A Tapestry of Dreams (41 page)

“Shall I ride down with you, my lord?” Louis asked.

“No need for that.” Hugh smiled. “I do not suspect the Heugh men-at-arms, and I have some private business with one of them. But a gate should never be unguarded. And it has occurred to me that if news of Sir Lionel’s death should somehow come to the ears of the Scots raiders near Chillingham, they might think it worth the miles to come here and see what they could pick up from a lordless keep.”

Louis frowned. “Can we hold this place with no more than thirty-five men, my lord? It is strong, but—”

“I would not try to hold it,” Hugh assured him, “at least not if the raiding party were of any size, but there is no need to invite them in by leaving the bridges down and the gates open. The Scots are not known for their patience. If we can drive them away, they may look for easier pickings. It is just a precaution, Louis. I do not expect trouble.”

“Yes, my lord. I will—”

A clip-clop of hooves made Louis stop and turn. He and Hugh were both surprised to see a groom leading a tall black destrier wearing a worn fighting saddle out of the stables. Hugh did not know whether to smile or shudder. It was clear that everyone who could was listening, and the groom had heard him tell Louis he wanted a horse. The eagerness of the servants to please him was almost funny, but the significance of their desire to please was not. Hugh sighed.

Perhaps they were only basing their conviction that he was the new master on what the madwoman had said to him in the hall—but that would imply that the servants did not think her mad, even though they scorned her. And if she was
not
mad… But that only took him round in a circle, implicitly confirming that he
was
master of Heugh. Still, it was
impossible,
so… He had better stop thinking about it, Hugh told himself. Before he knew it, he would become accustomed to the idea and be bitterly disappointed when he discovered Heugh was not his.

With a nod of dismissal to Louis and a word of thanks to the groom, Hugh mounted and rode across the drawbridge into the outer bailey. Here there were signs he had not noticed when he first rode in. The exercise ground was empty; the grass was long in the paddock where extra horses were kept; in fact, grass was growing around the doors of many of the outbuildings. However, there were men on the walls—too few, Hugh realized, but enough so that the keep did not look abandoned. He dismounted near the guardroom, and a middle-aged man, who had obviously been watching at the door to see if he would stop, came out at once and bowed.

“I am Odard, my lord, captain here. Are you—”

“How many men do you have, Odard?” Hugh asked hastily, afraid that the man would ask whether he was the new lord.

“Myself and fourteen others, my lord.”

The prompt answer, which should certainly not have been given to a stranger with no authority, sent the same uneasy mixture of doubt and half acceptance through Hugh. Again he dismissed the problem; there remained a simple duty he must perform as a man of goodwill: no matter to whom Heugh belonged, he must put the keep into the best defensive posture possible.

“My man Louis says he was told the others left.”

“The lord was dead, and the lady said she had no right to pay them,” Odard replied, then he frowned. “We have had no pay either, my lord, but most of us have been at Heugh since the old lord’s time, and we have families here”

“I will see that you are paid, one way or another,” Hugh promised promptly. It was only fair. Whatever their reasons, the few who had stayed had kept to their duty.

Odard’s eyes lit with relief. “I thank you, my lord. And will you—”

But Hugh was even more wary of questions. Having committed himself to an act for which he probably had no authority, he was afraid of being asked how he would fulfill his promise. He therefore promptly asked a question of his own about the departed troop, and then another about obtaining fighting men from the area if they were needed, more to forestall being questioned himself than because he wanted to know. Just as Odard told him that the local yeomen, like most Northumbrian farmers, could fight if called on, a hail came around the wall from the north that a man riding hard was on his way to the gate.

Odard frowned, and Hugh said, “I do not like this. Tell half a dozen of your men to make ready to ride out.”

Odard went off at once without argument, which left Hugh wondering whether his prompt obedience was to the “new lord” or because he also feared trouble. “I hope I have not summoned the devil to us by telling Louis that if the Scots who were raiding around Chillingham heard of a keep without a lord…” Hugh muttered to himself as he walked the short distance to the gate. He heard Odard calling out men and telling them to make ready to ride, but before the horses were saddled, he heard the clatter of a horse on the drawbridge and a man shouting his name. Hugh had little time in which to be surprised, for he answered instinctively and as instinctively caught at the horse, which tried to rear and neighed shrilly. The big stallion shouldered it hard, and it quieted, but then Hugh saw it was not only lathered but showed bright streaks of blood.

“My lord!” the man cried as he tumbled off his mount. “The Scots are upon us! They struck at Trewick not an hour after you left. We fought them off, and I and five others rode out to give warning to you and to Belsay. We were too late for Belsay. The village is in flames and… I think they are in the outer bailey of the keep also. I saw smoke… My lord, they are killing and burning everyone and everything. Killing and burning!”

Hugh caught the man as he staggered, noticing only when he slumped over that there was an arrow in his back. Hugh turned his head and bellowed, “Odard, get those men out to warn the farms and villages. And send out the huntsmen and the foresters, too, whoever is in the keep that knows the countryside, to watch for the Scots and give us warning. Bid the people come in to Heugh, bringing their goods and cattle and whatever food they have in store. When the men are out, get the bridge up and the portcullis down. I will send my men down to help guard the walls.” Then he turned to the messenger he was supporting. “You have done right well,” he said. “Can you ride up to the keep if I lift you to your horse and a man leads it, or shall I have you carried? Lady Audris will have that bolt out of you and ease you well.”

“I can ride,” the man gasped. “I think it is only in the flesh, but I could not…”

Hugh did not wait for him to finish, but helped him to mount, calling for someone to hold him steady and lead his horse. A man ran forward, and Hugh mounted the black destrier, riding ahead, bellowing for a groom and for Louis as soon as he was in the inner bailey. He jumped down, shouting orders at Louis as he ran toward the stairs of the keep, hesitating only until his captain shouted back that he understood and turned toward the barracks, ordering out the men who were not already on guard. Then Hugh ran up and, ignoring the servants, who scattered before him, ran across the hall and up again to the women’s quarters calling out for Audris as he climbed the stairs.

***

When Audris told Hugh she was not afraid, she had spoken the exact truth. To soothe him, she had taken Eric from Fritha and slung the baby in the carrying cloth, but she did not expect to be attacked—and she was quite right. In the solar, she found a weeping, dazed woman, sitting on a stool and clinging to a trembling elderly maid, surrounded by garments and a few toilet articles carelessly cast down on the floor. Audris stopped and stared, then uttered a cry of distress. The servants had apparently put the poor woman out of her room to make it ready for the new lord’s wife. Hurriedly, she handed Eric back to Fritha and ran forward to kneel beside the weeping lady.

“What will you do with me?” the woman sobbed.

“First beg your pardon,” Audris said softly. “I do assure you, madam, my husband had no idea that such an insult would be dealt you. He only asked the servant to make a chamber ready for us. He expected one of the wall chambers would be prepared, not that you would be put out.”

Brown eyes, dim with years of weeping, gazed at her. “Kenorn is your husband?”

Audris felt a chill, but she smiled and said, “My husband’s name is Hugh. Kenorn is dead.”

“Oh, yes, he told me.” The woman relaxed her frantic clutch on the old maidservant, raised a hand, and wiped wearily at the tears on her cheeks with the edge of her sleeve. Then she said softly, “I am not mad. It was only for a moment that I forgot. I have never seen so strong a resemblance. I was supposed to be betrothed to Kenorn, but after… after, the old man forced me to marry Lionel. I did not wish to, but once I knew—” Her voice faltered, and she began to sob again, wringing her hands in her lap.

“What is your name, madam?” Audris asked hurriedly, guessing that if she did not change the subject, hysterics would follow.

“My name?” she repeated, but the question seemed to steady her, and she said, “Maud is my name, though Lionel always called me Mold in the old style.” She shuddered. “I hated that, but he did not care.”

“My name is Audris, Lady Maud,” Audris said, “and now we must restore you to your chamber.”

“No,” Maud gasped. “No. Your husband ordered—”

“Hugh ordered no such thing,” Audris assured her, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. “It was a stupid mistake. The servant did not understand what he meant. You must believe me. And you must also believe that Hugh wishes you no harm and will do his best to protect you—”

“No,” Maud wailed, “no! He
must
hate me. You do not understand. We sinned against him, Lionel and I. We sinned greatly, we… I… we…”

Tears choked her, and Audris embraced her and tried to comfort her, but the more assurances she offered, the more distressed Lady Maud became. At last she desisted, sitting back on her heels and gently patting the older woman’s shoulder for a moment. Audris realized that a cause deeper than simple fear was at the root of Lady Maud’s agony, and kindness was only making her pain worse. For now, what she needed was to forget and to rest. Later she might find ease in confession.

“Comfort her if you can,” Audris said to the old maid, who had stopped trembling and was watching Audris with grateful wonder. “I will make her a draft that will calm her and help her to sleep.”

Then she rose and approached the women servants, who were huddled together as far from Lady Maud as they could get. They all rose as Audris drew near, and she saw among them the woman who had led her up the stairs. Taking the rising as a symbol of respect, Audris asked for the stillroom maid and after a few questions sent her running for steepings from willow bark, betony, hemlock, thornapple, and some honey. Then she sent another to make up Lady Maud’s bed anew and to restore the room as much as possible to its old appearance.

When the stillroom maid returned, Audris mixed the steepings—a base of willow bark, a good dose of betony, a spoonful of hemlock (always to be used sparingly because too much would kill), and a few drops of thornapple, which was a fine strengthener but, if used too freely, could cause delirium. A measure of honey to hide, at least a little, the bitterness of the other ingredients, and Audris carried the cup to Lady Maud. She feared she might have difficulty in persuading her to drink it, but Lady Maud took the cup eagerly and drained it at once.

The difficulty rose in convincing her to return to her chamber and lie down, and Audris realized that Lady Maud
wanted
to be put out, she wanted to suffer at Hugh’s hands. This left Audris in a quandary. She certainly did not wish to add to Lady Maud’s sufferings, but she could not have her sitting forever on a stool in the middle of the room with her clothes strewn around her. She was considering the alternatives of insisting she go back to her own chamber or going down to the hall and ordering a place to be prepared for her there when Hugh came bounding up the stair calling her name.

“What is it?” she cried, running forward.

“The Scots,” Hugh replied, taking her in his arms. “They attacked Trewick and were driven away, but seemingly they caught Belsay unprepared. They fired the village and somehow got into the outer bailey—at least, the man from Trewick said he thought the sheds were afire there.”

Audris looked up trustingly and asked with perfect calm, “What would you have us do, my lord? Can the women help in the defense?”

“Not you, my love,” he said, catching her to him harder, grateful for her calm, even though he was sure it was owing to ignorance. “I am not quite certain yet what choices we have. I have sent out men to warn the people beholden to Heugh to come in to the keep, and others to watch for the Scots. I will know better what to do when some news comes. But the man who brought the message was hurt. Could you—” He stopped abruptly. Audris was skilled with herbs. He had seen her dose the servants and villagers, and even his uncle, when they were ill, but wounds were something else again.

But Audris, thinking the abrupt ending was because his mind had already jumped to his own duties, was already beckoning the stillroom maid toward her as she answered him. “Yes, I will come down to attend him at once. And do you go where you are needed, Hugh. Do not fear for me. I am not unused to war. Jernaeve has never been broken, but it has been assaulted. Go, my heart. See to your men.”

Glad that he had not made a promise that could not be kept and glad, too, that Audris did not know that Heugh was so indefensible in its present state, Hugh went down the stairs again. Audris began to ask the maid about supplies but was interrupted by Lady Maud, who had risen from her stool as soon as Hugh disappeared.

“I will gather what is necessary and do what I can for your man,” she said. “You must go to your husband and tell him to take you and flee. There are no men-at-arms to defend Heugh. I—I was afraid to pay them. I thought—”

But Audris did not wait to hear what Lady Maud had thought. She flew down the stairs and caught Hugh halfway across the hall. Considering the totally indefensible condition of the keep, he actually had little to do beyond worry, and thus had not been hurrying. When she relayed the information, he was furious.