By Sylvian Hamilton (21 page)

She
was older than he by four years, the first-born. He remembered
trotting after her when he was small, clutching at her dress when
they walked down the stairs, holding her hand when they crossed the
yard to see the hawks or the horses, calling to her when their father
set him on his first pony, 'Look, Shuli, look! Shuli, look at mel'

When
he was sent away at seven, raw material to be turned first into page,
then squire, then knight, she ran after the horses waving, but he
knew he must not look back nor wave, because he was a man and she was
only a girl; so he sat very straight and stared ahead. It was ten
years before he saw her again. He didn't recognise the beautiful
woman at all, just stared, feeling clumsy and tongue-tied as most men
did when they first saw Julitta. Their father was ill. Grey-faced and
gaunt with a sickroom smell of liniment and drugs, he shuffled about
the place sour with illness, fierce eyes glaring under overgrown
eyebrows. He was certain no one could manage as he had and that all
would be wasted and ruined when he died.

'There's
just enough for equipage,' the old man said without preamble,
cornering Robert in the mews. 'The land's mortgaged; I owe the Jews
forty marks. There's nothing for your sister's dot if you're to be
fitted up properly, so don't expect money to fling about when I'm
gone! There's a man at court says he'll take you on. He has to
provide four knights in the king's service, and one of em died at
Yuletide. He'll pay my debt, you'll have your keep, and whatever you
can win at tourneys will be yours.'

'Who
is he?'

'Rainard
de Soulis.'

'I've
heard of him.' So he had. Very rich. Favoured by the king. An old
crusader.

'See
that you please him, and you'll do well enough. He's generous to
those who serve him well.'

Julitta
found him in the chapel. 'Robbie,' she said, straight to the point
like their father, 'he'll not give me a dowry. Will you?'

'I've
no money,' he said, embarrassed because he couldn't help noticing the
swell of her breasts and the fragrance of her, so close to him.

'I
know. But when he dies, Robbie?'

'He's
told me there's nothing but debts.'

'Is
it true?'

'Why
should he lie? He can't take anything with him.'

'Robbie,
will you help me?'

'When
he's dead,' he said, 'we'll see what there is.' And there was
nothing, just as the old lord had said. Robert entered the service of
Lord Rainard de Soulis. A great man. In the king's favour and himself
of royal blood of the old Celtic line. Proud, distant, splendidly
dressed. Anyone seeing him with the ageing shabby king would mistake
man for monarch, monarch for servant. Although in his youth King
William had been a brave fighter, in sick and disappointed old age,
debt-ridden and in thrall to the King of the English, he spent his
days recalling past victories, dreaming and scheming to regain the
lands south of the Tweed, once Scottish but now firmly, intolerably,
in the grasp of England.

Soulis
was always with the king: leaning on his chair, passing his cup,
whispering in his ear, offering an arm to help the feeble old man
rise and walk, closeted with him alone for hours on end. He seemed to
have no interest in reward and God knows he was rich enough, if
rumour and appearance marched with truth. His household and knights
kept to themselves. The knights were renowned for their uncommon
success in tourneys, and whenever serious fighting was required they
were a byword for ferocity. Robert found them polite but, like their
master, aloof. In the first few months of his service he was more
than once surprised by their viciousness, far removed from the casual
brutality he was used to.

But
after a while and little by little, they accepted him. A clap on the
back from one, a comradely grin from another, then the invitations
began –to come hunting, come hawking, come drinking, come
wenching –little by little, drop by drop. Like the potion in
his drink of which he was unaware, and the drugged smoke of the
candle in his small chamber which brought strange dreams –often
delicious, but sometimes terrifying--steadily his easy comfortable
morals and flimsy principles were eroded ... week by week, little by
little, drop by drop.

They
were at Lord Rainard's domain of Soulistoun when, one morning,
returning from the mews, he saw a woman on the steps ahead of him.
The early sun was in his eyes as he looked up to greet her.

'Good
day to you, Lady.'

She
turned and looked down at him. To his astonishment, it was his
sister.

'Juli!
What are you doing here?'

'The
same as you. Brother. Seeking my fortune.'

He
took her hand and led her back down the steps, across the yard and
through the little gate that led to the pleasance. But the benches
were wet with dew, so they must walk.

“
I
didn't know you knew My Lord de Soulis,' he said.

'Did
you not? He has been good lord to us both, Robbie, since our father
died. You he took into his service and I hear you have had good
fortune in the tourneys.'

At
Easter he'd unhorsed two knights; one whose stallion, armour and
weapons he had sold back to him for a helmet full of silver. The
other, a poor knight, could not afford to redeem his horse and armour
nor replace them, but in desperation offered instead to wager
property he owned near Stirling--Hoplaw, a small fortified house,
farm and woodland--against his ransom price. It was unethical,
against the rules which would have the loser forfeit cheerfully or
pay up and look pleasant, but after a moment's surprise, Robert
agreed. He won.

'Robbie,'
his sister said, and he knew what was coming, of course he did.
'You've been lucky. You have two demesnes now, Skelrig and this
Hoplaw. It is only a small place, I'm told. Will you not let me have
it? You are in the way of making your fortune. If I had Hoplaw, I
could be wed.'

But
he had plans for Hoplaw. He had discovered in himself a managing mind
and an eye for potential. It was a small place, as she said, and run
down, with neglected woodland and a mismanaged farm. The bailiff was
too old, half-blind and cheated left right and centre by the estate's
people. But it was more valuable than it appeared and could be
greatly improved. He had some money now, would certainly get more and
could afford to put the place in order. He intended to do something
for Julitta, of course, one day. It wasn't all that important. There
was plenty of time. She was young, beautiful. Time enough to think
about her dowry when he could arrange a marriage for her which would
bring him some advantage.

'I
won't part with Hoplaw,' he said. 'I'm having it put to rights, a lot
of work's being done--'

'Then
borrow on it, Rob!'

'I'll
not go into debt for--'

‘
The?'

'For
anything, I was going to say. It's foolish and ruinous, and something
I'll not consider. Be patient, Julitta. And tell me, why are you
here?'

'I
came to say goodbye, Rob. I'm for England. Lord Rainard spoke of me
to people he knows there, and one of them found me a place in the
service of Queen Isabelle.'

A
glorified chambermaid and body servant, but nevertheless a place of
some honour with plenty of other ladies pushing to get in if there
should be a vacancy. 'Though you might wonder,' she said
discontentedly, 'why any noblewoman would jostle for the privilege of
emptying the royal stool-pot, or combing lice from the royal hair, or
kneeling to latch the royal shoes.'

'Why
do it, then?' he asked. 'You can always go home.'

To
Skelrig? The back of beyond? She'd had enough of it. What chance of
finding a husband there? She'd be better placed at the English court,
even if she had no dowry. She smiled at her brother, a smile as false
as the cheap pearl trimming on her mantle. From that moment she hated
him entirely.

Linking
her arm through his she said gaily, 'It doesn't matter, Brother.
Don't worry about me. I may surprise you.'

And
surprise him she did, and a good many others, when a few months later
the Earl of Arlen, one of King John's close circle of trusted lords,
demanded to marry her.

'She
has no dowry, you know,' said Robert, when Arlen made his formal
approaches.

'Oh,
that,' said the Earl. 'I know. It doesn't matter.'

He
could hear her two great bandogs howling outside in the bailey as if
they sensed the approach of something detestable.

The
birdsong faltered and died, and the birds flew off in sudden startled
flight. Ducks and coots on the lake panicked across the water and out
of the reeds, labouring into the air. A vixen and her cubs ran,
heedless of cover. The dogs had stopped howling and after a few
minutes of soft whining were quiet.

The
master had come.

Chapter
27

He
had bolted the door from the inside, and Julitta called for help: two
of her own men and Robert's dirty dumb serving boy. But when they
broke the door down it was too late. He had looped his girdle over
the shutter and kicked away the stool beneath him. His body hung
against the wall, the bare blue feet scarcely clear of the floor.

Julitta
entered the foul-smelling room, holding her skirts up away from the
clotted rushes. 'Get him down.'

They
laid him on his soiled pallet in the broken circle.

'Carry
that chest to my chamber.' She pointed to the money box. One of the
men picked it up and stumped off down the steps. Take those things
off him,' she said, pointing at the string of crosses and relics
round his neck. The other man looked uneasy and shuffled his feet but
did not move, and the boy, Hob, began to cry.

'Get
out of here!' She bent over the body and tugged at the string. It
broke and the amulets fell with a clatter to the floor. She heard a
gasp and, looking up, saw the dumb boy cross himself, his shocked
gaze fixed on the dead man's engorged face. Blood trickled from the
corpse's nose and mouth. Blood crying for justice, the infallible
sign of murder.

The
girl was proving difficult. Her food was drugged but now she refused
to eat, refused to talk, refused to obey in any way. Faced with the
mutinous child, Julitta's anger surged.

'You
sullen brat,' she said, and gave the little face a stinging slap. The
dumb boy, bringing in peats, jumped at the sound and dropped them.
'Clear that up,' the lady snarled. 'Get out and take the peats with
you. The child needs no fire.'

Gilla's
hands and bare feet were cold; she had only her shift and an old
blanket. The lady had taken her shoes and clothes when she shut her
in this cold bare little chamber.

'You'll
do as you're bid, or I'll let Red Cap get you!' Julitta said.

'You
don't know about Red Cap. He lives beneath the tower, down there in
the rocks, in tunnels. He comes up at night, for he can't abide the
daylight. He is old, so old! A filthy creature, teeth like a boar and
long twisted claws on his hands and feet. The claws have grown right
through his shoes! He wears rags stolen from the dead in their
graves. You will do as you're told, or I'll let him in to you this
night.'

The
mark of her fingers was scarlet on Gilla's pale cheek. The boy swept
up the broken peats, packed them back in the basket and scuttled out
of the room trembling, not daring to look back at the little girl.

As
the late evening light shone through the slit window of the garderobe
chamber, Gilla watched the shadow on the wall cast by an iron boss in
the middle of the window bars. She had looked at it for a long time
and now, she thought, it began to seem like a tunnel. After a while
she got up out of her body and went into the tunnel. It felt warm and
familiar as if she had done this many times before. It was dark in
there, but the walls and floor shone faintly and she could see quite
well. She walked steadily down the tunnel, knowing it would lead to
daylight.

It
opened on to a small garden, green and fragrant with meadowsweet and
roses. Birds sang there. A stone bench was set on a little rise amid
beds of herbs. The bench had carved arms: one a dragon the other a
unicorn. A lady was sitting there. She held out her arms and Gilla
went into them. The lady smelled of flowers.

'There
now, sweeting,' she said. 'It's all right now. This is your safe
place.' She took the child on her lap and Gilla rested her head
against the lady's breast. 'Sleep, little one,' the lady said. In the
morning, Lord Rainard stood on the donjon roof beside the iron
beacon-basket which was always kept full and ready to fire. He looked
north, south, east and west, and for as far as he could see there was
no habitation, though faint smoke from the village half a mile away
hung over the hill. Below, at the gate, half a dozen ragged barefoot
children waited hopefully for bread. Lord Rainard sniffed at his gold
pomander. His pale lipless face was severe and would not have looked
out of place under a cowl or mitre. His clothes were of the costliest
fabrics, but dark and plain.