered."

"I never knew you were so vain, or so desirous of pleasing." Maud laughed, unable to resist the temptation to prick a spot she had not previously known to be vulnerable.

"I hope I am neither, but I can see no reason to shame the poor woman who must marry me. She will doubtless hear enough from the court, if she has not already heard, of my great desire for this match. I need not drive home the point. Moreover, there is another matter. I have not even a seal ring upon my finger to offer as a bride-gift. In any case, I will need more than that and there is no time to obtain anything from the goldsmiths. Let me buy some trinket from you that she has not seen you wear. I would not have her think that you drove me to this against my will and that I will hold a grudge against her for it."

Maud's expression softened and her warm smile lit up her eyes. "Ah, my lord, I have found out your soft heart. How kind of you to think of these things."

Rannulf scowled and roughly shook off the hand she had laid on his arm, but the queen laughed, very well satisfied.

"Wait, I will bring down some things that I think fitting and you shall have your choice—and let there be no more talk of buying."

"I do not like to incur such debts."

But debts were just what Maud wished to load him with. "You are incorrigible," she said. "May not one friend offer another a free gift for love? In that there can be no debt."

It was surprising, Maud thought, as she searched hastily through her jewel boxes, to find so much consideration for a woman in Rannulf of Sleaford. She thought too about how she could add some magnificence to the wedding on such short notice and then almost choked with regret for having pushed Rannulf into celebrating it so soon. If only she had set it a few weeks off, that would have been all the excuse she needed for holding a great tourney.

She dared not suggest delay now; the smallest thing could reawaken all Rannulf's suspicions and expose Catherine to even more gossip than she had already heard. Moreover, to delay the marriage would delay Rannulf's investiture as the new earl. The vassals were reluctant enough to take an earl who was loyal to Stephen. To leave them longer in freedom might make them totally unwilling to obey such a master. The sooner … That was it!

When the vassals of Soke came to do homage to their new overlord, she could rightfully celebrate the event with a grand tourney. It would flatter the vassals that such an event was held in their honor and, yes, that would solve another problem too. Let Rannulf stand off a selected number of his new vassals in the lists, that would give the worst disaffected a chance to work off their ire and give them a healthy respect for him. Then let him lead the remainder in the melee. Any hard feelings remaining should melt into loyalty when they fought behind his banner.

CHAPTER 3

"My lord, if you wish to bathe and eat, you must rise now." John, youngest son of Simon of Northampton, shook his master gently.

"I am awake."

"The queen bade me give you these garments, my lord, and also ordered me straightly to tell you that the king's barber waits to shave you and cut your hair."

Rannulf burst into laughter. "Very well, when I have bathed you may send him to me, but if she hopes to mend my looks thus, she will be sadly disappointed. There is nothing better to be seen under the bristles."

Sure of his prowess and courage, proud of his family, of his reputation for integrity, and of the respect of all men, Rannulf of Sleaford feared only one thing—women. A man could be reasoned with or challenged fairly to fight, but what could be done with a woman? Except for Maud, Rannulf knew them to be utterly without the power to reason, and, although they could easily be beaten into submission—he had sufficient experience of that with Adelecia—it made him so sick to strike such weak and mewling things that his gain was not worth his pain.

Rannulf surveyed himself with brooding eyes in the polished silver mirror the barber held up for him. Here he was, about to be married to a great lady, a lady whose lands and wealth equaled or exceeded his own, a lady who, his friends told him, was very beautiful, a lady whose father and husband had been his enemies, and he had made it plain to all the world that he desired neither her nor her lands.

The barber, seeing the expression of impotent fury in his client's face, began to expostulate hesitantly, assuring him that he was trimmed and furbished in the very latest fashion. Rannulf waved him irritably away.

No matter how distasteful to him, he would have to settle the fact that he was to be master in his own household at once. At the first sign of opposition, he would bring her to heel, and then perhaps . . . perhaps not.

He remembered that when he beat Adelecia, no matter how many apologies and promises of amendment he wrung from her, she became worse and worse. Not that kindness had improved her behavior; if he offered so much as a civil word, she would think she had won all and could go her own way.

And this one was Soke's daughter, whose enmity to him was likely bred in the bone. A horrible and unaccustomed feeling of inadequacy shook him, only to be followed by a burst of laughter when he remembered how often he had faced death in battle without a shudder.

Lady Catherine did not need to be awakened. She had lain awake all night recalling her talk with Gundreda and trying to recall every word the queen had said about Sir Rannulf. Her mind was no longer dulled by grief, for it had been quickened by sharp pangs of fear.

If Catherine could have preserved her son's life or her father's by the sacrifice of her own, she would have made that sacrifice without a moment's hesitation. They were dead now, however; no sacrifice could recall them, and she could do no more than pray for their souls and pay the priests to do likewise.

Gundreda had said nothing one could put a finger on, yet Catherine felt it was her life that was now threatened, and she discovered in herself a passionate desire to live. She walked to a shutter and opened it, fear giving sight to eyes that had been sorrow-blinded. There were the blue of the sky and the gilding the sun gave to the walls and roofs. Shaken free of her grief, she knew she desired to see the sun rise and set and take pleasure in its beauty; she desired to see the new corn spring from the earth, watch the fruit ripen, gather the harvest in the fall, read and sew by the fire in winter.

The sounds behind her were those of the maids bringing in her bath. Catherine moved away from the window and closed the shutter. Perhaps she had read too much into Lady Warwick's words. But why had the queen urged her so straightly to do all to please her new husband? The master of Sleaford must be a dangerous man. And had not her father had some quarrel with him?

Still, Catherine decided, seeking for calm as she stepped from the bath and dried herself, the matter could not be urgent. Surely Sir Rannulf would try for an heir out of her before he looked for other ways of securing her lands to himself. Suddenly she threw off the cloth she was using as a towel and looked at her body. She could not help but be pleased by it, and she felt that any man would also be pleased by it. Her pregnancies had not marked her nor destroyed the slender litheness of her waist and hips; the delicate, blue-veined skin of her full, firm breasts must be attractive. Clearly there was one way to save herself.

Laying aside all thought of the indifference toward him that she had intended to show, Catherine began to choose the outward instruments with which to trap her new husband into love. First, a thin woolen shift, bleached to perfect whiteness; next, an indigo tunic, its neckline and cuffs blazing with gold-thread embroidery to set off her fair complexion; last, a gown of paler misty blue that matched her eyes. Now to braid pearls into her moonlight hair, to bite her lips and pinch her cheeks; all must be done to bring forth her greatest beauty.

It was the path to safety, and Catherine never doubted she could tread it firmly. Even when she was brought to Rannulf's side and a quick glance showed that his face was set and cold, she did not falter. Her hands did not tremble, and her voice was low and sweet and steady as she repeated the marriage vows. The only thing she could not command was her complexion, and the pink she had pinched back into her cheeks faded until she became so pale that Rannulf took her arm to support her, fearing she would faint.

The priest was finished; the affirmative shouts of the crowd of noblemen and noblewomen who had witnessed the marriage were over; Rannulf had touched his wife's lips in the kiss of peace. They were mated.

Now the grooms brought the horses forward, and Rannulf threw his wife up into the saddle to return to the White Tower for the wedding feast. He wondered if she could sit a horse in her present state.

"You are so pale, madam. Are you ill?"

Catherine looked down into the expressionless face turned up to her. "No," she murmured, quelling a desire to burst into tears now that she knew herself to be irrevocably in this man's power, "I am afraid."

"Afraid? Of what? You have been a wife before." Rannulf scowled, annoyed with himself because fear could do her no harm and him much good.

"I am afraid of you, my lord," Catherine sighed, "of the new things I must learn and the new life I must begin."

Rannulf's scowl deepened. Perhaps it was good for her to be afraid, but he did not like it. Her voice was sweet as a child's; she did not whine or threaten, but spoke with a child's simplicity and looked with a child's simplicity for assurance.

"You need have no fear of me. I am not a boy to be impatient with an honest mistake or a little folly—and I have some knowledge of women."

That last statement made Maud, who was coming to see what was delaying the bride and groom, turn away rapidly. She was convulsed with laughter for a moment, for it was perfectly plain to her that Rannulf had not the faintest understanding of women at all.

As much as Maud had disliked Lady Adelecia, it was necessary to admit that Rannulf's stupidity had caused most of the trouble, since his behavior alternated irrationally between brutality and complete yielding. Look at him, Maud thought despairingly. Face to face with an oncoming army, he could decide matters of life and death. Now, face to face with one gentle woman, he must clear his throat as if to spit on her, look down at the ground, and scowl all the while as if the poor girl were his worst enemy. God grant her understanding, Maud prayed, or she will become another Adelecia, and I will have made him my enemy instead of binding him closer. She was about to touch her horse and go forward to relieve the situation when the wind rose and Catherine shivered. Maud pulled up her horse again as Rannulf spoke.

"Have you no furred cloak, madam?" He reached up to the clasp of his own. "Here, take mine, and order one for yourself as soon as may be. You are too frail to bear the chill wind."

Surprise pierced the new shell of terror Rannulf's scowl had been building around Catherine. "Nay, my lord, I am very strong." A faint smile touched her pale lips. "I have a furred cloak, but it was folly—and vanity—that made me leave it. It is brown, you see, and would not be fitting with my gown."

A laugh was startled from Rannulf. He did not doubt Catherine's statement that she was afraid, and it was ludicrous that in the midst of her fear she should concern herself with the colors of her cloak and gown. Amusement further tempered his general dislike of the female as he wrapped his cloak around her for Catherine looked very diminutive in the voluminous garment—like a child.

"Now you are justly served," he said in a voice he might have used to reprimand his son, "for surely mine suits you worse than yours could have done, no matter what color. Can you ride, madam, or must I lead your horse?"

Maud was delighted with the turn the conversation had taken; nothing could be better than what Rannulf had said and done, and nothing more satisfactory than Catherine's surprised assurance that she could indeed ride. Catherine, after all, had not known Adelecia nor the ways she had of tormenting her husband, one of which was claiming illness and lack of trust in the grooms and making him lead her horse on foot. She was so pleased that she was just about to hasten away and leave them to themselves when Rannulf, true to form, ruined all.