A Man of Value (17 page)

“You both seem rather calm,” Robert said to his parents with some irritation.

Ram clutched the wooden arms of his chair and squared his shoulders. “
Mes enfants
, I’m sincerely sorry you had to find out about this in such a manner. I take full responsibility for what has happened. I didn’t know of the young man’s existence. I was unaware my indiscretion many years ago had produced a child.”

“
Mon père
,” Robert replied, “You need to tell us what happened.”

Ram sighed, noticing his son had addressed him more formally than usual. He told the story, deciding to leave out nothing, to tell the whole truth about his fears during the battle, his emotions, his stupid bravado with Rhodri and his resulting humiliation, his frustrations, his worry for his brother, Hugh, Ascha’s pain and longing—all of it. They were surely mature enough to understand about fears and emotions. He hoped so.

He remained seated in his chair and Mabelle stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders, indicating, he thanked God for it, that she still loved their father, that she’d forgiven him, that this painful experience wouldn’t destroy their family.

Robert paced as the silence dragged on. Baudoin sat on the edge of a bench staring at his feet. Rhoni fidgeted with her braids.

Ram watched his children struggle with their new found knowledge. Finally, he spoke again. “I intend to recognize him as my son. You all need to be aware of that.”

Robert stopped pacing and looked at his father. “
Mon père
,” he managed to say, “What to say to you? This is a lot to digest. I’m not sure what Rhoni and Baudoin think—”

“I think,” the taciturn Baudoin interjected unexpectedly, “That this family has undergone some terrible ordeals, but we’ve survived because we’ve faced them together. We have today learned things about our father. About our mother, too.”

Ram was moved by the maturity of his youngest son, and the compassionate look in his eyes.

“Papa,” Baudoin continued, his voice strong, “I know you to be a loving father and husband. Discovering I have a half brother doesn’t change that. While I may not approve of your infidelity towards my mother, it’s evident she has forgiven you and I can’t find it in my heart to condemn you. You are still my father. Some noblemen sow their seed at random and sire bastards with impunity. You’ve never been that sort of man. You’re the kind of man I’ve aspired to be, and still aspire to be. You are my liege lord and I am your loyal man.”

Ram rose from his chair as Baudoin walked towards him and the two men embraced. He could see Robert was still conflicted.

“Robert,” Mabelle now spoke, tightening her grip on Ram’s shoulders. “Your father and I hadn’t spoken our wedding vows to each other when this happened. If it was a mistake it’s one that will obviously have repercussions for many people. But we need to do what we’ve always done as a family. We must turn this to our advantage. You’re hurt, but think about the young man who just left us. Everything he has ever believed about his birth is suddenly not true. He has Montbryce blood in his veins. We must help him see the value in that. At this moment he sees himself as nothing, but he’s a Montbryce. He’s your half brother. You need to be man enough to accept that. We can’t cast him out. I know what it is to lead the life of an outcast, and I have experienced the destructive power of anger.”

“
Maman
,” her son replied, aware of his mother’s difficult years of exile wandering around Normandie with her father. “I suppose my problem is I have too much Montbryce pride. I expected my father to be perfect and of course that was naive and unfair of me. No one can truly understand the burdens and adversities another person has to face and therefore shouldn’t sit in judgment.”

Turning to his father and looking him in the eye, he said in a strong voice, “Papa, as your heir, I should have been the one to voice the sentiments Baudoin has spoken. My younger brother has put me to shame with his maturity, and I bow to him. I too have no greater aspiration than to be the man you are. You are my liege lord and I am your loyal man.”

Ram clasped the hand Robert proffered and they embraced. Then the Earl turned to his daughter. She ran to her father and embraced him. “I don’t understand why you feel guilty about it, Papa, if you and
Maman
weren’t married?”

Ram stroked his beloved daughter’s hair. “I’d given your mother my troth, my pledge. And my heart told me she was the only woman for me.”

Rhoni looked up at him. “I love you, Papa. I’ll learn to love my new brother.”

Ram and Mabelle had never been prouder of their children. He found it difficult to speak as he watched them struggle with their emotions. “I’ll offer Caedmon the name FitzRam. He may not accept it, but I’ll offer it. We’ll decide between us what lands and titles to confer on him and what he will inherit when I die.”

The three Montbryce children nodded and left together, arm in arm. Ram and Mabelle stood together, locked in an embrace, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head.

She reassured him. “They understood in confirming their allegiance to you in this matter that it would mean sharing with their newly discovered half brother.”

“I know, but it pains me that Robert felt it necessary to remind me he’s my heir, though he’s no longer my eldest son.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Caedmon had been gone a sennight and Agneta worried about her missing husband. Tybaut had assured her he’d given the Earl the message about his visit and, as far as he knew, Sir Caedmon had met with the Earl. Where was he and why had she heard nothing? He’d said it would be two or three days at the most. Why hadn’t he returned or sent a message?

Lady Ascha was acting strangely and scurried off to her chamber when Agneta broached the subject of Caedmon’s prolonged absence. She took all her meals in her own chamber. Leofric paced and Agneta could see the concern etched on his face as he returned from several fruitless rides out into the surrounding countryside to find his friend.

By the tenth day everyone was beside themselves with worry. Sleep for Agneta had been elusive. She sat by the window, as she did every day, watching the distant hills, praying to see Caedmon come over the rise. Leofric had gone off on another search. Agneta hadn’t seen Lady Ascha for three days.

She fell into a doze, but suddenly became aware of a commotion in the courtyard. She hurried out, but stopped abruptly at the sight of Caedmon dismounting. He was swearing at the stable boy and seemed to be having difficulty standing.

She rushed to embrace him, relief flooding her heart. “Caedmon, I’ve been worried.”

He swayed, barely able to remain upright. She stepped back. He’d sprouted an unkempt beard and his body odour was offensive.

An oxcart, rain, a spile in my hand.

She also detected the strong smell of ale. “Caedmon? What’s happened to you?”

“Agneta—my beautiful lady Agneta,” he gushed then hiccupped, falling over.

She tried to steady him. “Caedmon. Are you—have you been drinking?”

He looked at her, but she could tell he wasn’t seeing her. “Do you mean am I drunk? Aye, I’m drunk. I’ve drunk. I mean, I’ve been drinkin’—for days—”

He slumped to the ground.

“Tybaut,” she shouted to the steward, her mind reeling. “Sir Caedmon is unwell, please help me get him to his chamber.”

The steward emerged from the house and ran to her aid. Agneta suddenly noticed Lady Ascha leaning heavily on the doorpost, her hand pressed to her mouth. She scurried back into the house when Agneta looked at her.

Tybaut and another servant had to carry Caedmon to the chamber, where they deposited him on the bed.

What will the steward think of my husband coming home like this? And the Brightmores.

Out of breath, the steward made a suggestion. “Perhaps an herbal tisane,
milady
? I’ll get Cook to see to it.”

“Thank you, Tybaut, but first we must get him out of these filthy clothes.”

She muttered nervously, not sure what to make of the drunken spectacle passed out on her bed. It wasn’t the passionate reunion she’d envisioned. With difficulty, they stripped him as he raved in a drunken stupor.

Such a man should not be bound.

“We need to get him into a bath, but how will we manage it?”

“I’ll get the stable boy.”

Tybaut returned in short order with a burly lad and Leofric entered with them. His voice betrayed his shock. “
Godemite!
It’s not the first time I’ve seen Caedmon suffer the effects of one too many ales, but I’ve never seen him like this. Where’s he been?”

“I don’t know,” Agneta murmured.

Tybaut’s wife had filled up the tub with hot water. Tybaut and the lad and Leofric picked up Caedmon with difficulty and deposited him in the hot water. He protested loudly, but Agneta soothed him. “Hush, Caedmon, hush, let me bathe you.”

“Leave us,” she whispered to the others. “He’ll be calmer if there’s just me.”

“Are you sure?” Leofric asked, looking doubtful.

She nodded and the other men left. She cleansed Caedmon’s body with the soft linen cloth. He suddenly burst into song, but evidently couldn’t recall the words and laughed a silly laugh that set her teeth on edge. The memory of his genuine laugh rolled over her. Gradually he calmed and let her minister to him. How would she shave off the grubby beard he’d acquired?

He liked me to shave him in the infirmary.

It would have to wait until he’d sobered. Her mind was in turmoil. She couldn’t imagine what had happened to cause this change in his behaviour. He passed out in the tub and she had to call Tybaut and Leofric to help her get him out and deposit him on their bed. His wet body was more difficult to manhandle, especially with Leofric’s damaged hand.

She sent them away with her embarrassed thanks and set about drying his body, the beautiful body she loved, the body that had given her such intense pleasure. She blotted him dry, tears welling as she lovingly dabbed the scar on his thigh. She was careful not to disturb his manhood curled in its black nest, not wanting to arouse him and have him try to make love to her in this condition.

“Caedmon, what has happened to you? Where have you been?” she whispered.

“I’m nothing, Agneta, nothing.” He said it so quietly she barely heard it.

“What do you mean, Caedmon? You’re everything to me.”

“I’m less than nothing,” he murmured as he lapsed back into a stupor.

She donned her night gown and lay beside him, cradling him in her arms. “I’m here, Caedmon. I’m here,” she whimpered, struggling to hold back her fear.

He woke at dawn and vomited into the chamber pot. She wiped his face with a wet cloth and he fell back to sleep. How could she help him if she didn’t know what had happened? Two hours later he vomited again and then sat on the edge of the bed for another hour staring at his feet, his head in his hands.

“Caedmon?” she ventured, coming to sit beside him and putting her arm around his shoulders.

“Leave me be, woman,” he shouted, pushing her away. “Leave me be.” He slumped back down on the bed, his knees clasped to his belly.

She was angry now. She’d done nothing to deserve being pushed away. She jumped to her feet. “Caedmon stop it! Stop this! You’re not a drunkard. Why are you behaving this way? Don’t push me away. You’re hurting me.”

He became instantly contrite and sat up. “Agneta, my beautiful Agneta. I don’t want to hurt you. But I’m not the man you married. I’m nothing.”

She clenched her fists, longing to touch him, to bring comfort, but afraid. “Stop saying that.”

He continued to sit on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

“Did you meet the Earl? Did he say something to bring on this—this state you are in? I demand you tell me, Caedmon. You’re making me afraid.”

He slowly raised his head and looked at her, his eyes red rimmed. “Oh, aye. I met the Earl. And surprise, surprise. It turns out I’m the man’s bastard son. Me, the proud Caedmon Brice Woolgar, son of a martyr of Hastings, I’m the by-blow of a Norman pig.”

Agneta’s mouth fell open. She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t understand, Caedmon. How can you be his son?”

“It seems my wonderful, caring mother was a strumpet who bedded the Norman dog before her husband’s grave had grown cold. I’ll send her to a nunnery.”

“Not so loud,” Agneta gasped, looking anxiously at the door. “Caedmon, your mother’s not—”

He tried unsuccessfully to stand. “Enough! Bring me some ale.”

Agneta clenched her hands together. “No, Caedmon, no more ale. You’ve had enough.”

He managed to get to his feet and thumped his chest with his fist. “I’ll be the person who decides that. I may be the bastard of Norman filth, but I’m still the master here—oh, no—that’s not true is it—I’m not the master here—I don’t have the right to this manor—it probably belongs rightfully to some other
legitimate
Woolgar relative.”

“Caedmon, stop,” she pleaded desperately as he swayed. He walked unsteadily to the
armoire
, shoved back the curtain and with difficulty donned the clothing he grabbed from within. She was afraid to offer assistance.

“Agneta, it’s over. I’m a dead man, a man without honour. I’ve lost everything important to me. I can’t be your husband. I don’t have the right.”

He staggered out of the chamber, thundered down the stairs and she heard the front door slam.

“No, Caedmon,” she whispered. “You haven’t lost everything. I’m still here.” The tears streamed down her face. What to say to make him stay? She cried herself to sleep alone in their bed.

~~~

Caedmon slowly came to his senses in Abbot’s stall. What in the name of all the Saints was he to do? His heart ached at the possibility of losing his beautiful wife, but he had nothing to offer her now. He stripped to the waist, doused his head in the horse trough and splashed the icy water over his body.

When he looked up, his mother stood in front of him, swaying nervously, her fists clenched. Leofric stood a few paces behind.