The Conqueror (28 page)

‘Lord, my sister tells me there has been seen a stranger flitting through the south country whom some thought to be mad, and others were sure was no human form, but a wood-fiend. And he has appeared to men, and repeated the old prophecy, saying that a people shall shortly come in ships and in tunics of iron, taking vengeance on perversity.’ He paused, trying to recall the words Elfrida had repeated. ‘“There shall come two dragons,”’ he said slowly, ‘… two dragons –’

‘What, more dragons?’ Harold murmured. ‘This is worse than the devils Edward predicts will wander through the land.’

‘“And one,”’ Edgar went on, unheeding, ‘“shall be slain by the arrows of envy, and the other shall perish under the shadow of a name. Then shall appear a lion of justice at whose roar the�insular dragons shall tremble …” What may that portend, lord?’

‘God knows; I do not.’ The Earl rose to his feet, and Edgar saw that he was frowning. ‘I do not like this prophecy,’ he said, ‘and less do I like the man who spreads it abroad.’

‘Lord, what bodes it?’ Edgar asked in a hushed voice.

‘Nothing. But when men lend ear to such ravings then are suspicion and alarm bred. I would I were at home.’ For the first time he showed his inward fret. ‘Holy Cross, was ever so great a mischance as my ship’s foundering off Ponthieu? You tell me tales of a man or fiend who should be seized and heard of no more were I in England. And who knows what silly work the Saint will busy himself with while I lie caged in Normandy? Gyrth and Leofwine are too young to take my place at his side; Tostig would do me a mischief if he could; and if the King were to die on a sudden –’ He stopped. ‘This is to no purpose. Edgar, a warning in your ear! Let no word concerning the future escape you. All Christendom knows that I stand beside a crown, but I have not said it, and I want no man of mine to prate that Harold will be King when Edward dies. It is understood?’

‘Yea, lord, it is understood. Yet I do not see …’

‘The Witan will choose me for King because I am the people’s hero. I have no other claim. If it were known that I aspired openly to Edward’s crown there would be an outcry raised against me by every other claimant, even perhaps by Holy Church. Guard silence, I charge you.’

Edgar nodded. ‘On my life. But if the Duke will not let you go, lord? What then?’

An indomitable look came into Harold’s face. ‘I shall go,’ he said. ‘I know not how, or when; I only know that I shall be in England again before the King dies, because all hangs on that, and I must not fail.’ There was a ring of certainty in his voice. He said strongly: ‘No matter what the cost, no matter by what means, I shall escape from Duke William’s net.’

Four

Raoul was not the only man in Rouen who had lost his heart to Elfrida. She very soon had a court gathered round her of ardent gentlemen who swore to the chagrin of the Norman maids that blue and gold were the only colours for a damsel. She had not been used to court life, and at first she regarded her worshippers doubtfully, and was shy of their wooing. They found her modesty irresistible, and redoubled their efforts to please. She had posies of eglantine and sweet-briar laid at her door; verses were left where she would be sure to find them; trinkets offered to her upon the bended knee. Once Taillefer of the golden voice sang a song in her praise at the dinner hour, and was pretty well covered by the gifts tossed to him by the lady’s suitors. But Elfrida blushed red as her little shoes, and would not raise her eyes from her lap. One or two damsels, slighted for her, were as spiteful as they dared to be, but discovered that meek as she was she could still hold her own if her anger were roused.

It was not many weeks before she had grown accustomed to be hailed Star of Beauty, White Doe, Golden Desire, and she soon learned to listen undismayed to catalogues of her charms recited without regard for her blushes by gentlemen of a poetic turn of mind. When Baldwin de Meules first made his rhymes to her she turned a startled reproving pair of eyes upon him, for he informed her that her limbs were bathed in moonshine, and her bosom whiter than the swan’s. But she soon found that he meant no harm at all, and she schooled herself not to draw back in the way that made the Norman ladies sneer at her. At the end of two months men might drown in the sea of her eyes, or be made faint by the perfume of her hair, or be slain by her vestal glance without awaking anything more than a mischievous crow of laughter in her. This was thought to be her only fault – if she had a fault at all, which some denied. She had a disconcerting and apparently unquenchable habit of letting a giggle escape her when a man was most in earnest. What heightened the fault in her was that it was well-nigh impossible to refrain from joining in her mirth, so infectious was it. Some drew off in a huff: she laughed the more, naughty little chuckles that made one’s lips quiver in spite of one’s annoyance; some reproached her: her eyes showed a hundred dancing lights. Her laughter had to be endured, even shared, but she could never get her court to see wherein lay the real jest. For her this lay nearly all in the reflection that she, who had always considered herself a very simple maid, was being wooed as a peerless beauty by a dozen gentlemen who should have known better.

Edgar, who had started to play the watch-dog over her, abandoned the task at the end of the first month, and devoted himself to the service of Earl Harold. He had very little opinion of the knights and vavassours and damoiseaux who flocked round his sister. They were mostly young men whom he remembered as lads hardly out of women’s care, and he said scornfully that they were untried, full of tricks and silly fancies. Elfrida, who stood in some awe of her large brother, said demurely that though her admirers might not be of such consequence as Edgar’s haut friends, yet she could not suppose that such cronies of his as bluff FitzOsbern, or William Malet would feel the smallest interest in a maid so young and unimportant as herself. Edgar, who had very soon seen what effect her beauty had had on men of all ages, said nothing more, not wishing her to grow puffed up in her own conceit.

Her court grew, but there was one who did not join it. Surrounded by her subjects, Elfrida cast wistful glances towards Raoul de Harcourt, who held apart. She had had little speech with him; he had never offered posies to her, nor extolled her loveliness, nor striven for a place at her side. She met him sometimes if she sought her brother’s company; often when she knew him to be with Edgar she would make an excuse to join them, but though he smiled, and kissed her hand, he nearly always retired to let her be private with Edgar. Such conduct naturally determined her to know more of him. Had he tried to find a way to catch her interest (which he had not) he could not have found a surer snare. She had liked him at first sight: she had had no very pleasant time in Ponthieu, and his had been one of the first faces she had seen after her release which held kindness and welcome. Since he was Edgar’s friend he had a claim on her regard; she was ready to be on easy terms with him. It seemed he would not: she did not know how to read his aloof conduct, and the more she watched him, the more she wondered about him, the greater grew her desire to know him better. She thought that perhaps he did not like women, and since he was unmarried, and, according to the notions of one-and-twenty, no longer young, this seemed a probable answer to the riddle. But very often she would see him looking at her from afar, and she soon noticed that when he entered a room where she sat his eyes would search for her as though by instinct. She began to be afraid that he was too exalted a personage to seek her company. He seemed to be of great consequence, for he always sat at the Duke’s table, and not only did her young suitors speak to him with deference, but he was obviously held in affection by both the Duke and the Duchess. No one under the rank of the Duke’s kin – and not by any means all of these – was permitted to go in and out of the ducal apartments at will as Raoul did. Elfrida had admirers with grandiloquent titles, who displayed great magnificence, but she was shrewd enough to see that the quiet Chevalier de Harcourt was of more account than these. Very high seigneurs called him friend, and stiff-necked barons such as de Gournay and Tesson of Cingueliz, who used the most brief of addresses towards any whom they thought below their degree, would hail Raoul without a trace of this haughtiness. He was always arm-in-arm with some puissant baron, thought Elfrida. Edgar had said that none stood closer to the Duke, save it be his brother of Mortain, or his Seneschal FitzOsbern. She supposed that she must not expect so remote a man to be interested in her. But although, being a sensible maid, she made up her mind she must not wish Raoul to approach her, she went on wishing it, secretly, because there was no other man in all this teeming Court whom she liked so well.

His very quiet seemed to her only to add to his dignity. Other men might swagger through the halls, trailing mantles rich with orfrey, loudly asserting their importance, dazzling a poor stranger-maid with their splendour, but she did not think they appeared to advantage beside the straight, calm-eyed knight who made no stir, wore nearly always a soldier’s mantle of plain vermeil, and was hardly ever heard to raise his voice above its ordinary low pitch.

She made a hero of him, chiding herself for her folly: imagined him to be far above her, courteous always, but kind rather than friendly, and all the time the man was deep in love with her, and could not keep his eyes
from her face if she were in the same room with him.

He saw her surrounded by younger men than himself, apparently happy in their company, and it did not seem to him that she regarded him as anything more than her brother’s friend. Ruefully he reflected that in all likelihood she considered him a greybeard. There was little enough arrogance in him, but he could not bring himself to swell a court composed of untried youths, or to sue for favours with a score of others.

Matters might have continued in this way for ever had it not been for the rude conduct of William, Lord of Moulines-la-Marche, the Duke’s cousin upon the distaff-side.

Between Raoul and this seigneur there had never been much love lost. The Lord of Moulines was of an intemperate disposition that accorded ill with Raoul’s, and he had a natural ferocity which he was at no pains to bridle. His pages were often seen to blubber out their hearts in some secluded corner, and it was no unusual thing for his horse to be led back to its stable with bleeding flanks torn by his merciless spurs. He was married, but his lady enjoyed little of his company, for at one or other of his houses there could always be found some light woman whom he had taken to mistress. None of them remained for long, since he tired of them quickly, and was ever on the look-out for a fresh charmer.

He came on a visit to the Court when Elfrida had been there some eight weeks or more, and his attention was immediately caught by her unusual beauty. It was not to be supposed that he would consider her in the light of a possible leman, but he could not be placed near such fresh loveliness without attempting to trifle with it. He had a handsome cruel face, and a manner pleasant enough when he chose. He began to pay his addresses to Elfrida, and as soon as he saw that she was a little afraid of him the beast of prey, which his foes swore lay in him, purred gently, and stretched lazy claws.

Elfrida had been warned of him. One of Matilda’s ladies had told her dreadful stories of his vengeance, so that however much she was teased by his love-making she dared not breathe a word of it to Edgar lest he should intervene and draw down the Lord of Moulines’ wrath upon his head. She contrived for some time to hold the man at arm’s length, but she was unfortunate enough to walk straight into his arms one day in one of the long galleries of the palace.

He was lounging on a bench when she rounded the bend of the stair that led down from Dame Gundred’s chamber to the gallery. There was no one else in the gallery; she had a suspicion that he had planted himself there to waylay her, and because she feared him she would have drawn back.

But he had seen her, and he sprang to his feet. ‘The fair Elfrida!’ he said, and advanced towards her.

‘So please you, lord,’ she answered in rather a small voice. He was standing before her, blocking the way. She said: ‘I must not tarry: I am stayed for.’

‘Why yes, pretty elf-maiden,’ he smiled, ‘I stay for you. Will you leave me disconsolate?’ He tried to take her hand. ‘Fie, you are a chill maid!’ he said. ‘See, does this trinket like you?’ He dangled a chain studded with garnets before her.

She replied with dignity: ‘I thank you, I must not take so precious a gift.’

‘Eh, take it, my dear,’ he said, ‘it is nothing worth.’ For a brief cynical moment he tried to remember for which of his lemans he had first bought it. ‘I would give you better things than this poor bauble.’

‘You are kind, lord, but I would have you know that I have no liking for such toys,’ Elfrida said firmly. ‘Pray you, let me pass. Indeed I am stayed for.’

He had succeeded in getting hold of her hand; he drew her towards the bench, and his right arm slid round her waist insinuatingly. ‘Nay, you would not be so cruel,’ he said. ‘Am I never to see you alone? You have a rabble of silly boys for ever gathered round you, or else you are mewed up amongst the bower-maidens. And so am I driven to a madness of desire.’ He had her fast round the waist now; his fingers gripped her side; he put his free hand up to her cheek, and pinched it playfully. The colour leaped up under his fingers. He laughed, enjoying her confusion, and let his hand wander downwards over her neck.

She made an effort to break out of his prisoning arms. ‘Loose me, lord!’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘This work ill-befits your honour, or mine. I pray you let me go! The Duchess stays for me!’

‘Quoy, mistress, you are my captive,’ he said, teasing her. ‘What ransom will you offer? I shall demand a large one for so peerless a prisoner.’

‘Lord, this jesting is unmannerly. Must I call for aid?’

He took her throat in his clasp; his face was bent close; she thought she had never seen so greedy a mouth, and gave a frightened sob. ‘Your cries shall be stopped with kisses, willow-maid. Nay, hold not off, I will do you no hurt, but only maybe wake the sleeping passion in you.’ He let go her throat, and wrapped both his arms round her, holding her breast to breast. ‘What, am I the first to sip your sweetness, little virgin?’

It was at this timely moment that Raoul came up the stair at the other end of the gallery, and walked towards the door of one of the solars. He glanced casually along the gallery, and what he saw made him pause with his hand already raising the latch. He stood still, looking towards Elfrida with an alert questioning lift to his brows.

Moulines had let her go when he heard the step on the stairs, but he still barred her passage. She was seriously alarmed; tears were starting in her blue eyes
;
she turned an imploring gaze on Raoul.

His hand left the latch; he came down the gallery, not hurrying, but deliberately.

‘Well, Messire Watcher?’ snapped Moulines. There was a growing note in his voice. ‘What make you here? If you want aught of me let me hear it, and so be done!’

‘My thanks to you,’ Raoul answered imperturbably. ‘I want nothing but your room, Moulines, and that as soon as may be.’

The Lord of Moulines’ temper flared up. ‘Spine of God, this to my face, upstart? You grow large in your own reckoning! Get you gone: I promise you you stand in some danger.’

‘Keep that tone for your own underlings, Moulines-la-Marche,’ Raoul said, unmoved. ‘Lady, let me lead you to the Duchess’s bower.’

She moved towards him gratefully, but Moulines pushed her back. ‘Stay you there, maiden: myself will be your escort.’ He turned a snarling face upon Raoul, and his hand fumbled at the dudgeon of his knife. ‘So, Chevalier! The Duke my cousin shall hear of this insolence.’

Elfrida saw the gleam of a smile in Raoul’s grey eyes. ‘You will find him in his chamber,’ he said. ‘Go tell him you are enraged with me. I give you God-speed on that errand.’ Amusement lurked in his voice, but he was watching Moulines’ hand, and his own hand slid to his belt.

Moulines, knowing that a complaint against Raoul would be more likely to bring down the Duke’s wrath on his own head than on the favourite’s, lost the last rags of his temper, and sprang at Raoul with his dagger out.