Forbidden Love (18 page)

Roanna collapsed on the bed, torn between tears and laughter. "He was ... he wanted to . . ."

Lady Margaret quickly sat down beside her, easing the candlestick from her clenched hand and putting a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Hush, now, it's all right. He's gone, and I warrant he won't be back. At least not if he has any sense. The men would make short work of him, not to mention what your lord would do if he ever got wind of this."

Roanna trembled at the mere thought. Now that her relationship with her husband was back to normal, she could not bear for anything to upset it. "God forbid! He was angry enough when Robert only spoke to me at court If he found out. . ."

"He won't," Lady Margaret reassured her swiftly. "From the look of it you managed to send that young whelp packing."

"I should have realized what was going to happen when he kept coming here," Roanna murmured remorsefully. "But I kept telling myself there was nothing to worry about." Looking at her friend, she said, "If you hadn't arrived when you did, I might have been left with no choice but to call the guards. Then Robert would have died, all because of my foolishness."

Lady Margaret privately thought the Norman lout deserved death for trespassing on the friendship of one so kind and giving as Roanna. But she refrained from saying so, not willing to upset the young girl further.

Instead she kept up a soothing chatter as she gently helped her to undress and tucked her into bed. Firmly, she said, "You're going to rest now whether you want to or not These last few days have been a terrible strain on us all, but you've worked harder than anyone. It's onty right we look after you for a bit"

Roanna meant to protest that there was too much yet to be done and that she really needed to be up and about But somehow the words never passed her lips. Under Lady Margaret's gentle eye, she drifted into the first sound sleep she had known since Colin's departure.

Her rest, though desperately needed, was all too short

Scant hours later she was awakened with the news that one of Lady Margaret's friends had been taken ill. The woman had a high fever and was barely conscious. There was a red rash on her neck and blisters under her arms. Roanna speedily made a tincture of herbs she remembered her sister-in-law recommending and applied cold compresses in an effort to bring the fever down. But she saw no improvement a short while later when Alaric brought word that two of the men-at-arms were similarly stricken.

By morning, the total number of ill in the household had risen to six with at least one likely to die.

Roanna hurried from patient to patient, changing compresses, brewing more medications, and trying desperately to stem the rising tide of sickness, which threatened to engulf the house.

Because of the flood, there was no ice available anywhere nearby. Unable to find another way to bring the fevers down, Roanna dispatched Alaric with a group of thegns and a wagon to seek out a supply. They returned with a block large enough to serve their needs for several days, but also with the news that the fever was spreading throughout the city.

"It seems to have started down by the docks," the old housecarl explained. "Several shiploads of sailors have died of it and at least a dozen merchants. In the poorer neighborhoods, they say, people are dropping like flies."

"Is there no way to stop it?"

He shook his head sorrowfully. "Not that anyone knows. The few doctors who are willing leave their homes to tend the sick are giving purges and letting blood at a fearsome rate. But that only seems to hasten the fever's course. So far as I have been able to find out, no one who gets it survives."

Roanna set her jaw angrily. She was damned if she would stand by and let death become a triumphant presence in her house. Mustering every ounce of strength and will she possessed, she threw herself into a desperate struggle for life.

But her efforts seemed to have little chance of success. The woman who was first stricken died, as did two of the men-at-arms. Refusing to give their bodies up to the hooded monks whose creaking carts began to make regular collections throughout the city, she arranged for them to be taken to a nearby cemetery, where they were given what was rapidly becoming the rarest of all luxuries, a proper Christian burial. The rites had to take place without her for she was far too busy tending to the ill to leave the house even briefly.

Alaric became her only contact with the outside world. He and those of the thegns who were still on their feet made regular forays for food and other supplies. They brought word of the plague's continued spread. It had reached beyond London, following the path of panic-stricken citizens attempting to flee its clutches. Many nearby villages now refused admittance to any stranger.

William set a stalwart example by remaining in his capital, with the rest of the court having no choice but to stay with him. But many others bribed watch captains to let them slip through the city gates, which were now kept closed day and night

In the midst of this terrible travail, Roanna gave thanks for her husband's absence. Colin was far enough away that it would still be some time before news of the plague reached him and he could even attempt to return home. His safety was her only comfort as one horror-filled day blended into another.

Several more men-at-arms were stricken and quickly died. The disease seemed to be increasing in virulence. The sorrowful toll of the death bell could be heard at all hours. Those few courageous or desperate enough to venture out found streets littered with unburied bodies, which often lay where they had breathed their last

Just when she believed the terror could not possibly become worse, Roanna was faced with even greater despair. Lady Margaret who had worked tirelessly beside her to help care for the sick, joined their ranks.

Alaric found her collapsed in a corner of the family quarters, her gentle face bathed in sweat and her body racked by fever. Choking back his anguish, he carried her swiftly to a pallet

Through waves of gathering unconsciousness, Margaret tried vainly to reassure him. "It's nothing. ... I'm just tired. . . . Don't bother Roanna. . . ."

Alaric ignored her. He sent a thegn rushing off to find his mistress before quickly stripping the sweat-soaked clothes from her and wrapping her in warm blankets.

Margaret was not so far gone that she could not still be embarrassed by her nudity. She tried weakly to stop him, only to be flatly told, "For God's sake, Maggie, do you think I haven't already imagined you like this many times? Be a good lass and lie still, else this is the closest you and I shall ever come to what I think we both want"

His gruff frankness succeeded where nothing else would have. With a soft moan, she gave herself up to his care. When Roanna reached them scant moments later, she found her friend nestled in the old housecarl's arms, his head resting on her own and his eyes tightly closed as he sought desperately to pour his strength into her stricken form.

With shaking hands, Roanna set about what was by now the routine of care. Ignoring standard medical treatment, she did not resort to purges or bloodletting. Instead, she meticulously prepared and administered the potions known to reduce fever, lanced the purulent blisters, and applied the salve which through trial and error she had found seemed to prevent the rash that presaged death.

As Lady Margaret drifted in and out of delirium, Alaric refused to leave her side. Once Roanna had shown him what to do, he assumed full responsibifity for her care. Drawing on the strength that had carried him through countless battles, he waged a remorseless struggle with the skeletal shadow hanging over the woman he loved.

The few others who also appeared immune to the plague took their turns beside the sick beds so that Roanna could snatch a few hours' rest. But it was on her, as mistress of the household, that the burden of treating the victims fell.

At first the struggle was solely to stave off the specter of death. But slowly, imperceptibly, in tiny victories won from moment to moment the tenor of battle began to change. Despite the leaden sense of doom hanging over the city, Roanna found a few tremulous signs of hope.

Lady Margaret and many of the others she tended did not die. For a while they seemed simply to hang between one world and the next as the fierce battle went on to drag them back from the precipice. But then, so gradually that she could hardly believe it, they began to heal.

Fevers hesitantly abated, resurged, then departed for good. Blisters shrank and vanished. The deadly rash withdrew, not to be seen again. Patients regained consciousness, blinked with surprise at finding themselves still in this world, and weakly called for water. There was a sudden need for nourishing broths that could be spooned down parched throats.

A week after the plague first struck, Roanna dared to believe it might be lessening. She still heard the death bell and the creak of carts outside in the streets. But inside, in her own domain, the shadow of doom was rescinding.

Two of the most seriously ill thegns recovered sufficiently to leave their pallets. Lady Margaret was still weak, but able to take solid food. Alaric sat beside her hour by hour encouraging her to eat, talking with her gently, or simply watching her sleep.

Others continued to improve slowly but steadily. Roanna was able to rest more and restore her strength. The day came when she could take time out to bathe, wash her hair, and don clean, bright clothes in a gesture less of defiance than impending triumph.

As the plague retreated, so did the effects of the flood Those so busy caring for the ill hardly noticed that the sun had reappeared. But as the muddy roads and sodden buildings dried, the rats withdrew back to the riverbanks, and the stench of rotting waste was blown away by a fresh breeze. Hesitantly, the survivors turned their eyes to heaven and dared to ask if the cataclysm might be over.

Roanna herself declared it at an end on the day the last of her patients was able to rise from his bed and stand under his own power. In the aftermath of terror more profound than what any human force could cause, there was a natural desire to rejoice. Though the dosing of the market had stretched their food supplies to the limit, she directed that a special meal be prepared. Divisions of rank were temporarily forgotten as servants and retainers alike gathered in the hall to celebrate their victory over death.

No food ever tasted better, no drink was ever sweeter than that which reaffirmed life. Roanna received glowing praise as man and woman alike credited her for bringing them safely through an ordeal which had destroyed thousands. Her embarrassment was acute as she tried to convince them that everyone had helped make their survival possible, but no one would listen. She was the living symbol of their triumph, and they would not be denied the right to honor her.

In the midst of so much joy, there was yet more. Alaric shyly announced that the Lady Margaret had agreed to become his wife. This pronouncement brought cheers from the household that threatened to shake the rafters. It was the cue for yet more courses to be brought out and additional kegs of ale and wine to be cracked open.

The old housecarl came in for some gentle teasing, which he took with high good humor. The least comment was an excuse for laughter. Musical instruments were brought out, and voices just a bit creaky from disuse lent themselves to love ballads.

As the revelry proceeded, even the most routine precautions taken in times of peace were temporarily waived. It was unthinkable that any of the guardsmen should miss the celebration. They left the posts they had maintained even during the pestilence to join in the rejoicing.

So it was that the armed men approaching the keep found their path unimpeded. Even the door to the hall was unguarded, allowing them to enter without first announcing their presence. Their grim faces hardened even further as they took in the signs of merrymaking. Not until their leader rapped hard on the floor with his scabbard was their intrusion realized.

Montague FitzStephen gazed about him contemptuously. Everything he saw about him seemed to reaffirm his low opinion of the Anglo-Saxon waste infesting the country. It made the task he had come to perform all the more pleasant

With measured strides, the tall, powerfully built knight crossed the hall. His armor glittered darkly and the plume in his battle helmet was dyed blood-red. Onyx eyes gleamed as he threw a rolled document on the table before Roanna.

Only her quick signal stopped her men from reaching for their weapons. She had caught sight of the seal holding the parchment together. However treacherous FitzStephen might be, he came on the King's business.

Rising, she faced him calmly. "What is this?"

The Norman looked her over narrowly before he responded. "A warrant for your arrest"

"That's preposterous!" Alaric exploded. The other housecarls and thegns joined him in repudiating such an absurdity.

Roanna had to raise her hand to quiet them. Somehow managing to keep her voice steady, she asked, "On what charge?"

FitzStephen allowed himself an icy smile as he said, "Witchcraft"

"
T
his really couldn't have happened at a worse time," William complained. He turned from his perusal of the scene out the window to regard Roanna glumly. "You must believe me, I didn't want to have you arrested. But I had no choice."

Trying hard to look sympathetic, she refrained from mentioning that whatever inconveniences he might be suffering could hardly be compared with her own plight. Instead, she said softly, "I still don't understand how this happened. What did FitzStephen tell you to prompt such action?'

The King's black eyes focused on her intently, as though trying to judge the degree of her sincerity. He must have been convinced because at length he said, ""You honestly don't know, do you?"

Roanna shook her head mutely. She sat up straight-er in the hard, wooden chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap and her features rigidly composed. Whatever was coming, she meant to confront it with dignity.

"Robert d'Almaric is dead" Seeing the shock this blunt statement wrung from her, William went on more gently. "He was one of the first to succumb to the plague. He died crying out that you were responsible. I believe his exact words were to the effect that you had summoned a pox on him. Now ordinarily I wouldn't have paid any attention to that. But with thousands dead throughout the city and your own household relatively untouched, FitzStephen has a rather compelling case."

Struggling against an almost overwhelming sense of disbelief, Roanna blurted, "You can't be serious! Robert was a disappointed suitor liable to say anything for vengeance! And as for my household, only skill and good fortune saved us from taking losses as severe as anywhere else! In the name of God, would you condemn me for being able to heal!"

"No, no! But you must try to understand my position. FitzStephen is an old and valued retainer. He is also the leader of the faction that wants to see all the Anglo-Saxon nobility destroyed. As such, your husband has become his prime adversary." Shaking his head, William concluded, "It didn't take much cunning to realize that Colin is most vulnerable through you. FitzStephen hopes to provoke him to some enraged act that will make it impossible for me to let him keep his lands."

"Colin is far too intelligent to fall for such a trick," Roanna declared firmly.

"Perhaps, but if that fails, FitzStephen has a fallback position. He knows that it is in large measure Colin's marriage to you that predisposes me to believe him capable of loyalty. If that marriage ends, I will be more inclined to replace him with a Norman lord."

"Ends? But how . . . Only the Pope can dissolve a marriage."

William sighed regretfully. "I am not speaking of dissolution. Witchcraft is a capital crime."

Cold fingers of fear crawled through Roanna. For the first time since assuring her retainers it was safe for her to answer the King's summons, she wondered at .the wisdom of her action. Would William actually stand by and let her die?

There was no clue in his expressionless features. Studying him in the vain hope of comfort, Roanna was reminded of the merciless expediency he had always shown in matters affecting his own power. From the moment he first put foot in stirrup to win for himself the lands his father could not leave to a bastard son, William had let nothing and no one get in his way. He had triumphed over almost insurmountable obstacles, and in the process had won a well-deserved reputation for ruthlessness. She would have to be a fool to believe the habits of a lifetime would be suddenly ignored for her sake.

Caught in the middle between those of his followers who wanted an accord with the conquered and those who looked forward only to more bloodshed, William would not willing alienate either. Instead, he would seize any opportunity for the conflict to be settled by seemingly divine intervention. All unwittingly, she had provided him with just such a chance.

Dimly, she said, "I gather you mean to try me?"

William nodded, privately relieved that she was intelligent enough not to need everything spelled out In the back of his mind, he regretted that it had to be Roanna who was caught up in such a mess. Besides the genuine fondness he felt for her, there was the far deeper bond of affection for her brother. But Guyon was miles away across the width of the country, and FitzStephen could no longer be put off. Regret it though he might, he knew she could not be spared the confrontation that would at last decide which policy would rule in England.

"It is necessary." Reassuringly, he added, "But nothing will happen for at least several days. There is much to be arranged."

"I hope," Roanna murmured tightly, "that some of those arrangements will include notifying my husband and brother of this outrage."

Impervious to her angry tone, William surprised her by saying, "Messages are already on their way."

Roanna had to be content with that. Escorted from the King's presence, she was taken to a small, barred room high in the keep. There she was locked in with a sleeping pallet, blankets, a container of water, and her thoughts.

The tedium she had suffered during her first days as Colin's captive proved as nothing compared to what she now had to endure. Days that only a short white before had been far too short to accomplish all that needed to be done dragged by in relentless monotony relieved only by bouts of fear.

Her cell, she swiftly discovered, was precisely twelve paces long and ten wide. The small, barred window was set too high in the wall for her to be able to look out comfortably. But if she stood on tiptoe and pulled herself up by her hands, she could just see the bailey below. The effort, however, strained her back and leg muscles, which quickly began to ache.

The jailers who guarded her in three shifts night and day were at first not inclined to talk. They seemed to take the charge of witchcraft seriously, at least to the extent of crossing themselves each time they came anywhere near her and refusing to meet her eyes. But that behavior fortunately did not last.

Before very long they apparently decided she was simply a young, beautiful lady who through a set of extraordinary circumstances found herself in their care. This new attitude proved far more pleasant than the other. All three men were sensible enough to treat her with rigorous propriety. But they did unbend enough to express their growing support in a multitude of small ways.

Little treats began to appear on her trays. From one of the taverns across the road, which provided far better food than the stronghold's own kitchens, came fragrant barley soup and fresh-baked white bread. A handful of daisies appeared next to brighten her drab surroundings. Softer blankets replaced the regulation issue. Hot water was provided twice daily.

Her modesty was respected to the extent that none of the guards would enter the cell without knocking first When they did, their conversation was unfailingly cheerful. They brought welcome word of life outside her prison, but no news was as eagerly received as the announcement that William had decided to allow her visitors.

Alaric and Margaret came first. Their anxious faces brought a lump to Roanna's throat. She embraced them warmly, hastily reassuring them that she was all right

"There's no reason to look so grim. I'm being quite well looked after."

Her friends were less certain, but they were not about to inflict their worries on her. Stalwartly, Margaret said, "Well, you'd better be or there'll be hell to pay. The King has given strict orders you are to be treated with all honor and respect"

Roanna had suspected William was behind her good care but she was glad of this confirmation. Surely if he was as neutral as he pretended, he would not show any interest in her circumstances.

"If he thinks that makes up for imprisoning you," Alaric growled, "he's an even bigger fool than he seems. Word of your arrest has already spread beyond the city. I've had offers of help from every Anglo-Saxon lord in the area. With Colin away, every one of them is ready to take arms in your defense."

"Oh, no!" Roanna exclaimed. "There mustn't be any trouble. We would be falling right into FitzStephen's trap."

Alaric nodded somberly. 'That's what I figured. So far I've been able to keep them under control. But I'm not sure how much longer that can last. Our own men are chomping at the bit. They're all for marching on this keep and taking it apart log by log to get to you. If you aren't released soon, William's going to have a full-fledged battle on his hands."

"Tell the men they must be patient," Roanna instructed firmly, "and say the same to those who have offered help. I deeply appreciate their concern, but we must look to the future. Even if you did manage to free me, we would only have convinced William he cannot count on our loyalty, which is exactly what FitzStephen wants him to believe. That must be avoided, at all costs."

Lady Margaret and the housecarl glanced at each other worriedly. The older woman's eyes were dark with concern as she took Roanna's hand. "Not at all costs, my dear. Your life is far too precious to us to allow it to be threatened."

More confidently than she felt Roanna insisted, "It will not come to that."

"Pray God you are right," Alaric muttered. "A few weeks ago, I wouldn't have thought anything could make the remaining Anglo-Saxon lords work together. No matter how much they all hate William, they were still far too independent and contentious. But between their respect for Colin and their horror at what's happening to you, they're coming close to the point of joint action." He shook his head wonderingly. "FitzStephen may succeed where no one else has before. Thanks to him, the lords may be truly united for the first time."

Roanna's face was strained as she listened to him. Nothing could be worse than for the Anglo-Saxon nobility to rise against William so belatedly. "It's too late for that The King's liegemen hold all but a few of the most strategic points in the country. The castles they've built to secure their positions are all but impenetrable. Any rebellion now would only be the excuse FitzStephen and his kind need to finish the job begun at Hastings. By the time they were through, there wouldn't be an Anglo-Saxon lord left alive."

"Then Colin had better get back here quickly and convince them of that," Alaric muttered. "Otherwise the hotheads will prevail."

Thinking of her husband and how he would react when he learned of her imprisonment, Roanna bent her head, it seemed as though she had brought him little good since their marriage. Softly, she asked, "Do you think he has heard yet?"

Alaric nodded. "If our own messengers haven't reached him yet, it's likely the King's men have gotten through. They left a day earlier with instructions to stop only to change horses." Gently, he added, "His lordship won't let anything stand in his way. As soon as humanly possible, he'll be here."

But the rest of that day brought no news of Colin's arrival, and on the following morning her trial began.

For the occasion, the great hall of the keep was cleared out, a dais constructed, and a large table hauled in to accommodate the dignitaries. Some effort was made to create an atmosphere of proper solemnity by draping the rough-hewn walls in war banners and stationing staightbacked men-at-arms at regular intervals. The guards were not there for mere ceremonial purposes. They were needed to keep down the press of curious observers, who clearly viewed the proceedings as a welcome distraction from the everyday monotony.

Awakened early in her cell, Roanna bathed before donning the dark blue tunic and bliaut Margaret had brought The somber color was well suited to her mood. With shaking hands she combed the silken mass of her hair until it fell in golden waves to her waist Securing the transparent veil in place with a plain circlet she glanced into a small polished metal mirror.

The young woman who stared back at her was unnaturally pale. Beneath thick fringes, wide amber eyes had the look of a wounded animal. Her mouth was set tightly and the firm ttne of her chin trembled slightly.

That wouldn't do at all. Determinedly, Roanna pinched color into her ashen cheeks and bit her lips until they were once again rosy. Lifting her head proudly, she made her gaze as hard and unrevealing as was possible. The result, while not all that she might have wished, was still a great improvement. Only someone who knew her extremely well would be able to suspect the clawing dread bottled up inside her slender body.

Certainly the officials who watched her enter the hearing chamber saw only a remarkably beautiful, apparently serene young woman. William sat at the center of the table, dressed in a black velvet tunic embroidered in silver. His garb was at once unrelentingly somber and regal.

Beside him, Odo's scarlet robes were in sharp contrast The bishop was seated at the King's right, a position required by his rank but which Roanna hoped also signified William's silent choice between the two contending factions of his followers.

To his left sat Montague FitzStephen. His lean, vulpine features might have been a mask for all they revealed of his thoughts. Only his narrow black eyes showed any life as they followed Roanna's every move. The dark green tunic he wore was cut to emphasize the power of his battle-hardened form. Almost as tall as Colin and certainly as fit, he had none of the other man's inherent grace He shifted impatiently as she neared, apparently anxious to get on with it

A clerk called the assembly to attention. "Oyez, oyez! Be it known the King's court is now in session. All those having business before it draw near."

A guard gently guided Roanna to her position in front of the table. Staring at the men who would judge her, she thought William met her gaze for just an instant. But he looked away so quickly that she couldn't be sure.

FitzStephen, who apparently would lead off, consulted some papers before him, more for effect than any need. His voice was sonorous as he declared, "We are come to consider the matter of the Lady Roanna Algerson, nee D'Arcy, lately charged with witchcraft in the parish of St. Elbert's, city of London, dominion of his most gracious majesty, William the King." His sharp, relentless eyes locked on the young woman before him. "What is your plea?"