The Innocent (33 page)

"So he told you it was my idea, did he? Well, it was!" Isleen crowed triumphantly. "If your husband is willing to ransom you, it will cost him everything. I wonder if he is willing to give up all he gained when he wed you just to have you back. I hope he won't pay the ransom. Then, I shall put you in my whorehouse to earn your keep!" She laughed when she saw how Elf paled.

"You make me ashamed of myself," Elf responded. "For the first time in my life, I feel an anger so deep that I want to kill you!" She arose from her chair, and glared furiously at her adversary. Her small fists were clenched into tight little balls. "You are a horrible creature, Isleen de Warenne!
God forgive me, but I hate you!"

Isleen stepped back, surprised by the rage in Elf’s silvery eyes. Those eyes blazed, and Isleen had not a doubt that Elf would, if driven much further, attack her person. "So," she snarled, "you are human after all. Good! A weak enemy would offer me little amusement."

"I will offer you none," Elf said coldly. Then she sat back down again and continued stringing her loom.

Isleen looked to Gwyll. "Leave us!"

"I cannot," he said. "Master’s orders, lady. I am to remain with the lady Eleanore at all times and take my orders from no one but the lord hisself." There was a faint smile on Gwyll’s lips as he spoke, and a determination in his eyes Isleen knew could not be swayed.

Angrily she slapped him. "Impudent serf!" she shrieked, then fell back, her hands going to her face. Astounded she stared at Elf, who once more stood.
"You… You hit me!"
she screamed disbelievingly.

"Do not raise your hand again to the servants," Elf warned her. "Gwyll was but doing his master’s bidding. You are not lady here."

"Nor are you!" Isleen shot back. She frantically rubbed her cheek. "If you have marred my beauty, I will find a way to punish you no matter your faithful watchdog! I swear I will!"

"You are not injured fatally," Elf said dryly. "The mark of my hand and fingers will fade in a few hours' time, Isleen. As you warn me, however, I warn you. Do not mistreat the servants. Did your mother teach you no better? My Ashlin folk are well rid of you."

"Servants are servants," Isleen said with emphasis.

"They are God’s people even as we are," Elf said. "Even you, Isleen, for all your wickedness, are God’s creation."

"I hate you. I hate you!"
Isleen shouted, and stamped from the hall.

"You have a bad enemy there, my lady," Gwyll noted.

"She was always my enemy even when she knew me not," Elf told the puzzled man. "Now, however, I am wise enough to be hers."

"I'll defend you," Gwyll said. He was still amazed that the lord’s gentle captive had defended him against the unjust anger of the lord’s mistress. There were none here at Gwynfr who would do the English bitch a good turn, and so he thought the lady Eleanore relatively safe. Ever since the lord had hanged those two men-at-arms for poaching on his preserve, the men could not be suborned by the whore. Only poor little Arwydd was loyal to her, but Arwydd had not the stomach for murder. Still, Gwyll thought, he saw he must guard his charge most carefully.

***

From the first Elf had seen that weeping and bemoaning her fate would do no good, so she had settled into life at Gwynfr Castle as best she could. While her thoughts were with Ranulf and their son, those two were safe. And, reassured by such thoughts, she spent hours weaving at the loom by the fire, and going out on the hillsides to search for medicinal plants with which to make a store of medicants.

One day when her gaze wandered to the hills about them and remained too long, she heard Gwyll’s voice say gently, "You don't even know which way is England, do you, lady? You are safer here. Do not think of escape."

Elf did not respond to him, pretending she had not heard. Instead, she dug her knife carefully into the soil about the roots of a plant she needed, loosening the earth and drawing the plant slowly forth. Gwyll was right. She didn't know which direction England was, and there was no way in which she could find out without arousing suspicion. She handed Gwyll the knife, and laid the plant in her basket.

Gwynfr provided primitive living quarters at best. Most of the castle was a ruin, and other than Arwydd, Isleen, and herself, there were no women, even servants, who came during the day. The life was even harder than the convent had been when it came to simple everyday things such as washing. In order to do that, she was forced to carry her own water to her chamber. Ever since the first night she had come, Arwydd had been forbidden by her mistress from helping Elf in any way, and Merin ap Owen did not interfere. Her clothing was in need of a good washing.

When he had stolen her, Elf had been in a drug-induced sleep. Merin ap Owen had put a tunic dress and a skirt on her, wrapping her in a cloak, before he had taken her away. She had kept these garments as clean as she could with brushing, and shaking, but she had been wearing the same clothes for two weeks now. Her chemise was filthy and needed to be washed, but she had no other to wear. Since there was no door to her little interior chamber, it presented a problem. Then it dawned on her to bathe as she had once bathed in her convent, wearing her chemise. She would do it in the evening before Merin ap Owen came to his apartments. Then she would wrap herself in her blanket, and dry the chemise by the fire in the dayroom. She would then find her bed, and it was unlikely he would ever reahze it.

But when he entered his apartment that night, he saw the delicate little garment spread over a chair back facing the fire. At first he was puzzled, then he realized her predicament. Had she been any other woman he would have taken advantage of the moment, but he could not with her. Never in his life had he encountered such a woman as Eleanore de Montfort. She had accepted her situation with a practical fortitude. She made herself useful without being asked to do so, and, for the first time in memory, his servants appeared actually happy.

Her attitude toward him was equally interesting. Isleen had been so scornful of the lady Eleanore, but the lady of Ashlin was no mealymouthed little saint. Indeed, she was quick of wit and quite able to defend herself from his whore, who took every opportunity to belittle or attack his captive. He was quite certain Eleanore did not approve of his ways, but not once, even subtly did she attempt to reprove him or reform him. Instead she went about his castle making herself useful and attempting to help where she could. She had already dressed several minor wounds among his people and cured his cook, who had had a dreadful cough.

Merin ap Owen, who had little use for the gentler sex but for the pleasure they could provide, had to admit that he was faced with a truly good woman. He felt a trifle guilty for having stolen her, but not so guilty that he would return her without a proper ransom. However, when he saw that fragile little chemise drying before his fire, he realized her predicament and was touched that she had not complained, but rather had attempted to solve her problem herself. This was something he could right.

When Elf awoke in the morning and saw that the lord of the castle was gone from his bedchamber, she crept out into the day-room to retrieve her chemise. It was nicely dry, and to her surprise upon the chair seat there was a small bolt of fine linen. She was both surprised and touched. After dressing herself, she went down into the hall, where he was already at the high board breaking his fast. Isleen was nowhere in sight as she rarely arose early.

Elf took her usual place. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"I did not realize you would be with us so long," he replied. "If I had, I should have stolen some of your clothing other than what I dressed you in, lady. You must not be shy to tell me when you need something. It is not my plan to mistreat you."

"I am not a woman to complain, my lord, but I shall make myself another chemise, and be glad I have it."

Nothing more was said about the matter until several mornings later when she handed him a portion of neatly folded linen with a smile.

"What is this?" he asked her.

"There was far too much linen for just one little chemise," Elf told him. "I made you one, too. I thought perhaps you could use a new undergarment, my lord. I have had to guess at the size, but I believe I am close. Try it on later, and I will make whatever alterations are necessary for the garment to fit you properly."

"Lady…" He was speechless. In his entire life no one had ever done anything gratuitously for him. She was his captive. He had stolen her away from her home and family, and would not allow her to return until her husband beggared himself to ransom her. Yet she had thought of his comfort as if they were old friends.

"I think I shall go out with Gwyll today, my lord, with your permission, of course. Soon it will be too cold to dig up the plants I need. I have managed to find quite a respectable stock of things with which to make my medicines." She had recognized his surprise, and sought to cover it over and make him comfortable again.

"Of course," he said. "Go with Gwyll." He cast a sidewise glance at her. God! She was so lovely. With a terrible sinking feeling Merin ap Owen realized that the impossible had happened. The heart he had firmly believed he did not possess had surfaced from deep inside of him. For the first time in his life, he was in love.
He was in love with Eleanore de Montfort.
How had it happened? Perhaps he should have done what Isleen had wanted to do when he brought his captive to Gwynfr. Perhaps he should have incarcerated her in his dungeons, where he would not have been exposed to her charm, her beauty, her wit, and her genuine goodness. But it was too late now. He was in love with the lady of Ashlin, and if he was to return her safely to her husband, he was going to have to be certain that Isleen never found out his secret.

Oh, God,
he prayed silently for the first time in years,
please help me!
He wondered if God would hear the prayers of a man such as Merin ap Owen. For Eleanore de Montfort’s sake, he hoped He did.

T
he weather in the Channel was foul, and had been for days. A hard cold wind blew from the north. The rain came in torrents, and the sea was all afroth, the waves crashing over the seawalls in Barfleur. The king, snugly housed, groused and grumbled with his impatience to begin his journey. He must be crowned soon. England had been without a king for over a month. Henry Plantagenet could only pray that there was peace there, no civil war. The line of succession, he kept reminding himself, was clear and undisputed, but, still, the English were a most unruly people.

Ranulf de Glandeville seethed with impatience, too. All he had wished was to complete his mission for the king, get the little prince to England, and then go home to Ashlin. It had been almost five months since he had seen his wife and child. Eleanore’s sweet face haunted his dreams, and he longed to tell her that he loved her. Soon.
Soon.
He could have howled with outrage when he learned his services to escort the little prince to England were not needed at all. He had been brought to Normandy on a fool’s errand.

Queen Alienor, heavy with her second child, had insisted she would not be parted from her little son. The court had moved almost immediately following the king’s campaign in the Vexin to Barfleur. The empress was to remain behind in Rouen to govern Normandy in her son’s absence. She had sided with her daughter-in-law. So the little prince would travel officially with his parents and his own household.

"I am overruled by my womenfolk," the king said by way of apology, with a wry smile, "but my mother points out, and wisely, too, that Alienor must not be upset this far along in her confinement. I cannot help but concur, and my Provençal rose will have her son by her side." He shrugged with apparent helplessness.

"Then, I am free to return home to Ashlin," Ranulf said.

"Nay, my good de Glandeville, I would have you attend our coronation," the king replied. "You will remain with the court and cross over to England with us. I am grateful for your loyalty, and would offer you this small reward."

Ranulf bowed. "I thank you, my liege, but serving you with fidelity is naught worthy of a reward."

"Nonetheless, you shall have it," the king said jovially.

He was dismissed, and he knew it. Ranulf bowed again, and moved back into the crowd of milling courtiers.
He wanted to go home!
He didn't want to travel with Henry Plantagenet’s great train from Normandy to England and see him coronated in Westminster. He wanted to go home! He had come here on Henry’s whim. His mission had come to nothing because of a woman’s whim. His reward was to watch these two high nobles crowned king and queen of England. He had wanted a castle, but he had done nothing to warrant such a reward, nor would his Simon ever serve a prince as companion. Ranulf de Glandeville faced the fact that he was not an important man, although for a few brief months he had dared to dream.

***

On the morning of December seventh, the weather cleared just slightly. The king ordered their immediate departure, despite the fact the harbor master warned the weather would turn foul again before the sunset, and they would be caught in midchannel.

"We go!"the king said, and personally oversaw the loading of the boats with his knights and horses. The queen and her serving women were the only females with the great train; but Alienor, used to hard travel having gone on the first crusade to Jerusalem when she was France’s queen, was not fazed at all. She jollied her frightened servants along, walking up the gangplank of her vessel with her small son at her side, holding his hand.

The skies were gray, and the winds were brisk as they made their way out of Barfleur harbor. The seas grew rougher, and then a fog set in separating the ships of the great fleet from one another. Ranulf, Garrick Taliferro, and their squires had taken passage aboard a small smack with one of the king’s chaplains. They had secured the horses and the mule, sheltering them from the waves as best as they could. Then they sat together as the captain and his two sailors sailed their vessel toward England. Night came, and the sound of trumpets echoing in the fog to indicate where the vessels were, was somehow comforting. They shared their wine, bread, cheese, and sausage. The priest was, afterward, lost in his prayers for their safety as the ship bounced and bounded across the choppy waters. Up, up, up went the bow of the boat, and Ranulf could hear the wind rushing past beneath it just before it crashed into the sea again. The two young squires fell into a fitful sleep, their nerves raw.

The two men could not make out one another in the darkness, and so Sir Garrick did not see the look on Ranulf’s face when he said, "Why were you really in Normandy, my friend?"

There was surely no need for secrecy now, he thought. So Ranulf told his companion the truth, admitting to his confusion when the plans changed not once, but twice. "It was a fool’s errand, but how could I refuse a king?"

"You couldn't," Garrick replied. "Men like Henry Plantagenet are not like the rest of us. It would never have occurred to him that he was badly inconveniencing you. And indeed he meant no harm. You know that I envy you, Ranulf? I envy your manor and wife and child. You will go home now, and not have to depend upon the vagaries of a king’s wishes in the future."

"But I will not get my castle."

"Your castle?" Garrick was puzzled.

"I hoped that in doing the king a great service, he would allow me to build a small keep at Ashlin. We are so close to the Welsh, and a little castle would help to better control the king’s borders."

"He'll eventually make some kind of arrangement with the Welsh princes," Garrick told his friend. "You may be certain of it."

"But a castle would reinforce that arrangement. I know I'm no great lord, but still I had hoped to better myself by doing this favor for the king. In the end it has come to nothing." Ranulf sighed. Then he asked, "Did you not tell me when the king was crowned, you would go home and find a wife? What is to prevent you from doing that, Garrick? You have land. Take a wife from among the merchant class, preferably one who has a rich father. There is no shame in that, my friend."

"I think I shall," Garrick Taliferro said. "I am growing weary of this single life. My mother is no longer a young woman. She would be happy for a daughter and grandchildren."

In the morning the fog finally lifted, and they found themselves just outside of Southampton harbor. Shortly after landing, they learned the king’s vessel had been sighted, coming aground just a few miles down the beach near New Forest. Taking their horses, the two knights hurried to find their master, their squires coming in their wake. Word that the king had ridden on the very back of the storm to reach England with his queen and his heir soon spread. The English were joyous.

The great fleet had been badly scattered in the storm, but no ships had been lost. The boats came ashore up and down the coast, debarking their inhabitants and their horses, all of whom met at the various crossroads from Southampton to Winchester, where the king was to go first to secure the royal treasury. Those men who had been King Stephen’s strongest adherents waited fearfully to see what would happen, but none dared to call for a rebellion against Henry Plantagenet, grandson of Henry I, and England’s soon-to-be anointed king.

Thibault, the Archbishop of Canterbury, had gathered together all the bishops of importance to await the king’s arrival in London. The coronation would take place in Westminster, although the great cathedral was in poor condition from long neglect. Still, it was the traditional crowning place of England’s kings, and on the Sunday before Christmas in 1154, Henry Plantagenet and Alienor of Aquitaine were crowned king and queen of England. He was twenty-one, and she thirty.

Afterward the king and queen rode through London, showing themselves to the people, magnificent in their coronation garb. The king’s white velvet tunic was embroidered with lions and lilies. He was young, handsome, healthy. His willingness to come to England despite the season and the hard crossing told his people that here was a man who would rule with vigor and enthusiasm. The beautiful queen was garbed also in white velvet, her gold and be-jeweled girdle glittering in the rare sunshine on this cold December day, her gold hair caught up in a golden and pearl caul, a bejeweled crown upon her head. She looked no older than her husband.

"Vivat rex!"
cried the Normans.

"Waes hael!"
shouted those English of Saxon descent.

The king and queen acknowledged the joyful greetings of their new subjects as they made their way through the city, and from there to Bermondsey, where they had taken up residence. The palace at Westminster, rebuilt on the original Saxon site by the king’s great-uncle, William Rufus, and made even more beautiful by his grandfather, Henry I, had, like the great cathedral, been despoiled and given over to neglect in the civil war between Stephen and Matilda. A feast was held that night, and bonfires blazed all over the city and surrounding countryside in celebration of the new king.

The following morning Ranulf took his leave of the court, along with his friend, Sir Garrick Taliferro. Together the two men rode for a time until finally Garrick turned onto the road west into Glouster and Ranulf headed northwest toward Ashlin. With luck, he would be home in time for Christmas.
Home! His Eleanore! Their son!

"My lord! My lord!" Pax called shortly after Garrick had left them. "We must stop and rest the horses. They are sorely winded. I, too, am anxious to get home, but 'twill take far longer if the horses die under us, and we must walk."

Laughing at himself for his boyish impatience, Ranulf heeded his squire’s warning. They slowed their mounts to a walk and finally stopped at a small inn nearby to rest the night. The innkeeper’s wife fed them bread and stew. They slept with their animals, however, for the area was remote and poor. They could as easily awaken in the morning to find their beasts gone and Ranulf’s armor with them. The following day the lord of Ashlin manor kept a more reasonable pace. The weather, while cold, was at least dry. The next few nights they managed to find shelter at monastery guest houses, where there was at least some element of safety for them and their horses.

Finally on the afternoon of December twenty-fourth, they realized the landscape about them was familiar, and now they unconsciously hurried their horses. Coming over a hill, they saw Ashlin valley below them and the manor with its village just beyond its hill. Even the animals, sensing home, moved more quickly. Ranulf saw the sheep in the meadows and the cattle browsing in the pastures nearby. Relief swept over him. The Welsh had left them in peace despite their active raiding season of the summer past. He noted with pleasure that while the drawbridge was down, one side of the gates were firmly shut. His instructions had been followed to the letter.

There was no one in the fields at this time of day except two cowherds preparing to bring the cattle in for the night; and a few shepherds watching over the sheep. He waved to them. He could see the men-at-arms patrolling the walls, and then he heard the trumpet that was sounded to alert the gate that visitors were coming. He longed to push his mount into a gallop and race through his gates. Instead he held the warhorse to a sedate walk, clopping across the drawbridge and into the village.

"Welcome home, my lord," the man on the gate said, but there was no smile for him.

Ranulf and Pax rode down the village street to the manor house. It was growing dark, and he could barely see the smoke from the chimneys, the flickering light from the tiny windows of the cottages. A sheaf of light poured suddenly onto the ground before his home as the door was flung open. Ranulf dismounted and handed the reins of his mount to Pax.

"Take the horses to the stables," he said, and hurried inside.

"My lord, welcome home!" Cedric came forward, signaling a servant to take the master’s cloak.

Ranulf looked about the hall, recognizing the servants and Father Oswin, and saw a cradle by the fireplace that obviously contained his son. He walked over and was amazed at the child who stared back up at him. This could not possibly be his son. "Where is Simon?" he asked to no one in particular.

Alyce giggled, then reached into the cradle and picked up the child. "This is your son, my lord."

"But…"

"You have been gone five months, my lord," Alyce explained. "Babies grow quickly. Here." She thrust Simon into Ranulf’s arms.

Father and son stared at each other with the same eyes, the same expression. Ranulf was astounded, seeing himself mirrored so clearly in Simon’s face. "By the rood!" he exclaimed. "He surely is my spit!"

"He is, my lord," Alyce agreed, taking back her charge.

"Welcome home, my lord," Father Oswin said, coming to his side. "I am well pleased that the lord of the manor will be here to celebrate the first of Christ’s Mass tonight."

Ranulf nodded, looking about the hall, searching. "Where is my wife?"

"Come, my lord, and let us sit," the priest said.

He stood stock-still. "Where is Eleanore, good Father?"

"Kidnapped by the Welsh last autumn, my lord," the priest replied bluntly, then added quickly, "but she is alive."

Cedric pushed a goblet of wine into his master’s hand.

Ranulf drank deeply. "How do you know? And how did it happen that my wife was vulnerable to such an attack? Where was Fulk and the rest of you that my lady was stolen away so easily? Why have you not yet recovered her safely?" Ranulf’s voice was rising, as was his temper, which few had ever seen, and certainly not here at Ashlin. There was a red mist forming before his eyes as his rage rose.

"Sit down, my lord,"
the priest instructed, drawing his master to a chair by the fire. "I will explain it all if you will but sit."

Ranulf sank heavily into the carved armed chair.

"Shortly after you left, a girl, badly beaten and as thin as a willow wand, came to Ashlin and begged sanctuary. The lady gave it to her. We healed the girl’s wounds and fed her, and the lady included her among her women. Some weeks later a swineherd from the convent of St. Frideswide’s came to say the convent was under attack. The abbess had sent this man for our help. Nothing would do, my lord, but that the lady must send Fulk and enough men to drive off the Welsh."