The Falcons of Montabard (23 page)

That this place was to be her new home filled her with an apprehension bordering on panic. She had told Mariamne with pride that she was accustomed to life in a border fortress, but not one like this . . . She was briefly overwhelmed by tears, but they were lost among the raindrops streaming down her face, and by the time they came to a narrow postern door recessed in the wall between two watchtowers, she had control of herself again. She heard the slide of a draw bar and the door swung open on oiled hinges to admit the party to a large lower ward, dotted with a handful of flat-roofed buildings. Gerbert joined her again, taking her mare's bridle in his wet grasp and bearing to the right where another huge wall loomed out of the rain. There was another entrance, this one a narrow archway over a gatehouse protected by two portcullises. She was aware of a door opening in the gatehouse and a guard emerging to salute the party through. Beyond lay another ward with more buildings, among them one constructed of smaller, finer stones than the wall and roofed with tile. Gerbert rode up to it, dismounted at the door, and lifted her down. They squelched against each other.

'It is not the homecoming I would have desired for you,' he said, 'but welcome to Montabard.' He set his hand to the latch ring, thrust with his shoulder, and opened the door to the great hall. The sound of lashing rain faded into the background as she stared around the long room with its white walls and brightly adorned pillars. Instead of the usual central placing, the hearth had been set in the wall, and the smoke escaped up a chimney with a stone canopy. Trestles were stacked along the side of the room, but some had been left assembled and men were hastily rising from them to greet their lord.

In a flurry of faces, Annais was introduced to Gerbert's household stewards, to his marshal and constable, to the senior knights of the garrison and household. To memorise their

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names was beyond her for the nonce and she knew that she would have to ask Gerbert to repeat them all later. Water dripped from every portion of her and soaked into the rushes. Her teeth began to chatter and suddenly it was all she could do to remain on her feet. The rest of Gerbert's men were piling into the hall and a pungent aroma compounded of wet wool, horse and sweat began to pervade the air. Nausea unfurled in her belly and she swayed where she stood.

'Here, I've been saving it, but you look more in need than me.' Sabin pressed a horn cup filled with a pale liquid into her chilled hands. Amid the other smells rose one redolent of her former home. She held the cup closer to her face, drawing in the tang of peat streams and smoke and looked over it at Sabin. He had removed his helm and arming cap. Although curling at the edges with moisture, and flattened on top by the weight of the steel, his hair was mainly dry even if the rest of him was dripping. 'Go on,' he said with a gesture, 'before I change my mind.'

She raised the cup and, as she had seen men do in times of need and extremity, took a swift gulp. The usquebaugh hit the back of her throat like liquid fire. She gagged, but it was too late and it was already flashing down her gullet to her belly. 'Mother Mary!' she wheezed.

Sabin gave an incorrigible grin. 'It'll kill or cure,' he said cheerfully and refilled the small horn measure from a silver pilgrim flask whose original purpose had been to hold water from the River Jordan. 'Another of these and you'll be ready for anything.'

Gerbert emerged from a low-voiced conversation with his constable. A worried frown pleated his brow and it increased at the sight of his wife flushed and gasping with Sabin standing solicitously over her.

Sabin glanced up at Gerbert's approach, but neither drew away from Annais, nor acknowledged the other man's superior right. 'Can you not see she is near the end of her endurance?' he said in a brusque tone.

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'I am all right,' Annais said indignantly, her voice emerging as a hoarse crow from the ball of fire in her throat. The usquebaugh was working rapidly on her empty stomach. Even if she did not feel fit to tackle all comers, she was no longer in a state of collapse. She returned the cup to Sabin and the motion sent rapid drips of water from her sleeve to the rushes.

'It is like drinking lightning,' Sabin said, 'and lasts for about as long.' He looked again at Gerbert. 'She needs dry clothes and food.'

Gerbert rubbed his forehead and looked chagrined. 'I am ashamed that you need to remind me of my duty. Come, sweetheart, I'll get one of the women to take you to my chamber.' He set a concerned arm around his wife's shoulders and turned her firmly away from Sabin.

Tightening his lips, Sabin strode across to a corner of the hall where one of the stewards and an attendant were doling out linen and cotton towels and the saturated soldiers were stripping and drying themselves. There was also a pile of blankets and robes so that those whose baggage was soaked could have something dry to wear. Dragging off his clinging silk surcoat, Sabin wrung it into the rushes. One of Gerbert's escort knights, whose name was Durand, helped him remove his mail. At least the amount of grease in which he had slathered the rivets before setting out had prevented it from going too rusty, and there were only a few specks for his later attention. Next came the sodden gambeson, streaked with grease and black filaments of iron, then the tunic, damp, but not saturated. His shirt was almost dry, so he left that on, but removed his hose.

'I suppose you heard the news?' Durand said as Sabin flung on one of the dry robes. It was made of striped wool and Saracen in style with a deep neck opening and loose sleeves.

Sabin shook his head. 'What news?'

The knight's eyes were a piercing dark brown, set under sloping lids. 'The Saracen lord Ilghazi agreed a treaty of peace with King Baldwin, but his nephew Balak has other notions. There have been raids along our borders and Christian villages

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have been attacked. Thierry, the constable, told my lord soon after we arrived.'

'Ah,' said Sabin. That would account for Gerbert's frowning preoccupation. A wife, no matter her discomfort, could wait when the security of the demesne was at risk. 'And are the raids mere fleabites, or indicative of something more serious?'

Durand shrugged. 'They are likely testing our strength,' he said. 'And even fleabites can become serious if enough blood is sucked from the victim. Since we are supposed to be at peace, I do not expect to see a siege army riding up to our gates, but they are not the kind of tidings to please my lord in his honey month with his new bride.' The knight gave Sabin a shrewd look. 'Are you still glad you had left the soft comfort of Tel Namir for a border fortress?'

Sabin shrugged. 'Believe me,' he said, 'life here can be no more dangerous than it was at Tel Namir.'

The chambers above the hall consisted of a workroom laid out with tapestry frames, sewing benches and a couple of upright looms. Beyond this, through a heavy curtain, was a room for the servants with sleeping pallets arranged along the wall. This in turn gave access beyond a solid wooden door to the largest chamber, which consisted of an integral solar and bedchamber. A smaller chimney was set into the wall with chairs before the fire. Beyond the flame's light, a large bed with embroidered hangings filled the shadows.

The fire had only recently been lit and the apartments had a musty smell that spoke of little use. A chill struck through to Annais's bones and her teeth clacked together.

'Usually my lord would have sent word in front and we would have been able to prepare a fitting welcome, my lady,' said the woman who had escorted her to the chamber. Her name was Letice and she was a widow in early middle age with a round face and eyes of quick, intelligent hazel. 'But it is too dangerous for a man to ride fast ahead in this weather.' She rummaged in a coffer at the side of the room and emerged with two folded

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towels. A couple of serving women had come forward and she directed them to strip Annais of her wet garments. 'You are not seeing us at our best or most prepared.'

The maids pummelled and rubbed Annais with the towels until cold was replaced by a red, tingling warmth. From the waxed leather travelling chest, the women drew a dry chemise and, at Annais's indication, her woollen gown that had come from Scotland. 'How long have you dwelt here?' she asked Letice.

The older woman raised her eyes heavenwards while she considered the matter. 'I came from France ... let me see . . . ten years ago with Walter, my husband. We arrived as pilgrims and stayed. He took up service with Lord Gerbert's father and became his constable.' Her voice rang with pride to which there was an edge of sadness. 'Walter died last year of a flux, God rest his soul - and we had no children.'

Annais murmured an appropriate response and made a note to tread gently around Letice. Ten years and a high position in the keep were likely to be defended against the intrusion of a new young bride, especially when Letice's status was no longer bolstered by a high-ranking man. As she shook out the creased folds of the gown, Annais wondered about Gerbert's former wife. He had spoken very little of her and Annais, out of sensibility, had not asked. This room would have been hers, but there was small indication of her presence or character. At Tel Namir, Henri FitzPeter's sister had left behind her crucifix, her plain blanket, a worn place at the shutters where she had watched the men at their drill, and a gold wimple pin in the bottom of a coffer. Here the walls were without decoration, save for a painted frieze of vine leaves swirling the top of the walls. Rushes strewed the floor and the furniture consisted of the usual coffers and settles. But there were no combs, no perfume vials, no sewing box or trinket bowls for holding the small fripperies of a woman's life.

Another maid entered the room bearing a cup of hot wine flavoured with cinnamon and cardamom seeds. There was also

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a loaf of flat bread and a dish of aromatic lamb stew. Annais's stomach growled like a hungry lion and Letice laughed.

'I know Lord Gerbert when he is on the road,' she said. 'He doesn't think that lesser mortals need sustenance.'

'I doubt we could have eaten anything in this weather,' Annais said to defend her husband. She had noticed that he was indeed a swift traveller who spared little time on the journey for stops to eat - or indeed even to piss behind a bush. She had recovered from the discomfort of her wedding night, but only to have it replaced with saddle-chafe.

Outside the thunder was still rumbling, but with less ferocity than before. The rain continued to tip down as if poured out of buckets. Sitting down on a folding stool before the fire, she devoured the food and asked Letice about her predecessor.

Letice pursed her lips in thought. 'Odile was about your own age,' she said. 'She was quiet and timorous and not very strong. Her marriage was arranged to my lord while his father and hers still lived. It was not a love-match - few are, but they managed well enough together.'

Annais nodded with empathy. She did not have a soul-burning passion for Gerbert, but she liked him and there was potential for her feelings to grow.

Letice folded her arms. After she miscarried of two infants, my lady went into a decline and kept much to her chamber and Lord Gerbert spent a deal of his time elsewhere. He was tender of her welfare and he wanted her to regain her health.' Letice sighed. 'She carried her last child for the full nine months but it was the death of her, God rest her soul.' She looked at Annais, who was mopping up the last of the stew with the bread. 'We all pray that this marriage will prove more fortunate.' Her expression said that the way Annais had devoured the food, she was sure it would.

Annais licked her fingers. She hoped it would prove more fortunate too. Perhaps she was already with child and her feet on the start of the path that Odile had trodden. It was a disturbing thought. Sipping her wine, she rose to walk around

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the chamber. There was dust on the coffers and the hangings although the bedsheets and coverlet were clean. She supposed, with a shiver, that after Odile had died, they had stripped and replaced the linens.

As if reading her mind Letice said, 'We left this room much as it was until Lord Gerbert should give us instructions what to do. Lady Odile had been unwell for some time and she had no interest in her surroundings.'

'I am sorry for her,' Annais murmured. 'But content for myself. It means that I have an open hand to do as I wish and not feel that I am treading on the hem of a ghost.'

'So you are not displeased with Montabard?' Gerbert asked from the threshold.

She turned with a surprised start to face her husband. Unlatching his swordbelt, handing it to his squire, he advanced to the hearth and extended his hands to the warmth. 'I thought you might wonder what kind of prison I had brought you to.' He glanced towards the rumble of thunder outside the shutters. 'The weather has not played its part either.'

She came to him and stood to one side while his squire helped him unarm. 'But it is an arrival that I will remember for the rest of my life,' she said, smiling. 'A fanfare of trumpets could not compete with this.'

'No,' he agreed wryly and dismissed the squire. The young man staggered out, his arms laden with the sodden weight of the gambeson and the iron heaviness of the mail. Letice made her own unobtrusive exit, taking the maids with her, and softly closed the door.

'So you are truly content to be here?'

Hearing the need for reassurance in his voice, Annais set her reservations aside. 'I am very content to be here,' she said lightly. 'I could not have endured that storm for much longer.' Then she shook her head as she saw his misgiving, and was bold enough to reach on tiptoe and touch his cheek. 'In truth, I am overwhelmed, but that will pass. I know I can make my life here.' A smile filled her eyes. 'If I had been told last year

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in Scotland that I would soon be wed to a lord of a great castle in Outremer, I would not have believed it ... I am still not sure that I do. Perhaps this is all a dream.' She ran her hand down his arm. His tunic was damp and puffed with moisture and, beneath it, his muscles were as firm as carved wood. 'Although it doesn't feel like one.'