“Do you know who holds the nearest keep to the north?” Adam asked the master-at-arms.
Cuthbert mused, scratching his head and yawning. “There is none so very near, my lord. Tonbridge is the nearest, and I do not know who holds that place now.”
Adam racked his brains, but he could not remember whether the keep at Tonbridge had been yielded to one of Louis’s French adherents or was still in the hands of an English baron who was supporting Louis’s cause. In fact, if an English baron held the place, it was no longer sure from day to day whether he was still Louis’s man or had returned to his original allegiance to the Plantagenet house. It would not be safe, Adam realized, to involve any of the rebellious barons because, if they had recently reestablished their ties to Henry, he would not wish to bring an attack upon them and shake that resolution.
It was a shame, Adam thought, that he did not know the badges and colors of any of the Frenchmen. He would dearly love to make mischief by raising bad feelings and distrust among Louis’s adherents while feathering his own nest. Suddenly, Adam’s eyes lit with unholy joy. Not far away, less than ten miles, there was Halfand. Adam was not sure what the holder’s loyalties were, but he knew the man had borrowed money from FitzWalter in the not-so-distant past. Thus, there was some connection for FitzWalter in this area. FitzWalter and Arundel—a very shaky and uncertain ally of Louis—did not love each other anyway. If men who left evidence that they were bound to FitzWalter attacked Arundel’s property, there might well be mischief made. Grinning broadly, Adam issued instructions. FitzWalter’s shield was or, a fess between two chevrons gules—that is, gold with a bar set between two red chevrons; red and gold. Red and yellow cloths were found and tied around arms and bridles and their battle cry was to be only “Dunmow! Dunmow!”
Just before nightfall Adam scribbled a note to Gilliane and dispatched it with a man-at-arms to warn her that he might be longer away than he had first thought. “It has come to me that I might make double and triple profit from a bare two or three days more in the field. Do not fear for me. This new business is no more dangerous than what I thought first to do.”
Adam found it was no trouble at all to lie to Gilliane when he did not need to look into her eyes, at least not when the lie was for her own peace of mind and comfort. If he could have seen her face when Father Paul read her the brief message, he would have realized that with ease of lying came ease of disbelief. She did her best to hide her terror from the priest and castlefolk and was successful, largely because they had no particular reason to be afraid. It was only in Gilliane’s mind that guilt for disobedience, for lust, for other unrecognized sins, which added up to being happy, produced a conviction that Adam would be killed, or that he was so disgusted by her behavior that he had decided to throw away any profit he could receive from Tarring only to be free of her.
The arrival of the loot from Adam’s first successful adventure made nonsense of her fears, but did not reduce them. Love knows only its own strange logic. Adam was lost to her, and all she would ever have was his letter. This being so, she must know the meaning with her eyes as well as her ears. Gilliane went to Father Paul and demanded to learn to read. He looked at her as if she were mad, but something in the set of the jaw and the firmness of the usually soft lips told him that argument could produce no more than his expulsion from recently recovered comforts. It was peculiar, very peculiar, for a woman to desire such a skill. Father Paul did not really like the idea of any layman knowing the mystery of reading and writing. What would become of men like himself, who had spent their lives in study, if everyone could read and write and keep accounts?
Nonetheless, he wrote out the letters and combinations of letters and showed Gilliane how the black marks were equivalent to the sounds of speech. Although he mumbled often that this mystery was not for women, not even for men who did not dedicate themselves to God, being too deep for their shallow minds, Gilliane struggled on. Deep need coupled with a keen mind made learning, even in the face of steady discouragement, possible. By the end of the day, Gilliane had the alphabet and the combinations of vowels and consonants firmly fixed in her memory. In her bedchamber that night, she drew Adam’s letter from her breast and pored over it.
At first Gilliane could see no connection between what she had learned and the markings Adam had made. Then she found one familiar word—her own name. Never before had such a feeling of success, of conquest, enriched her. Gilliane. That was she, herself! The letter was hers because the name was hers. No one could take away what had her name written on it.
Then it occurred to her that there were other things with her name—the marriage contract with Gilbert that made her his heir had her name written in it. For the first time Gilliane felt, knew, the lands were hers. She remembered, too, that the men swearing homage had said her name, sworn to her name. Her eyes gleaming, her lips tight with determination, Gilliane told herself that the very next day she would look through all the parchments concerning the lands and pick out those that bore her name. When she could, she would read them and understand what they said.
Success breeds success. She studied the letter again. It could not be said that she read it, but she made out enough letters, and here and there even a word, to be convinced that the priest had lied. The mysteries of reading and writing were not too deep for her brain. She had learned so much in one day that it was quite clear it would not take her many years. Hugging her victory to herself, Gilliane tucked her letter under her pillow and went to bed.
Just as her eyes closed, the man who filled both her waking thoughts and her dreams realized he had got himself and his men into a very tight situation indeed. The previous evening Adam had led his men around the north of Lewes, carefully keeping to the south of the farm they had raided. That was a tricky march because there might have been small troops of men out, watching for the raiders, however, they had successfully achieved their objective and had concealed themselves in a wood north of Horsham to sleep and rest during the day. Soon after dusk, they had ridden south a few miles and raided a demesne farm on the north side of Knepp castle.
There had been no attempt at secrecy this time. They shouted and burned and took only such dried and smoked provender as could be loaded quickly on horses and carried away swiftly. Without pause, leaving fire and ruin behind them and shouting “Dunmow! Dunmow!” to keep in touch with one another, they had continued riding south and east, risking disaster to ride twelve more miles in the dark, skirting Amberly castle, to fall on the town of Arundel just before dawn. Here, where they had really only intended to cause confusion and insult, they had a piece of luck—whether good or bad was still unknown and would depend upon the outcome. They came by accident on a merchant’s warehouse that was chock full of just the supplies needed for war or siege. Doubtless the supplies had just arrived and were meant for Arundel’s keep.
Adam knew the danger but could not resist. Parties of men were sent out to scour every available horse from the area. As they came in, the horses were loaded and sent galloping eastward with a few men. They were to meet in the hilly and wooded area north of Bramber castle, each group to find and take the best concealment they could and to stay quiet through the next two days until either Adam or Cuthbert could gather them together. If neither came by the end of the second day, they were to make their way as best they could back to Tarring. Adam, with Cuthbert and ten of the fighting men who had been trained to use the longbow, remained until, after the sun was up, armed men rushed out of the castle in response to terrified messages from the town.
The calculated risk had paid off. The castle was already thin of men because Arundel was with Louis and the castellan did not dare take the chance that the attack on the town was a feint to make him weaken the force holding the keep. No more than thirty men galloped down the hill toward Adam. When the party was seen, Adam abandoned the near-empty warehouse and rode madly northwest toward the hills that separated Arundel from Farnham and Guildford, leading the remaining packhorses a
nd taking great care that their calls of “Dunmow” should be heard.
Because they were a small party, they found places enough for concealment from which a fusillade of arrows could be launched, driving the larger force to retreat and giving Adam’s party time to ride away and find another suitable ambush. Retreating and retreating, they escaped, but that was not the end of their troubles. Warnings went out from Knepp and Arundel to arouse the whole neighborhood. There was not much danger while they were in the forest north of Bramber, but Adam dared not continue east because his own properties of Trueleigh and Devil’s Dyke lay there. The very last thing he desired was to arouse even the smallest suspicion in his neighbors that it was he who had attacked them.
Until now, despite their conflicting allegiances, Adam and his neighbors had managed to keep the peace. Arundel certainly wanted no trouble with Adam Lemagne. He had known and liked Adam’s father, and he liked and respected Adam’s stepfather. King John’s excesses had driven Arundel into Louis’s arms, but he was uncertain and uneasy in his new allegiance. He was not a clever man, but even he had noticed the lack of trust with which Louis’s English allies were treated. Had he not feared the contempt and rejection of men like Pembroke and Lord Ian, who had never wavered in their allegiance, he would have forsworn himself a second time and returned to King Henry’s party. Instinctively, he shrank from offending such men even further, and was happy to leave Adam, deeply beloved by both, strictly alone.
Adam knew this. He also knew that Arundel was a courageous blockhead. If he believed himself to be insulted by Adam, he would cast all other considerations aside to avenge his honor. Thus, it was not possible for Adam to seek safety in the keeps of his castellans. No matter what the risk, he must seem to avoid his own lands as if those held greater danger to him than any pursuit. It took another day to gather his scattered troop and their booty from the hills around Bramber, but they eventually found all but five men. That night they set out northward, as if to return to London. This might add conviction to the idea that they were FitzWalter’s men, for Dunmow, his main seat, lay northeast of London. It was a dangerous move because it was the path they would be expected to ride.
In fact, they had not been on the move for more than an hour and a half when a troop bearing the colors of Knepp castle came blundering out of a side road nearly into their arms. With a shout, Adam sent the laden pack animals off, protected by a small group who had been instructed to keep them together and get to Tarring if they could. He and Cuthbert, with most of the men, turned to confront their pursuers. Had he had the full troop with which he had started, there would have been no doubt of the outcome, but their numbers were considerably reduced and they were only a few more than the thirty men they faced. That troubled Adam far less than the fact that their exact whereabouts were now known. Nonetheless, a fight was a fight.
“Dunmow!” Adam roared. “Spit the French dogs.”
They did not, of course, take the Knepp castle men by surprise. Each party had seen the other at the same time. However, Adam’s reaction was swift enough to prevent most of his opponents from fewtering the lances they carried. His party had none. Spears are not handy things to carry along on a raid meant specifically to collect loot.
Fortunately, most of the men in the front ranks simply threw down their lances when they saw Adam’s party so close and bearing down on them with drawn swords. Behind them, however, a smaller group had time to get the lances steadied and spur their horses forward. Their own group parted before them, and they rode full tilt toward Adam and his oncoming men. There were only about ten of them, but four of the ten lances were directed toward the trumpet voice of the giant leading the charge.
Chapter Eleven
Gilliane was abed but not asleep. She berated herself for this foolishness. Alberic was not in the least worried about his master, and Gilliane did not confuse his lack of concern with indifference. Over these six days she had become well acquainted with Alberic. Their relationship had begun the day after Gilliane’s first reading lesson. True to her resolve, she was in the chamber given over to accounts, looking through the documents under the frowning and disapproving eyes of Father Paul. This impressed Alberic most favorably. There were very few women who either could or would trouble with the accounts of their estates or defy the opinion of their priest.
He decided to present to Gilliane a minor problem of discipline among the men. She listened to him with an expression of amazement and, he suspected, distress. He was somewhat disappointed, for, like any subordinate, he wanted his opinion to be supported by someone in authority. His expression was as plain to Gilliane as hers was to him. He will tell Adam, she thought, and Adam will think me unable to rule the men and unworthy of his notice.
“But Alberic,” she protested, making her voice steady with some effort, “I do not think it is my place to order the punishment of Sir Adam’s men. I…”
“They are not my men, my lady,” Alberic pointed out. “I know what my lord would order in such a case. They are the men who returned with Cuthbert.”
“Oh!” Gilliane’s face cleared. She had seen the solution to the problem of not having the faintest idea of the appropriate punishment. “Well, their lessoning must be the same as that given to your own men. It would be most unwise to treat them differently. Do you tell me what Sir Adam would order, and I will order the same.”
Alberic sighed with pleasure and relief. The lady was as wise as she was beautiful and had a proper feeling for the management of men-at-arms. He was equally pleased with her manner when, having told her his lord would order ten strokes of the lash, she came down with him, heard the case, reprimanded the men with great dignity, ordered the punishment, and stood by, totally unmoved, while it was being administered.
In fact, Gilliane was unmoved. She was astonished at Adam’s leniency, having seen far worse things done to men in Saer’s keep for far less cause. Her last act, however, sealed Alberic’s good opinion and made the men-at-arms her devoted servants. Having watched the whippings with perfect calm, Gilliane sent a manservant for water, old cloth, and her box of unguents and with her own hands dressed the torn flesh of the groaning culprits.
From then on, Alberic brought all his doubts to Gilliane. A child was lost in the village. Should he send men to help seek for it? On the one hand, Adam had told Alberic to seal the keep against attack. On the other, Alberic was sure Adam would have sent the men out to look for the child. Gilliane ran down at once to question the weeping woman. The child was young, it could not have wandered very far. Let the men go at once, Gilliane ordered, but let them go full armed and let one or two stand guard to cry warning if an enemy should come. Since this was exactly what Alberic thought should be done—though he was afraid to accept the responsibility for the decision—Gilliane became his penultimate source of authority.
By a fortunate circumstance, the child was found alive and unhurt. More significant for the life of Tarring, the disciplined behavior of the men Alberic sent to help in the search woke a hope in the townspeople that their sojourn in hell was ended. Neville might not have been a perfect master, but his demands were ordinary, and, if once in a while a woman was raped or the men of the keep made free with what was not theirs, the keep could usually be counted on for assistance in times of emergency. With the advent of Saer, every appearance of men-at-arms was a catastrophe. Only Saer’s French troops were used among the townspeople because they had no ties of friendship or family there. They enforced Saer’s outrageous demands, and committed robbery and rape while they did so, adding injury to injury, and knowing there would be no punishment.
Gilliane began to enjoy her power. Having so long been a victim, she now found it a great pleasure to give orders. Her combination of fairness and generosity was a miracle that could not be kept secret. Word spread from the town and soon others crept to the keep, weeping for help or redress. Gilliane’s days became so full that she had no time to fear for Adam, and she was so weary at night that she seemed to ha
ve no energy to dream. Nonetheless, when five days had passed, Gilliane did ask Alberic whether she should have a suitable dinner prepared for Adam’s return. The master-at-arms looked surprised and then smiled. “Do not count the days, my lady. You will see the lord when you see him. If he learns of a chance to bedevil Louis’s people, he will seize it.”
Gilliane turned pale. “Sir Adam said nothing of that. He said he would raid a farm or two…”
“Now, do not fret yourself about the lord’s fits and starts, my lady,” Alberic soothed, very well pleased to see so strong a sign of concern. “For all he is very young, he knows what is possible in matters of war.”
“War…” Gilliane breathed, turning even paler.
“No, no,” Alberic hastened to say, “there is no war in these parts. I only meant that he would not lead the men into unnecessary danger.”
This quite false assurance comforted Gilliane regarding Adam’s safety, but Alberic’s manner, which indicated amusement that she should have expected Adam to return so soon, started a new anxiety in her. For Adam, was a woman out of sight also out of mind? That night she dreamed—not of fear, but of love—and woke sobbing with frustration. Fortunately, the day was very busy. A French ship, unaware of the changes that had taken place, anchored in the harbor south of Tarring. Gilliane’s good reputation as an overlady had spread and a messenger rushed up from the port to warn the keep of this development. Alberic was again torn between two needs. Adam would not have let such a prize slip from his hands, but to denude the keep of men was dangerous.
Take the ship, Gilliane ordered when Alberic came to her, if it can be done quickly. Even a few men could keep Tarring sealed against foes for the few hours Alberic must be away. The venture was successful and the prize far beyond Gilliane’s expectations. There was wine and bales of fine silks and brocades meant for the Lord of Lewes. There was even a casket of necklets and arm and finger rings. That was all good, but there was much to be decided. What should be done with the crew? With the ship itself? When the shipment expected did not arrive in a reasonable time, would the Lord of Lewes send to inquire about it? If he learned the truth, would he mount an attack on Tarring?
Gilliane (Roselynde Chronicles, Book Four) Page 17
