The Lion's Legacy (Conqueror Trilogy Book 3)

by Juliet Dymoke

  To recover from the shattering moment of this meeting after the days of loneliness and disappointment, he obeyed and sat down at the table while she herself poured wine for him. But even as he took the cup and drank, and ate the meat and bread left from her supper, he kept his eyes on her, hardly able to believe she was here, under his roof, and that he had her, for a while at least, under his exclusive care.

  For a long while they talked. She told him of the weeks imprisoned in Oxford, assured him that Mata was well and would surely be released when Robert D’Oyley surrendered the castle – as he must and as he intended to do when the thaw came and he judged her able to ride for the west. ‘In this inclement weather I fear I must be your guest for a time,’ she finished, smiling.

  He set the cup and wiped his mouth. ‘I wish I could keep you here until your brother returns,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I wish – but it is not safe. As soon as it is fit weather I will take you to Bristol. Robert will not be pleased that I allowed you to fall into such danger.’

  ‘He shall hear that it was your knight Ingelric who brought about my escape by his courage. And now I have invaded your chamber.’ She looked round the room warm in the firelight, the winter cold shut out beyond the thick walls.

  ‘You are welcome to everything I have,’ he said. He got up and stood by the new hearth facing her. ‘Domina, I have never said it, and yet you know, you have always known what you are to me, more than to others. When I thought you in danger – ’

  Maud rose too, her long gown sweeping the bare stone floor, and they looked at each other without dissembling, both recognising this moment of decision from which there could no longer be any retreat. The silence was so deep, so prolonged that it said more than words, gave question an answer.

  At last, with an effort, he said, ‘I have not spoken with Ingelric yet, nor de Sablé – I must see the watch set for I hold the prize of England in my house.’

  She did not move. ‘When you have done what you have to do, come back to me – to tell me that all is well. ’

  Startled, he tried to read her face, but the dark brown eyes held an expression he could not fathom. Behind the words he sensed – he was not sure what – yet felt every nerve responding, every sense alert, all weariness gone.

  ‘I will not be long,’ he said, and went out and down the stair into the hall. He found Ingelric sitting with Beatrice and holding his sleeping son in his arms, commending him so warmly that Ingelric flushed with pleasure, and then he went on to talk with de Sablé who was lying half asleep on a pallet by the fire. Guy was more than satisfied with their exploit and had enjoyed every minute of it. Brien laughed and went out to visit the main gates and the postern, to see that sufficient guards were on watch and everything as he would have it, but only half his mind was occupied while he spoke with his men, gave orders, made the usual round. He was still trying to assimilate the impossible truth that the Empress, the Lady of England, had looked at him, spoken in such a tone that now as he thought of it he felt his face grow hot. Abruptly he left the drawbridge and hurried across the slush in the bailey, running up the steps into the warmth of the hall. He must know, and now, what she had meant.

  He went swiftly towards the stair, nodding goodnight to those he passed, and disappeared up the steps. Amauri had set his gear in the bower, but once above he did not enter it but knocked once more on the door of his own chamber. His mind was in so great a turmoil that when he heard her bid him enter, for one moment he hesitated, fearing he knew not what. Then he went in, shutting the door behind him.

  She was standing by the fire still but he saw that she had discarded her gown and mantle and wore only a white shift, her hair was unbound as he had never seen it before and hanging partly down her back, other copper strands falling over her breasts and he thought he had never been aware of such beauty. As she turned and came towards him he felt the sweat standing on his forehead, his body stiff with controlled passion. Jesu, how could she tempt him so?

  ‘All is quiet,’ he said, ‘you may sleep in peace, Domina,’ and found his voice shaking.

  She stood in front of him, her eyes on his face, ‘Do not call me Domina tonight – tonight I am only Maud. ’

  ‘Maud!’ he exclaimed. ‘You cannot mean – for the love of God, do not torment me!’

  She smiled, a slow lingering smile. ‘I think I am not even Maud, only Aaliz who loves for the first time.’

  His head was whirling now for the invitation of her upturned mouth was more than he had power to resist. Before he could stop himself he was kissing her as he had dreamed of so often – and even though the desire that flamed through him turned him beyond thought, there came the overwhelming realisation that she was responding not only with her lips but with her whole body yielding to him, Brien FitzCount, as instinct told him she had responded neither to the elderly Emperor nor to the green boy she had known before.

  Almost in disbelief he raised his head and said hoarsely, ‘Tell me to go. Command me to go – I cannot leave you otherwise.’

  Her smile was such as he had never seen before, all regal stiffness gone from her. ‘If I am Aaliz I can command nothing.’

  ‘Jesu! ’ he said, ‘Jesu!’ and kissed her again until all restraint was gone, and they were clinging together as if both needed to wipe out the repression, the long disappointments of their past lives, as if one climacteric of love would compensate for all. He was kissing her eyes, her cheeks, her throat, her mouth, swept away by this sudden unbelievable release. No scruple held him back, no thought that here in his arms he held the Empress, for by her own admission this was only Aaliz who, miraculously, loved him. Momentarily he released her and stripped off his clothes, then swinging his mantle about his shoulders he opened his arms so that it would enclose them both. She came, her white shift discarded, warm flesh to warm flesh within the enfolding privacy of the cloak, and because they were neither of them in the first flush of youth, because both had lived through negative experiences, neither seized greedily the moment of fulfilment, but with a measured intensity kissed again, savouring the delight, measuring that which was to come. Only after a while did he lift her and lay her in his bed. Even then, when his passion was fast mastering him, he held her for a few brief moments, without moving, his mouth just far enough from hers for him to form the name, ‘Aaliz – Aaliz – ’ that he had never used before.

  ‘I am Aaliz,’ she whispered. ‘Whatever comes we have this night.’

  He pulled the covers about them for the icy wind tore at the shutters and snow drove past the window enveloping the castle in a white silence. In the bed was warmth, the warmth of which Solomon had sung, and Brien, having in his arms the woman he had desired for so long and with so little hope, abandoned himself to joy as Maud yielded to him that very essence of her own individuality that she had neither given nor even shown to any other man. He was shaken to the depths by this experience, lost in the delight of a sensual passion that was so much more than mere love of body, preceded as it had been by a love that had never expected such fulfilment. It was a binding, a meeting of body and spirit that only she could have made with him, so that their ecstasy for that short while drove out the long repressive past, the bleak future.

  At last when they were both sinking deep into sleep wrapped close together within the curtained bed, the nightmare of the previous hours gone, he found himself repeating her name over and over again, the name that only her father and Robert had ever used, the name which was now peculiarly his.

  Towards dawn he woke with a soldier’s sudden alert awareness of danger. He drew the curtain quietly and saw a grey light was already creeping into the room. He must go-go to his empty bed in the bower before the castle stirred, but for a moment he leaned on his elbow looking down at her, at her hair spread about their shared pillow, at one hand turned outwards beside her cheek and he thought that this picture, now, would erase even that of last night as he had entered this room, for this Aaliz was his as she had not been then.

&n
bsp; Quite suddenly she opened her eyes and as he might have expected of her was instantly awake.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked alertly.

  ‘I must go.’ He smiled down at her, watching her as if to remember all his days this awakening to find her beside him. ‘I must not be here when the castle rouses.’

  She put up one hand and touched his cheek. ‘Some men,’ she paused, frowning a little, ‘most men would do all they could to make it known so that they might hold me to ransom.’

  Shrewdly he said, ‘If I had been such a man you would not have loved me.’

  Her dark eyes were fixed on his. ‘No – and for that reason I am loth to let you go.’

  ‘Yet I must.’ He bent to kiss her. He had never known a woman who kissed as she did and once his mouth was on hers he forgot all his intention of going for she flung one arm about his neck and held him to her. In one wild moment all the loving of last night was with them again. He was drunk with that passion he had read of in books and never known until now – but at last when all he desired was to sleep again in her arms he forced himself to leave the curtained place towards which he thought all his days had been directed, to leave it and find his mantle, stand in the coldness of the room now that the fire had died, and tear himself from her who was his life. This woman was not the arrogant Empress, the ill-tempered defensive Lady of England, this was Aaliz, warm and loving, passionate and self-giving, who was his as she had never been any other’s.

  Sleepily she asked, ‘Is it still snowing?’

  He looked out of the narrow window. ‘Aye, the sky is yellow with it.’

  She gave a deep sigh of contentment and said, almost like a child, ‘Then it will be many days before I can ride to Bristol.’

  He gave a low laugh and went softly into the silent bower.

  The snow held for three weeks, until St. Stephen’s day. For three weeks the Empress stayed in Wallingford Castle, holding a small court, attended by Brien’s household, but no one from the outside was allowed into the inner confines of the fortress lest any word of her whereabouts should reach Stephen. She was quiet, dignified, talked with Beatrice about the care of little boys or the art of embroidery, won the heart of Brien’s falconer by her knowledge of hawks, discussed the breeding of horses with Bernard and made herself agreeable to the whole household, but by no word or sign did she betray or give so much as a hint of the hours of ecstasy in the great chamber above the hall.

  One evening after supper, watching his lord playing chess with their royal guest, Roger Foliot began, ‘If only – ’but encountered one frowning glance from Ingelric.

  ‘You are in your grass-time still,’ the latter said as if he were nearer forty than thirty. ‘We cannot feed on if or maybe.’

  Guy glanced from one to the other. They were sitting together on a bench in the hall, a jug of ale and three cups still on the trestle before them. ‘I came with her to England,’ he said slowly. ‘I thought it would be easy. I was a fool.’

  ‘No,’ Ingelric answered heavily. For all his sudden silencing of Roger he was not sure if any other wondered as he did at the indefinable change in his master and he was glad that Guy had made a different assumption. ‘We all thought God was with her cause.’

  Roger took a pull at his ale. ‘You think because your foster brother has run from the world that He is not? Who feeds on idle speculations now?’

  ‘What else is there to think of imprisoned here?’ Ingelric countered shortly. Now that he commanded the garrison he felt the weight of responsibility on him, furthermore Beatrice was here with his son, and she was pregnant again. He got up. ‘I must set the night guard.

  ’

  Watching him go Roger said, ‘He is grown very sober these days. ’

  ‘That’s what happens if you marry where you love,’ Guy said humorously, ‘from which may Heaven protect me. For sweet Mary’s sake, Roger, let you and I get drunk to ease our boredom. Your lord is too busy to heed us.’

  Brien played at chess, had his minstrel sing to Maud or some of the older retainers tell stories of their youth and of her father when he was young, but always he waited impatiently for the night to come, until the household was quiet and Thurstin on his pallet deep in the sound sleep of youth and he might go to her. There in the great chamber with the whole world shut out he and she lost themselves in their overwhelming passion for each other. Each night brought fresh delight as they sought to please, to find new ways to love, new heights of ecstasy. No word was spoken of anything but this present joy, no doubts were indulged, no fears of what might come. Both savoured only the miracle of the present.

  Of Mata who had shared this bed with him Brien scarcely thought until one night when they were lying quiet, their bodies satisfied, their minds free to delight in probing each other’s thoughts, Maud asked suddenly, ‘All those years that you lay here with Mata, did they mean nothing?’

  He stared up into the darkness. ‘Seventeen years of dinners in my hall and do I remember what I ate?’

  ‘She means no more to you than that?’

  He thought for a moment before he answered. ‘She is a good woman, she has been a good wife, and she cares for me but I – I cared more for my books, my lands, until,’ he turned his head, his lips touching her cheek, ‘until I found my manhood in loving you.’

  She gave a deep contented sigh. ‘And I never thought to know such happiness.’

  ‘Do you remember how once we talked of happiness? You said you had known it in Germany, but never looked for it after.’

  ‘I was a child then and the Emperor treated me as one, but he was kind. Not like Geoffrey.’ She shivered. ‘I do not want to think of him. You were part of my escort to that wedding, and I was wretched and ill-tempered.’

  He laughed. ‘I remember. Dear love, your tongue flayed us all, but I was aware of pity for you. I think I loved you even then.’

  ‘And all the way I prayed that Geoffrey might be like you. I knew I had no choice, I was bred to high place.’ She gave a sudden dry laugh. ‘My grandfather’s blood makes me hold to it, but the woman in me longed for happiness. God knows it is seldom given to women.’

  ‘And having found it no one can take it from you,’ he answered and knew at once that his words were far from the truth. He had not at any moment imagined that the present idyllic state of affairs could continue. When the Lady was back in Bristol with her brother there could be no such meetings, but now, lost in the physical joy that had come to him, he would not look beyond each night’s consummation.

  Acutely she said, turning to him in the darkness, ‘I wish the snow might lie for ever.’

  Troubled, he answered, ‘How can we be together? This is a miracle, having you here alone, but – ’

  Her voice was suddenly fierce, more like the Maud who could terrify her barons. ‘I think I would damn my soul to keep what I have now.’

  He laid his head in the curve of her shoulder. ‘No, you would not.’ And then he thought that perhaps after all she might, for her will was of iron. ‘And I could not,’ he added in a low voice. ‘God knows what sin we have committed already. The Church says that holy marriage is the only place for love and even then passion is frowned on by the priests, though I do not believe it must be so.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘They condemn what they may not have – or what they take only in sly corners. I know now why Master Abelard threw all aside for love of Heloise.’ It was the first time he had thought of Abelard since he had become Maud’s lover and a flicker of fear ran through him. There was no place for love such as they had found, for passion born of love, in his world. He could not be with Maud nor she with him. Mata would come back and lie in this bed with him and he shuddered involuntarily at the thought – even worse Maud, his Aaliz, must sooner or later be reunited with that lecherous cruel young man she was tied to.

  She felt the shudder, his body stiffen. ‘Dear heart, what is it?’

  ‘Naught,’ he said, ‘naught to fret you,’ but he held her close, trembling, clutching
at her like a man caught in a swift running stream that must sweep him away. She put her strong arms about him, understanding him far better than he knew and, aware that speech was not what he needed at this moment, she began to caress him, to inflame his body until the truth he could not face receded and he lost himself once more in her.

  Yet even later as he drifted into sleep the tormenting thought was there – that tomorrow or the next day or the one after that he must wake to a dawn that would see their parting.

  On Christmas Eve Master Walter said Mass for the household in the chapel adjoining the great hall and spoke to them of the love of God born this night, of the mercy that had sent a Saviour into the world, of the humble birth in a stable.

  Brien, standing beside the Empress, was aware of the words but thinking of the humility of the Christ who had come down to save the souls of men, he felt suddenly remote, as if in the last weeks he had gone far from the man who had studied the Fathers, read and thought and prayed before the stone cross in the room that now saw his wild and passionate loving of a woman he had no right to take. He glanced sideways at her tall graceful figure, the curve of her breasts, the lift of her head, his love for her so great that he could think only of her, so absorbed, so deep in love that he was unaware that the Mass had reached the sacred moment of the Elevation and he alone was not on his knees. And when he did kneel before the Host his eyes were still on her so that it was with a sense of shock that he acknowledged that it was now she and not God who was the centre of his world. Inexplicably, from deep in his subconscious mind, he remembered the words of Scotus writing as a scholastic at Liege,