A Tapestry of Dreams (35 page)

Audris chuckled. “No, I am hungry. I have just remembered that I decided to wait for you before I had dinner. Let us go out and see what is offered in the food stalls, and perhaps I will stop seeing you as a tasty dish.”

When they came down, with Fritha trailing behind them carrying bowls and dishes and clean white napkins in which to bring back their dinner, Hugh was relieved to see Uhtred nod at them without sly looks or sidelong glances. That reminded Hugh, however, of another piece of information that Audris might not be pleased to hear. In view of what the landlord of the inn had told him when he first came to Morpeth, Hugh had not even tried to find separate lodging for his uncle; he had told Lord Ruthsson about Audris, and now he explained to Audris that his uncle would be coming to Morpeth the next day and would be sharing Uhtred’s solar with her.

“I cannot complain,” she said, “since it is his lodging and I am eager to meet him, but—but what of us?”

“Us?” Hugh repeated.

“Will Lord Ruthsson be… ah… uneasy if you share my bed?”

“I would not come to you in any case the night before a combat, Audris.” Hugh grinned down at her. “If ‘sharing your bed’ means what I think it means, it would be fatal. I would be too tired to lift my sword to strike or my shield to defend myself.”

Audris raised wide, frightened eyes to him. “Did I do wrong?” she whispered. “Have I done you harm in my heedless eagerness to love you? Was that why you were angry—”

“No, beloved, no,” Hugh assured her. “I was only jesting.” But he could see that she was troubled, and he added, “I was more concerned that having had your ‘sup,’ you would be the less eager for me to come to you this night. Although I cannot see how that can be managed, so I am glad after all that—”

Delight replaced the anxiety in her face. “There will be no trouble in your coming to me. You need only find a place to stay until it is dark, and then come quietly to the door of the shop. In the time I have been here Uhtred has not slept in the shop. He goes to his father-by-marriage, where his wife and children are staying. By then, my men will either be abed, or if they are abroad, they will not be at all eager for me to know, so Fritha can let you in.”

Having settled what was important and come back to Uhtred’s house with a selection of savory dishes, Hugh asked Uhtred to help him unarm and left his mail and sword in the shopkeeper’s care, where he had earlier left his helm and shield. He and Audris then sat down to eat on a cloth laid in the mercer’s small garden. They spoke eagerly of what had passed during the time they were parted, most particularly of Ruthsson and Hugh’s history.

Many other topics were touched, both small matters and large—every subject except the trial by combat, which would precede the tourney. Hugh did not speak of it because he did not think of it; he was too confident of his ability to need assurance, particularly from a girl totally ignorant of the techniques of fighting. Had he met a man who knew Lionel Heugh, there were questions it would have served him well to have answered. Hugh knew there must be such men in Morpeth, but it was far more important to him to be with Audris than to seek them out.

Audris did not mention the battle because she did not wish to think about it. There were those who believed in rushing to meet trouble; Audris thought them fools. She knew one could not hide from the truth, but trouble was another matter entirely. Very often if one hid, ran away, or turned one’s back on trouble, it disappeared. It was soon enough to meet trouble, Audris felt, when it was upon her and unavoidable.

They parted at dusk, Hugh stopping to ask Uhtred to have his armor carried up to the solar and reminding the mercer that his uncle and he would share Demoiselle Audris’s quarters for the next two nights. The shopkeeper nodded without surprise; it was ordinary for several parties to share a lodging, and Lord Ruthsson had paid him too generously for him to cavil, even if the lady were to pay for her bed.

In any case Uhtred would not have complained; he was glad to have the Demoiselle and her armed men in his house. The tourney had brought crowds of people into the town; many wished to buy Uhtred’s expensive cloth—but a few wished to take. Uhtred had already been saved losses by shouting for help, which brought one of Audris’s men-at-arms running with drawn sword, thus ending the threat. Still, Uhtred did not like to stay open after dark, and he locked his door soon after Hugh had gone out, served those already in the shop, and closed for the night.

Hugh was back inside no more than a quarter hour after the mercer was gone, and he and Audris felt entirely like a true-married pair, for they were neither bound by time nor looking uneasily over their shoulders. They had a cozy evening meal in front of the fire, served by Fritha, who was all smiles, and talked mostly—as a husband and wife would have done—about day-to-day details of Hugh’s estate. Hugh learned that although it was true Audris herself had not the faintest idea how to cook or make cheese or cut out a gown, she had several clever suggestions for finding people with such skills and inducing them to work well without knowledgeable supervision. Hugh began to shorten his time estimate for bringing Audris to Ruthsson. She would be even more of an asset than he had realized.

Both were very glad of the “sup” they had had of each other in the late morning. It had taken away the urgency of their need for coupling and left a warm, easy desire that caused no discomfort. They finished their meal, their wine, and their talk and went peacefully to bed, where they had “plain fare” according, as Audris said with teasing laughter, to Hugh’s notion of what was decorous for a married pair. She admitted, as she was drifting off to sleep, that she had enjoyed her plain fare enormously, but she woke Hugh in the middle of the night and provided a much sharper, spicier meal, which they topped off with a very sweet dessert in the predawn, when Hugh had to leave before Uhtred opened his shop.

It had begun to rain not long before, so Hugh was, fortunately, able to return to the shop soon after Uhtred arrived and say this was no morning for sleeping out and he had come to take shelter. He seemed barely able to stagger up the stairs, which led the mercer to the right conclusion—although he was off target both when he wondered which town whore had been skilled enough to drain so strong a man so thoroughly and when he assumed the reason for Hugh’s excess to be the coming battle. He was correct, however, in his conviction that Hugh was no danger to Audris in his present condition. In fact, although Hugh got into bed with her, she hardly stirred, and they both slept soundly until Fritha woke her mistress because it was nearly time for dinner. Audris then woke Hugh.

That day passed just as pleasantly, for Lord Ruthsson arrived soon after Hugh, Audris, and the chamber had been put to rights, and Hugh had been absolutely correct when he said that Audris and his uncle would be enamored of each other. Since it rained all day, the three spent their time talking and playing games before the fire. The only inconvenience they suffered was that Hugh had to go with Fritha to buy food; mute maids have advantages and disadvantages, and Hugh went cheerfully enough since a wetting was nothing compared with always wondering whether a maid could have let a hint of their love affair slip to the wrong person. The talk among the three that afternoon ranged far and wide, for the “unseemly” education that Father Anselm had given Audris was more precious than gold to Ralph of Ruthsson. But in all the talk, not one word was said about the battle to be fought on the morrow, though none of the three could completely block out all thought of it.

For Audris and Ralph of Ruthsson it was a dark shadow that came and went, making the warmth and joy they were sharing more precious and more poignant. Hugh alone welcomed the occasional reminders, as when his uncle said something about the tie that binds and Hugh recalled a fraying tie on the closure of his mail hood. But it was not important, not a danger, and he did not think of mending it. His heart was too full to bother with mundane leather ties; he was full to bursting with joy. He had never had a place and people of his own. Both Thurstan and Sir Walter loved him, but to Thurstan he was a son to be prayed for and guided, to Sir Walter he was a beloved ward. And he could not be at home with either because Thurstan’s home was the Church, which did not beckon Hugh, and he was unwelcome to too many who had a rightful place in Sir Walter’s Helmsley.

Here in this room, where the cheerful fire crackled and spat and Audris’s sweet voice and trilling laugh blended with his uncle’s light tenor and deeper chuckle, Hugh had a true vision of what life could be in Ruthsson. Here, he knew he was more than loved, more than welcome; he was necessary. Though he spoke less often than the others, he was the linchpin that held everything together, the hub around which the wheel of life turned. All he had to do to make the vision into a reality was kill Lionel Heugh the next day.

Hugh woke from a sound and peaceful sleep with a heart as light as a feather. Of the three, he was the only one who was perfectly rested and happy; however, if neither Ralph nor Audris was quite as bright-eyed or
ate quite the quantity of bread, cheese, and cold pasty that Hugh did in breaking his fast, both did manage to smile and eat. Ralph put on a face of good cheer partly because he knew it to be necessary. It would do his nephew no good if he shook Hugh’s confidence. Also, he kept assuring himself that Hugh had given good evidence of knowing his own abilities; Hugh was
not
a simpleminded, boastful coxcomb, and if he said he could win against Lionel Heugh, he could.

Audris’s calm came from another source. She knew nothing of Hugh’s opponent. To her it was frightening enough that he should fight at all, but each time she had awakened in the night she
reminded herself that the picture she had woven of the unicorn showed him dead in a real garden, like that of Jernaeve, not a patch like Uhtred’s, and, more important, the unicorn bore no wound. With a fine lack of logic, she did not now question whether or not her tapestry was a true foretelling. She clung fiercely to the knowledge that there was no garden here in Morpeth and there was no wound on the unicorn. Hugh would win.

This specious reasoning upheld her until they all had ridden to the tourney field. Below Morpeth keep, a flat field of the common had been cleared of grazing animals and marked out along two sides with rough lines of stakes. On the south side, where the sun—if it shone—would warm the noble spectators, boards had been fixed to the stakes to make a low fence, which, hopefully, would keep the horses of the contestants from crashing into the watchers. The north side, which would not get the benefit of the sun except near noon, was for the lesser folk and had only the stakes; it was not particularly important if the horses rode down a few of the common people.

Well behind the low fence were a few rows of benches. De Merley and his lady already occupied a portion of the central bench, and highborn guests from neighboring keeps were selecting places on others. For the trial by combat in which only two men and two horses were involved, all would prefer to sit. Many would prefer to stand for the melee that would follow, since one could more easily move around to follow an exciting piece of action—or run for safety if the battle overflowed into the spectator area. To east and west there were no limits to the field; in theory the defeated party in the melee were free to flee—and their opponents to follow them in an attempt to take more prisoners, of course—to the east or west.

Hugh had not bothered to explain any of this to Audris. He was awake long before her, since he had slept much better, and by the time he had gone to the latrine, looked at the tie on his hood, and decided it would last this one more time, he had decided to tell her nothing. He knew that Lord Ruthsson, although no fighter, was an old hand at tourneys, having attended many with the king, and would keep her safe. For the rest, he thought it was better for her to have new things to look at and to question. Perhaps then she would have little time to be afraid. He had not forgotten her weeping and saying she feared for him. He had then emptied his mind of everything concerning the battle while he sought out the priest of the nearby church and confessed.

At first Hugh’s idea seemed to have been right, for Audris stared around with some surprise as they rode onto the field. “Are we not going to the keep?” she asked. “My uncle took me to a tourney at Prudhoe, and it was held in the large bailey. This is a great space for a joust.”

Hugh and Lord Ruthsson both began to talk at once, and, of course, instantly stopped. Ralph smiled. “You tell her. I will ride ahead and speak to de Merley.”

Smiling too, Hugh said, “Your uncle took you only to the ‘ladies’ meeting,’ where pairs of men contest with each other with blunted lances. Here, after I have done with Sir Lionel, a small war will be fought. That needs more space…” His eyes clouded. “It can be dangerous, too. I mean for the watchers. Stay by my uncle, and if he tells you to run—run.”

“Will they try to kill each other as in war?” Audris asked, eyes wide.

“No, not at all.” Hugh was amused. “The purpose is to take opponents prisoner and charge them ransom—and a dead man can pay no ransom. To avoid quarrels, the price is set at a fair valuation of the defeated man’s horse and armor. Thus, the rich and vain pay more than the poor and the modest.”

Audris was about to ask another question when her horse slowed and stopped at the fence. Hugh jumped down and lifted her from her saddle, placing her on the bench side of the fence. He stepped over himself and led Audris to de Merley, where his uncle waited.

“My grandnephew, Sir Hugh,” Lord Ruthsson said, “and Demoiselle Audris.”

Hugh bowed slightly, and Audris smiled.

De Merley stared at Hugh for a moment, gave a brief nod to acknowledge Audris, and looked at Hugh again. “So you
were
Ruthsson’s champion,” he said with a slight twist to his lips.

“No,” Hugh replied. “Why should I have tried to hide it? I had no idea my uncle was involved in the trial by combat when I was in Morpeth.”

“Hugh’s coming was surely an act of God,” Ralph said. “He came to patch up an old family quarrel and offered himself as my champion as soon as he heard of Heugh’s threat. God, I think, has already shown His favor to Ruthsson.”

De Merley made no reply to that, but his lips were set in a thin line. He simply got to his feet and said he would see them to the herald, who would make the formal declaration that Hugh was Lord Ruthsson’s champion. He started off, and Lord Ruthsson followed. Hugh looked down at Audris and caught the hand she put out to detain him. He bent to bring it to his lips and smiled at her.

“Not long now, Demoiselle,” he murmured. “It will not take me long. Do not fret—or make your nose pink.”

“Unicorn,” she whispered.

But Hugh had already turned away, striding after de Merley and his uncle, catching Rufus’s rein as he went and saying something to the great horse as he looped the reins around his arm. Audris watched him take his helmet from the strap that held it to the saddle and seat it on his head. He lifted it and wriggled it back and forth until the band was settled comfortably above his brows and the noseguard, which extended down from the band, just barely touched his nose without pressing against it. Then he looked back over his shoulder for a last glimpse of Audris.

She forced her lips to curve, but at the moment she was more startled than sad or frightened. She had never seen Hugh in a helmet before, only with his mail hood up. The change in his appearance was so great she hardly recognized him, for the noseguard hid the shape of his nose and disguised the odd wide spacing of his eyes.

She watched him join a group of men on the western side of the field and saw that there was an argument going on. Very faintly she heard Uncle Ralph’s high tenor and knew he was angry. Then Hugh put a hand on his shoulder; she could not hear Hugh’s deeper voice, but what he said seemed to have calmed his uncle. There was some coming and going that puzzled her, but then several men in handsome armor gathered, and a priest came and began to speak, raising a cross and a jeweled box that must contain relics. Audris’s eyes stung with tears, and she shivered with fear. Was the priest giving Hugh last rites?

Before the tears could fall, however, the lord of Prudhoe accosted her, expressing surprise at her presence at the tournament and asking for her uncle. In her need to answer lightly and convince him that curiosity alone had brought her to Morpeth from Newcastle, where she had been buying yarn for her weaving, her rising panic about Hugh receded.

When Hugh looked back and saw Audris staring after him, so small and pale, all forlorn, he suffered his first pang of regret that she had come to Morpeth. He wished that he had said something more to reassure her and regretted that he had not explained the battle, explained that she must not fear every sword stroke, for what might look dreadful to her was an accustomed thing to him. He saw her smile, at last, and turned his head quickly, for he feared tears would follow that tremulous curving of her lips. His uncle would comfort her, Hugh told himself, and after the tourney, if she was still so fearful, he would make certain that she was not again exposed to seeing him fight. But despite his concern for her, her fear was precious to him, and he felt all the more determined to possess her.

On that high note Hugh reached de Merley and his uncle, who were speaking to the herald. To his surprise, he saw that de Merley was both angry and embarrassed, and his uncle blazingly furious. “He is my heir!” Ralph was shouting. “How can he swear not to claim the lands? He
must
claim them!”

“But I cannot be a party to alienating lands that might be claimed by the crown,” de Merley said uneasily.

Ralph broke into another angry tirade, and Hugh realized that de Merley did not believe he
was
Ralph’s nephew. De Merley thought that Ralph could not pay enough to induce a champion to risk his life against Lionel Heugh and had added the reversion of Ruthsson to the price. He put a calming hand on his uncle’s shoulder.

“I
am
Lord Ruthsson’s grandnephew,” he said calmly. “I can prove it by documents, and Archbishop Thurstan, as well as the sisters in the convent where I was born, will swear that my mother was Margaret of Ruthsson. What I am willing to do is to take oath that I am daughter’s son to the late Eric of Ruthsson, and the eldest male of the blood of Ralph of Ruthsson. And I will swear also to present to the king my claim to be heir to Ralph, lord of Ruthsson, and have it confirmed.”

Under Hugh’s hand, Ralph stirred angrily, but Hugh tightened his grip, and his uncle subsided. De Merley nodded brusquely, not completely satisfied, but knowing he could obtain no more. If Hugh was Ruthsson’s nephew, he had a right to the land—although the king might not be pleased; if he was not, de Merley had witnesses to Hugh’s swearing falsely. He sent one of his squires, who had been assisting the herald, to find the priest, who was not far off. The Church officially disapproved of tourneys, but a priest need have no fear of being reprimanded for attending. Was it not his duty to give last rites to any who might be fatally wounded? And in any case, for a trial by combat, which nearly always ended in death, he must attend the loser—or both, if both contestants died—and invoke God’s attention to the contest so that all would accept the outcome as His will.

By the time the more important men who had come to the tourney had been summoned as witnesses and Hugh had sworn his oath, both sides of the field behind the marking posts were crowded with spectators. Hugh looked around at the busy crowd, all dressed in their best, many seated and breaking their fasts with food brought from home or beckoning to the vendors who threaded through the crowd hawking their wares. He smiled to himself, thinking that their desires and his were directly opposed—not that the spectators cared who won or lost, but that they anticipated a long, bloody contest, whereas he would be delighted if Sir Lionel were unseated and broke his neck on the first pass with lances. His attention was drawn from the crowd by the herald, who mounted his horse and rode to the other end of the field. Hugh presumed it was to determine whether Sir Lionel was ready, and he watched closely, hoping to catch sight of his opponent.

The herald was a local man, and although he did not particularly like Sir Lionel, who had a hot temper and a quarrelsome disposition, he still felt a certain loyalty to another local magnate. Thus, he intended to pass along the surprising news that Lord Ruthsson, who all had thought the last of his blood, had discovered a long-lost nephew. He got only as far as “Lord Ruthsson has found a champion at last—”

“Do you think I fear that?” Lionel Heugh snapped angrily. “I am not blind. I saw the conclave that went to greet him. I know what you think, too. But my quarrel is just, and I do not fear the judgment of men or God.”

The herald was annoyed by Sir Lionel’s attitude. He had spoken with the intention of doing Sir Lionel good, for after seeing Hugh, he was not so certain as he had been originally that Sir Lionel would win. In fact, he had intended to warn Sir Lionel that Ruthsson had found blood relations who would doubtless contest Sir Lionel’s claim, whether or not he was successful in the battle, because the king had not actually sanctioned the challenge. Now irritation led to the realization that his news could serve no purpose. For Sir Lionel to back down as soon as a champion appeared to support the aged and unwarlike Ralph Ruthsson would make him the laughingstock of the entire shire.

Irritation also reminded the herald that although there was some justice in Sir Lionel’s claim—custom did decree that the dowry of a childless widow be returned to her family—he, like most others, had been disgusted by the challenge to Ruthsson, who was old and without friends since the death of King Henry. No one had been disgusted enough to risk his life for Ruthsson—and that, of course, had made all of them even angrier at Sir Lionel. So he said no more and was very grateful that, at that moment, the sound of bells rose faintly above the noise of the crowd. The herald glanced to the east and judged from the height of the pale sun that the bells had sounded for the hour of prime.

“It is time,” he said with relief, and turned his horse abruptly toward the center of the field. Once at his goal, he began to call out the parties and the terms of the quarrel.

Hugh had watched the herald cross the field and looked with considerable interest at the man to whom he spoke, who must be Sir Lionel. Judging from a comparison with the herald, Sir Lionel was as tall as Hugh and might be heavier. The distance was too great to see small details, but Sir Lionel’s armor looked well worn. There might, Hugh thought, be more to his uncle’s warnings than he had first credited, and he turned to Ralph, who was still protesting against de Merley’s suspicions, and asked him to return to Audris. Both men looked around. De Merley, seeing the herald coming to the center of the field, hurried off to assume his position as judge. Ralph seemed about to say something, but instead embraced Hugh, pulled his head down to kiss him, embraced him again, and hurried away.