“Have a care for yourself, my love, and let me know from time to time that you are alive.”
“Oh, no!” Adam exclaimed forcefully, turning to pick up his helmet from beside the empty goblet. “I have already promised to write to Gilliane. That is enough! If she receives letters, you will know I am well. And do not be reading my,” he almost said “wife’s letters,” but checked the words; this was no time to begin an argument about whether Gilliane was or was not his wife when she was married to another man, “vassal’s letters. If I have something to say to you, there will be a special message.”
“Yes, my lord,” Alinor said demurely, making Adam guffaw.
But his attention had already wandered back to Gilliane. He stroked her hair, his glance gentle. “Do not drive my dove too hard,” he murmured, “and do not let her fret.”
On the words, before either woman could answer or react, he strode away. Gilliane started to run after him, but Alinor caught her arm and held her in a grip of iron, her other hand ready to clap across Gilliane’s mouth if she should try to call out. She did not, only grew paler and paler, until Alinor thought she would faint. However, she did not do that either, and, as soon as Adam was in the stairwell, Alinor drew Gilliane to the window from which she swiftly pulled loose the scraped hide.
“You can watch him mount from here,” she said firmly, “and you can weep, if you will, but quietly so if he looks up he will not see or hear your crying.”
But Gilliane did not weep. She stared down at Adam, who was calling orders and cursing the men cheerfully for this fault and that while his destrier was brought around, kicking and bucking and biting. Adam then cursed the horse, grasped the reins, delivered a sharp blow to the stallion’s head, and swung himself into the saddle—whereupon peace was instantly established. Alinor shook her head. Simon and Adam had been able to work the same magic on those horses as her grandfather. Poor Ian and Geoffrey always had a few bad minutes curbing the beasts into obedience when they first mounted. She opened her mouth to say that to Gilliane, and was stricken by the girl’s expression. Adam had just ridden out of the inner bailey.
“Come,” Alinor said, aching for the agony she had seen in Gilliane’s face. “We will go to the outer wall and you can watch him ride away.”
Gilliane followed numbly, unable to speak or cry. All at once she knew she was abandoned in a strange place, completely alone, as she had been when she arrived in Saer’s keep, naked to any abuse any person wished to inflict upon her. She was hardly aware of running through the bailey, across the inner drawbridge, across the outer bailey, and up through the dark tower. While on the stairs, she began to tremble with terror, sure she was being led to a prison or some dreadful punishment. Then she was pushed out into the open and a cruel wind bit through her clothes.
“There, look there.”
Obediently, Gilliane looked as directed to see Adam riding down the winding road that led to Roselynde town where he would gather in the men he had hired and give final instructions to the captain chosen to sail the captured ship. The conviction seized Gilliane that when Adam disappeared, she would die, but she could not look away. Her life, her whole life was dwindling into the distance. Then, just before Adam disappeared and her life winked out, a warm cloak was wrapped around her, comforting arms enfolded her, and a kind voice said softly, “Child, child, it is not the end of the world. He will return. I swear to you he will return.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Osbert de Cercy had been well received in Lewes, where he was not well known. Saer had taken good care that his son not blacken his name among the neighboring gentry. In the town itself, there were whores and innkeepers who could have told tales that would have opened eyes at the castle, but it was not likely that their opinions would be asked. Osbert presented Louis’s letter and was accepted as a welcome guest.
The castellan in charge of Lewes during the lord’s absence was grateful for the attention Louis was paying his complaint. He was eager to be helpful in any way, and he answered all Osbert’s questions as well as he could. After a time, however, he realized that the questions were far removed from the raid on the farm and were centered on the keep at Tarring.
“But what have the comings and goings at Tarring to do with who raided my lord’s farm?” the castellan asked.
Osbert was a fool, but he was not stupid enough to reply Nothing, but it is what I am interested in. Besides that, he remembered Louis’s warning about paying strict attention to business. Putting the two needs together, he said, “I believe it must have been Adam Lemagne who raided your land.” In fact, Osbert did not have any such suspicion at all. He had hardly given a thought to the farm raid after announcing that Louis had sent him to discover who had committed the outrage.
The castellan began to laugh. “Why should Lemagne, who had just taken a rich keep, need to raid…” His voice faded, and then he looked at Osbert with respect. “By God,” he burst out after another moment of thought, “you may be right!”
Far more surprised by the castellan’s agreement than he had been by the initial laughter and rejection of the idea, Osbert said nothing.
“I should have thought of that myself,” the castellan mused. “I knew your father had gone to make war on Lemagne—in fact, I warned him against meddling with that man. My lord made the same mistake—once. He is alive because after Lemagne had taken his revenge, my lord had sense enough to let matters lie.”
“It is too late to worry about that now,” Osbert said. His voice was tight with fear and his face pale, but the castellan thought it was rage that moved him. Tactfully, he went back to the original point.
“Your father must have stripped Tarring of supplies, and Lemagne had an army to feed. Yes, indeed, it was foolish of me not to think of it. Well, now, what do you wish to do?”
Osbert did not wish to do anything. He wanted the rents and honors that came with the lordship of Tarring, but he was afraid to do anything to secure them. Unwittingly, the castellan saved him again. While Osbert was attempting to think of a sensible reply that would not expose his cowardice, the castellan realized where this conversation might well be leading.
“I will give you all reasonable assistance,” he added hurriedly, “but I will not join you in an attack upon Tarring—not without specific orders from my lord or from Prince Louis himself.”
That was just the out Osbert needed. “If you will not, you will not,” he said with assumed irritation, and then he began to understand what the castellan had said.
His wild accusation had not really been so wild. The castellan really thought Lemagne might have been behind the raids that had so greatly enraged Prince Louis. So, if Osbert could prove Adam was guilty, Louis might be willing to take Tarring and return it to Osbert’s control. Osbert’s dull eyes lit with pleasure at the thought.
“The prince is most anxious to expose the guilty man because Lord FitzWalter has been blamed for the incidents,” Osbert said. “It is not enough to think Lemagne is guilty. I must find proof, and that, I am sure, lies inside Tarring.”
“It is tight shut and well guarded,” the castellan responded. “You will find no easy way in without many men and much bloodshed.”
“That is for the prince to decide,” Osbert said hastily. “News can fly out of a place no matter how many bars hold the gates or men guard the walls. Do your merchants no longer do business with the town?”
“Merchants?” the castellan repeated. “Perhaps they do. Merchants care only for trade, not for honor, but what help can they be?”
“The keep is not besieged,” Osbert pointed out. “Merchants doubtless go in and out. The men-at-arms come to the town to buy and drink and whore. Much can be learned from gossip.”
A look of distaste crossed the castellan’s face. Then he reminded himself that Osbert was bent on avenging his father’s death. He himself would prefer less underhanded means, but it was not his business to judge a man with a personal grudge or one who was on Prince Louis’s busi
ness, He put aside his disapproval and agreed that Osbert was free to deal as he liked with the merchants of Lewes.
It took Osbert more than a week to find the men he needed, but he eventually discovered a mercer of ill repute who had a brother, of even worse reputation, who had dealt in the town of Tarring and the port that lay south near the mouth of the Ouse. That brother had a grudge against Gilliane. One of the complaints brought before her had been against him, and she had forced him to make restitution to the man he had cheated. Moreover, when he complained that it was not a matter for her to decide but for the guild to which he belonged, she had summoned the guild master. To him, she had displayed the evidence and said, in no uncertain terms, that the guild had better exert more control over its members to prevent the public from being cheated. If it did not, she would withdraw the guild charter and enfranchise a new group of merchants.
This much she did exactly according to Father Paul’s and Alberic’s advice. Unwisely, Gilliane had not been able to bring herself to go all the way and insist that the dishonest merchant be expelled from the guild. He had a wife and children, she had said. Perhaps dishonesty had grown rife because Saer did not care to check it. Now that she had corrected him and shown the consequences of cheating, the merchant might do better. At least, he should have one more chance. The merchant had done better; that is, he was far more careful in his practices. However, his profits had been cut severely. He did not forget that Gilliane had done him this harm. He did not forget, either, that she had saved him from utter penury, if not actual starvation—and he hated her more for her generosity than for her severity.
It was another week before the merchant of Tarring could come to Lewes at his brother’s request. However, at about the same time that Adam settled his troops into siege position around Wick, several keepers of disreputable inns had the drabs who served and serviced the men-at-arms from the keep collecting information as well as money from their clients. Most of them were too dull and dispirited to wonder why the innkeeper should suddenly become curious about what Sir Adam Lemagne had been doing the previous month. They were glad to receive an extra farthing for each tidbit of news. It was easy information to obtain. The men were delighted to talk about the exploits of their lord.
A few of the cleverer, more handsome women received more elaborate instruction. They were to find out, if they could, how thorough the gate guards were in examining the men and goods that came into the keep; how much care was taken to ensure that the men who came in went out again. Was there a careful check made on how many men-at-arms actually were in the keep? What was the relationship between the menservants and the men-at-arms? Were servants permitted into the guard towers and on the walls? Were there secret entries to the keep? If so, where were they? These women were warned to be careful in their quest for information. If the men grew suspicious, it would be the worse for them. On the other hand, if they discovered something of importance, they would be richly rewarded—after what they reported was found to be true.
By the beginning of February, it was quite clear that Adam had not only raided Lewes but had been responsible for using the battle cry “Dunmow” during the attacks. Then the Lord of Lewes wrote to his castellan that he would soon return. A truce had been declared between Louis and young Henry’s guardians until Easter. Until that time, no war was to be waged and every man was to hold what he had in peace. Osbert was less pleased with this news than the castellan. He had no desire to meet the Lord of Lewes, who knew what had been said of him after the assault on Hertford.
What annoyed Osbert was that he had no real proof of what he knew about Adam. He had hoped that a piece of the loot from the Knepp or Arundel raids could be extracted by a whore from one of the men-at-arms. Nonetheless, he had actually had more success than he expected. It occurred to Osbert that if he went to report what he had learned to Louis, he could accomplish two purposes. He could avoid meeting the Lord of Lewes, and he would have a good excuse to taste in London more exotic pleasures than the simple town of Lewes could afford. Thus, Osbert set out for London to tell his tale to Prince Louis and to see if he could induce the prince to punish Lemagne for his crimes by depriving him of his lands and giving them to Osbert instead.
The warmth of the cloak around Gilliane, Alinor’s kind voice and consoling arms, marked a new turning point in Gilliane’s emotional life. She clutched at the support, slipping for a moment back into the time when she had been taken from her home and had clung to the woman who had been her nurse. Shaking, Gilliane braced herself for the instant of final horror, when she had been torn from those supporting arms. However, the horror was not repeated. The comforting embrace remained, the loving voice spoke more kind words.
“No harm will come to Adam. He is strong and wise in war. Anyhow, it may be days or even weeks before there is any fighting at Wick. First they must come to the keep and make camp and plan what they will do and talk with Sir Matthew. In the end, when he sees your ship in the harbor and how strong a force Adam has, and when Sir Richard has talked to him, perhaps he will yield. Then there will be no fighting at all. Gilliane, child, do not tremble so. Adam will return soon, safe and well.”
Time readjusted itself. Gilliane was again in the present, and she realized she was not abandoned but in loving safekeeping.
“Come away, love,” Alinor urged softly. “Perhaps in a day or two there will be a letter.”
“You are very kind to me,” Gilliane murmured as they returned to the great hall, but when Alinor had set her into a chair by the fire and given her a goblet of wine, she suddenly uttered a single sob and cried out, “I cannot bear it.”
“You must bear it,” Alinor rejoined sharply. “I tell you, Adam will come safe home.”
“I did not mean about Adam,” Gilliane said. “I…I have realized that I do not need to worry about outliving Adam. I…”
“Now, Gilliane,” Alinor remonstrated, “that is a silly way to think. My daughter’s husband was reported as dead, but he was not. He was lying badly wounded, a prisoner in France. If Joanna—who is nearly as silly as you but not quite—had taken her own life, what would have become of poor Geoffrey? Instead, she grieved, but when word came that ransom would be taken for Geoffrey, she was ready to go to heal him and bring him home. If Adam’s wife—”
“But I am not Adam’s wife,” Gilliane cried, tears starting to her eyes, “I am only his whore. That was what I meant when I said I could not bear it. You have been so kind to me, and I…”
“Child,” Alinor exclaimed, putting her arms around Gilliane, “you are no one’s whore—unless that is what you are. If you love my son and are faithful to him in heart, in mind, in body, you are his woman, not his whore. A whore is for gold, for any man to handle. What has Adam given you—except his love?”
“But I am another man’s wife,” Gilliane whispered, scarcely believing what she had heard.
“Did you speak the truth to Adam about that marriage and about your feelings for the man?”
“Yes, oh yes. I killed Pierre, and I was glad, but, if only God had granted that it was Osbert instead, I should have spent my life seeking how to repay so great a divine favor.”
Alinor could not help laughing. That was not the sort of divine favor priests would accept willingly, but it seemed to be the kind Gilliane wanted. “Well, then, if you are resolved to be rid of de Cercy, why should you not be Adam’s wife? You are gentle-born, you have a fine estate that runs well with Adam’s own lands, the best of your vassals seems well pleased with Adam’s management. It seems most suitable to me.”
“Does it, madam?” Gilliane breathed. “You are very generous to overlook that I—I have given myself already, but Adam…I do not think Adam desires so light-virtued a woman as his wife. He…he…”
Alinor had been grinning again at the idea that Gilliane, who had apparently murdered a man with real enjoyment, should worry so much about bedding the man who would be her husband a little prematurely. The last part of Gilliane’s halting st
atement brought Alinor’s high-arched brows together in a frown.
“What do you mean, Adam does not desire you as a wife?” she snapped. “Has he said that to you? I will—”
“No,” Gilliane cried, appalled at the anger she saw in Alinor’s face. “Oh, please do not say anything to him. I do not care. I will be whatever he wants. If he is enraged and will not come to me, I—”
“Never mind that,” Alinor insisted. “The only thing that could keep Adam away from you is if you hit him with a war ax. He is besotted. Answer my question. Has Adam said to you that he did not intend to marry you?” It would be just like that passionate fool of a boy to say something like that to test the child’s love, Alinor thought furiously.
“No, but he said…we were talking of Gilbert’s death and the marriage of rich widows…he said he had not married me.”
Alinor nodded in satisfaction. She had not thought Adam would be cruel, and he had not meant to be. Gilliane was misunderstanding something that had pricked Adam’s pride. Her attention was diverted by the mention of Gilliane’s first husband. “By the by,” she said, “how did Neville die?”
“He…” Gilliane’s voice failed and she swallowed and tried again. “He fell from our bedchamber window.”
“Fell?” Alinor asked sardonically, noting how Gilliane’s color had faded, leaving her yellow and dull-eyed. “Did you push him out?”
“No!” Gilliane shrieked, drawing in on herself. “Oh, I would not—indeed, I would not—poor Gilbert.”
The frantic denial might be owing to guilt as easily as to revulsion, but Alinor shrugged her shoulders. If a husband such as Gilbert de Neville had been forced upon her, she would probably have got rid of him also. There were kinder ways than pushing a witless cripple out of a window, but Gilliane might not know the peaceful efficacy of such drugs as hemlock. In any case, there was no danger to Adam in such a device. It would take a battering ram to shove Adam. Besides, Gilliane loved Adam; Alinor was sure of that. She had no quarrel with ruthlessness as such, and would applaud it if it were exerted to forward her son’s purposes.
Gilliane (Roselynde Chronicles, Book Four) Page 35
