A Blood Red Horse (30 page)

The priest looked at the brothers.

“No reply, then?” he asked, trying to hide his disappointment.

Gavin shook his head. “No. No reply.” He tossed the priest a small coin and strode off, shouting for Hal.

The priest fell to his hands and knees to pick the money out of the dirt.
Oh well,
he thought as he heaved himself upright again,
maybe some other knight would want to write a long epistle about the war. All this illiteracy combined with all this travel was such a godsend.
He could charge anything he liked for his services, and the real joy was that nobody ever knew if he was writing exactly what they dictated or not. Some days, when the priest felt particularly happy, verbal flourishes just poured from his
pen. When the man who was dictating looked puzzled by the length of the letter—and the huge cost—the priest would go into some long grammatical explanation that had the poor dupe's eyes glazing over. Sometimes, as a result, he even got an extra tip. But not this time. He looked at William and Gavin with distaste, then sniffed and lumbered off.

It did not take long to muster the Hartslove contingent together.

“We have lost our banner,” said William as he surveyed the group. “We will have to have another made when we get home.”

It was time to say farewell to the knights whose final destinations were not Hartslove. Some went off alone, all their companions having been lost.

One of the last to say farewell was Gavin's old gambling companion, Roger de Soucy.

“Well,” he said. “This is it.”

Gavin looked at him. “You sound more as if you were going to a funeral than going home,” he joked.

Roger's eyes narrowed. “The end of the crusade means that I am ruined,” he said, “I have no money and no land. I am nothing until the king gets back. Even then he might not take me into his household.”

Gavin felt guilty. He tried to forget about Roger's gambling and remember only his bravery at the battle of Jaffa. The man had barely escaped with his life. Gavin thought for a moment. He should offer him hospitality at Hartslove. “Roger—” he said.

But Roger interrupted. “But I suppose things are worse for you,” he said. “After all, a knight with one arm, well …”

Gavin flushed. “I managed when we retook Jaffa from the sea,” he said.

“Yes, but out there we were desperate,” Roger replied. “I don't think we've reached quite those straits here. Still, I suppose you are lucky in one respect: at least you have your brother to support you.” And with that he walked off.

Gavin felt as if he had been stabbed. He had stopped thinking about the loss of his arm as a real handicap. But he now saw only too clearly what William had realized in Jerusalem. Back in England, of course, it would be seen as an overwhelming weakness. In the Holy Land, Richard had to make do with what was on hand. Back in his own lands, the king could have fresh knights, unscarred by battle and still at the peak of fitness. And then Gavin went cold at the thought, there was Ellie. How stupid was he being? The domestic and personal difficulties that had seemed so inconsequential when far away and in danger of his life, now crowded in. Ellie. Whatever Brother Ranulf had implied in his letter about her, Ellie and he were betrothed. But why should she marry him now?

It was not until this moment that Gavin fully understood how much he had always accepted—no, he must be honest—wanted this to happen. True, he and Ellie had not parted on the best of terms, and Gavin firmly believed that she had always preferred William. However, he was still the elder son. Nothing could take that away. But now there was something else. Ellie would be horrified by the spectacle of a man with only one arm. He would revolt her, for truly his arm was a revolting sight. There was nothing for it. She must be released
from her promise. As for Gavin himself, he would leave Hartslove to William and go back to the north where he had spent so many months in disgrace once before. Their uncle the bishop would have to help.

Gavin suddenly felt exhausted and, asking Hal to lead Dargent, got into the wagon. As the small cavalcade moved off, he shut his eyes and pretended to sleep.

It was snowing hard, and Ellie was sitting by the fire in the women's quarters when a small boy on a hairy pony galloped over the drawbridge shouting that there was a party of knights and wagons coming up the road toward the castle. Ellie's heart began to race. It was only three weeks to Valentine's Day, when Constable de Scabious had threatened to make her his wife.

“Who are they?” she shouted down, but her voice did not carry far enough. She had no idea what to do. Since she had sent Sacramenta to find Brother Ranulf, she had heard nothing. At Christmas she had seen the monk approach the castle, but he had been turned away by the garrison knights with foul language full of shaming innuendo. When Ranulf looked up, Ellie drew back so that he would never know that she had heard what they said. She felt that after all this time she could not ask about Sacramenta without arousing suspicion and began increasingly to fear that something bad had happened to the mare before she could deliver her message.

The good news was that de Scabious had not yet reappeared. But after Brother Ranulf's request to see Ellie, the garrison knights kept the girl a virtual prisoner. They were
not openly offensive to her. If Constable de Scabious had made a miscalculation about becoming Count of Hartslove, they did not want Ellie bringing charges against them. So they kept her inside, not by force, but by ignoring her requests to be allowed to ride out, saying they were too busy to accompany her. When Ellie protested, they threatened to send for the man she least wanted to see.

Ellie spent the days trying not to let her fear show through. But at night she sobbed on Old Nurse's shoulder as she contemplated life without the family with whom she had grown up. Old Nurse, watching Ellie's spirits sink lower and lower, was powerless to help. Margery crept about, almost as ashen-faced as Ellie.

Receiving no answer to her calls, Ellie now ran to her casement window and leaned out, but she could make out no details through the swirling white.

“Old Nurse, Old Nurse,” she cried as she picked up her skirts and ran down the spiral stairs, her hair swinging behind her. In the great hall she found four soldiers warming themselves. She hardly knew what she was saying.

“Get up,” she ordered. “There is a party of armed men coming up the road. They have wagons, and I don't know who they are or what they intend to do. Look sharp! Get the few archers and arbalesters we have onto the roof and into the tower. Haul up the drawbridge. But let nobody, nobody do you hear, let loose one arrow or one crossbolt before I give the order. Is that clear?”

The soldiers looked at her. They had to admit that the girl had guts, but if this was Constable de Scabious coming back, they were certainly not going to oppose him. He would be returning to Hartslove a powerful man.

Nevertheless, it was not safe to make assumptions. The approaching party could be anybody.

Ellie tried not to stamp her foot as the sergeant nodded his head in what he hoped was a noncommittal way. “Very well, miss,” he said.

Ellie said nothing more, but ran to the door. What should she do if this was de Scabious coming as bridegroom? Never mind Brother Andrew's reassurances about a happy widowhood, she must fly, maybe taking one of the plowhorses for Old Nurse? At that moment Old Nurse came bustling in. Ellie looked at her. It was impossible. A woman Old Nurse's size would need one of those elephants from Brother Andrew's book.

Old Nurse took no notice of the funny look Ellie gave her. She was panting. “Miss Eleanor,” she puffed, pushing Ellie into a corner so that the soldiers could not see her. “That boy, that shouting boy, did you see him? I was taking the laundry across the courtyard when I noticed he was carrying a roll of letters. I relieved him of them and said I would give them to the mistress of the castle. Here.”

Ellie snatched the roll from the nurse's hands, broke the seal, and began to read. She turned from white to red and back to white. Old Nurse badgered her all the time, her voice getting louder.

“Miss Ellie, what does it say? Eleanor? ELEANOR?”

“Be quiet, Old Nurse,” Ellie begged. “Please let me finish it.” She was following the letters carefully with her finger.

But before Ellie had time to finish, a commotion broke out. The old woman and the girl looked at each other, then ran out together, Ellie rolling the parchment as she went and stuffing it into her belt. All was confusion. The garrison sergeant seemed completely at sea.

“What is going on?” Ellie demanded, trying to catch a
soldier and make him stand still. “Is it friend or foe who is approaching?”

“That depends on who you are,” the man replied before shaking her off and running down toward the courtyard. Ellie and Old Nurse followed him. Whoever it was, there was precious little they could do.

They reached the gate to hear the porter engaged in a fierce argument with the garrison soldiers as to whether or not to raise the drawbridge. “Put it back down at once!” the porter cried, and began to draw his sword. The soldiers gave in, and as the great oak bridge settled back over the moat Ellie stepped onto it and gazed down the road. She could see the approaching cavalcade more clearly now. It was neither Constable de Scabious nor Sir Thomas's brother, the bishop, come to help her.

Sitting at the front of a wagon was a crusader with his back to her. By his side, attached to the wagon, walked Dargent, his dark mane speckled white as the snowflakes settled. The flakes were so thick that the group had to come quite close before Ellie saw the glint of red that made her pinch Old Nurse's arm so hard it took days for the marks to disappear.

The noise from the castle died away. Nobody seemed to know what the appropriate response to this very impoverished-looking party should be. Out of all the people that might have turned up at Hartslove, these were the most hoped for and the least expected. Old Nurse touched Ellie's shoulder. “Look!” she said.

Ellie tore her eyes away from the glimpse of red for a moment and turned her head in the direction of the river. From everywhere, like an army of white ghosts, people were running through the snow toward the castle. They were led by the abbot and a party of monks,
one riding Sacramenta. From deep in the valley, Ellie could hear the great abbey bell pealing. She felt as if her heart was trembling.

About ten yards from the drawbridge the wagon stopped. For a moment nothing happened, then Gavin stood up, the cross on his back sparkling as the snowflakes brushed it. As he turned, the space where his arm should have been was revealed to all, and a gasp went up from the onlookers. Ellie put her hand over her mouth. Old Nurse muttered, “Glory be,” and took a gulp from the bottle in her pocket. But Gavin took no notice. Now he seemed to be calling somebody.

In answer to his shout, from the back of the group, came Hosanna. His coat gleamed copper through the snow, his mane and tail spangled with teardrops of ice. He held his head high. On his back was William, his armor burnished until it glittered and his bearing proud. The expression on his face, now lined and beaten by both his experiences and the weather, made those who saw him hold back a little. William had gone away a youth, untried and untested in the field of battle. He had returned a full-fledged crusading knight, having seen more in his short life than they were ever likely to see in theirs. The crowd fell almost silent. The monks, who had reached the moat, stopped and crossed themselves.

When Hosanna approached the wagon in which Gavin was sitting, he halted. Then after a short exchange with William that was inaudible to everybody, Gavin slowly got out and took his place by the horse's shoulder. William did not dismount, but Gavin walked beside him as they covered the last few yards to the edge of the moat. They crossed the drawbridge together, Gavin's hand on Hosanna's bridle and William's arm raised in salute.

It was not until they reached the castle gate that Sacramenta's whinny rang out. When Hosanna responded, the crowd erupted, roaring in celebration. The returning men immediately broke ranks and merged with the crowd, finding loved ones and friends. Hal looked about him, then suddenly found himself swept off his feet by his mother, who was weeping and laughing at the same time. Other mothers, their hearts breaking, found no one.

In the shadow of the castle walls, Old Nurse took another gulp, “Just to make sure I'm not dreaming,” and stood behind Ellie as the girl began to walk slowly forward.

William looked down at her. He couldn't speak or move. His hand was still raised. Gavin let go of Hosanna's bridle, and the horse lowered his head and blew some of the snow out of the girl's hair. Ellie laughed uncertainly and touched Hosanna's neck, her fingers at once finding the ridge and then the arrow dent. She hesitated, then, with a deep breath and a dazzling smile, broke the awkward silence.

“I knew you would come back,” she said. “I just knew it. I have always believed it, haven't I, Old Nurse?”

Old Nurse, hoping she would be forgiven for “forgetting” the nights Ellie had wept in utter despair, made a small harrumphing sound rather reminiscent of Sir Thomas. Then she blew her nose in her apron. “If you say so, dear,” she said.

“What has been going on here?” asked William, slightly disconcerted to find that the first sentence he uttered to Ellie should be that one. He had lost control of his tongue.

A shadow crossed Ellie's face. “Constable de Scabious said you were not coming back,” she whispered. “He has
spread vile rumours. I am—well, I am supposed to be disgraced and unfit for anybody to marry.”

Gavin said nothing, and Ellie did not look at him. She did not know what her look should say.

Old Nurse, who was patting William's leg, suddenly grabbed it so hard she almost pulled him off Hosanna.