Vachel could now see into the chamber and he felt his eyes widen in surprise. A small woman sat on the far side of a table well lit by tall beeswax candles and several sconces, also filled with beeswax candles, on the wall. Several parchments half unrolled and one held down with a brass inkwell, a huge horseshoe and the lady’s elbow were on the table. The lady had very black hair, lightly covered with a nearly transparent veil held in place by a gold circlet studded with emeralds, and had large eyes of an indeterminate color; her full lips were smiling.
Opposite her, a man, broad and heavy with a fringe of gray hair around a bald crown, sat on a stool. That, Vachel thought indignantly, was unnatural—a woman in a chair and a man of age and authority on a stool. But the man’s manner was easy, leaning forward with his arms resting on the table.
“Not to Roselynde, in any case,” the woman said in reply to the man’s question about sending supplies south. “We are at the westernmost end of Simon’s shire. The supplies should be more centrally located so they can be sent to whoever has need. And if the invasion does not come,” she wrinkled her nose in distaste, “it is not unknown for Prince John to make threats he cannot carry out, we can more easily return what was confiscated.”
Vachel expected the man to tell the silly female to hold her tongue and not be so stupid. Once supplies were confiscated they were quietly kept by whoever held them and used or sold.
Instead the man groaned loudly and said, “Which means that everything needs to be labeled as to its source.”
“Yes, but there must also be a record kept of what was taken and the date and the value. If the invasion is long delayed, yet still seems likely to be mounted, we will need to use what was stored and either replace it with fresh material or pay for it in silver or gold…whatever the owner wants.”
“Alinor!” the man protested.
The woman laughed heartily. “Why is it that any task that requires a pen is regarded as torture? You would not ‘Alinor’ me if I told you to gather men and take Kemp.”
“No, I would not, because Kemp surely needs taking. Has Simon said—” He stopped speaking abruptly as Alinor, who had finally noticed the understeward standing just inside the door, raised her hand.
“Yes, Rolf?” she said.
“My lady, Vachel Baudoin, Sir Alex’s brother, has just arrived and wishes to speak to you.”
Her brows went up. “Well, he will be very welcome if he is anything like Alex. Send him in.” Sir Andre started to rise from his stool, but the woman laughed again and gestured him to stay seated. “You know it makes Alex blush horribly when you get up and bow to him,” she said, and Vachel could hear the affection in her voice.
Sir Andre chuckled. “Alex needs to be hardened in self-consequence.”
I will need to tread warily, Vachel thought. Alex has somehow ingratiated himself with the whole keep. Rage burned in his gut but he clamped down the fury at Alex’s success under a bland expression and entered the chamber, going around the seated man to the end of the table. Now he was so close, he could see that the lady’s eyes were a light brown flecked with glints of gold and bright green.
“Master Vachel Baudoin,” the understeward said.
“So you are Alex’s brother.”
Vachel was annoyed when Lady Alinor only fixed her bright eyes on him, but did not rise and curtsey as any woman should. Because the old knight was staring at him, Vachel bowed acknowledgement.
“You do not favor him at all,” Lady Alinor said. “I would never have taken you as brothers.”
“He took after my mother’s side of the family,” Vachel said, his voice was apologetic as if that were a fault.
“Ah.” The single syllable held a note of satisfaction, as if he had communicated to her far more than the few words meant to him. But then the lady said, “And have you also come to find a place with my husband? Alex said there were only his eldest brother, Pierre, and you remaining at home.”
“Not a place, no,” Vachel said uncomfortably.
Now there was something else that Alex had fouled for him. It was common to keep two sons at home so that if ill befell the eldest there would still be an heir. He had intended to ask for body service with his uncle because that would have kept him close enough to use one of his potions. Now he did not dare say he needed a place.
Alinor cocked her head at an inquiring angle. “But if not to take service, what brings you all the way to England when we may soon be at war?”
“Not with France,” Vachel said, and suddenly he realized what he could say had brought him to Roselynde asking for his brother. “And in any case, my business is only private. Alex left Lessai…ah…under a misunderstanding. I am come to…ah…to…”
“To order him home again?” A voice sharp, almost angry.
What a lovely thought. Vachel could arrange to have Alex ambushed and killed and simply say he had, as ordered, gone home. But as the thoughts flashed through his mind, he remembered he was in England where he knew no one. Even if he were willing to pay for assassins with his dwindling pouch of Prince John’s money, he had no way to force them to fulfill their promises.
“Ahh…” he temporized.
“If you have a letter from your father for Alex, give it here,” Lady Alinor said, holding out an imperious hand.
Vachel gaped at her boldness. First he thought of saying the letter was for Sir Simon, then, looking at her expression of assured expectation with growing dislike, he decided not to chance her insistence on his handing over a nonexistent letter.
“There is no letter,” he admitted. “Nor is my message from my father.”
Alinor wrinkled her nose. “A third son,” she said. “Your father is doubtless glad he is gone. Well—” suddenly she grinned broadly “—we too are glad Alex is gone from Lessai. Simon has found him so apt at arms and so clever that he is infinitely useful.”
Clever? Alex? Vachel shook his head, but in the face of Lady Alinor’s fond smile he felt it would be unwise to say any ill of Alex. Only he still had to reply to why he had come. Yes, of course. He could blame himself.
“Ah, well, that lightens a load of grief I have carried. The quarrel that Alex fled was with me. I was more out of temper and said more than I meant. And Alex, Alex is so timid—”
“Overmodest, perhaps, but timid? Alex?” Lady Alinor laughed heartily and so did the old knight.
“He is such a devil now,” Sir Andre said, “I hate to think what he will be like when he has his full growth.”
Vachel blinked, unable to understand what the two were talking about. Alex had always tried to hide or fled from him and his brothers, he had never challenged them or fought back unless he was cornered and could not escape. Even this last time when Carol and Marcus were dead and it was only he, Alex had fled instead of resisting his threats.
“I do not know,” Vachel said. “Perhaps I said more than I remember and made him feel unwelcome. He…left Lessai. I had not meant to drive him from his home.” That at least was true, he had planned a more permanent absence. “I only wish to find him and tell him that I am sorry and that he would be welcome back in Lessai.”
“It was good of you to come so far,” Alinor said somewhat more warmly, “but I am glad to tell you it will not be necessary for Alex to go home and be satisfied with the place of third son again. Simon has great plans for him.” And then Alinor had given orders to the understeward to see that her guest had a bath and a loan of garments if he needed them.
As Vachel followed Rolf from the room, he heard Sir Andre say, “But he is utterly a pauper, Alinor. What are you planning?”
And Alinor’s clear voice, “Simon’s letter said the old man was dying, that he could not be expected to recover. If Alex ingratiates himself…well, how can he help it. He is so gentle—”
Vachel heard no more but stored the thought of the old man dying. What old man and what had he to do with Alex? But mostly he was annoyed by the realization that he had failed to discover where Sir Simon was.
Perhaps it was better that way. He did not want to seem to be too eager to find his uncle and then have Simon die after he arrived.
The evening meal would be soon enough and he could still ask as if it were Alex he wanted to see. There was a full table for the evening meal. In addition to Lady Alinor and Sir Andre, there were the castle priest, a doddering old man called Father Philip, and Sir Martin of Iford, Roselynde’s steward.
Vachel was seated respectably to the left of his hostess and he quickly asked about Alex before anyone had the chance to start some ridiculous subject meant to please Lady Alinor. Instead of being annoyed, everyone smiled. Then Sir Martin launched out in praise of Alex as a fighter and jouster. Vachel thought them all very gullible to believe the lies Alex told, their father had wasted little time on teaching Alex to joust. However, he held his tongue because every lie he could expose would make Alex more docile.
But then Sir Martin turned to Alinor. “Speaking of Alex,” he said, “I had a most interesting letter from him about two of the farms belonging to Exceat that were burned out.”
“Likely by Nicolaus of Lewes,” Sir Andre growled.
“Lewes… Yes.” Lady Alinor nodded. “I know Simon intended to stop at Lewes and does not believe that the keep is being prepared to resist the invasion.”
Vachel pricked up his ears, but held his tongue. Sir Andre grunted dissatisfaction. “I doubt he will find anything he can report to Nicolaus’s overlord or use to get rid of the man,” he said. “I was deputy when the farms were attacked. The master-at-arms was sure it was Nicolaus because he had threatened their little lady, but the lady was only a child and the master-at-arms was so sick he could hardly walk. I went to Lewes and warned Nicolaus, and there were no more burnings, but I could never prove anything.”
No wonder Nicolaus is willing to offer me safe haven and is so interested in being rid of Sir Simon, Vachel thought. Well, I am very glad to know this. I will know better how to deal with Sir Nicolaus now.
Sir Martin laughed. “If Alex has his teeth in this, punishment may come to Sir Nicolaus without proof, specially if another attempt is made. I suspect that Alex will lay traps on the restored farms for anyone who attacks them.”
“He didn’t write to ask if that was a good idea?” Lady Alinor asked with a frown. “That is too much uncertainty—”
“Oh, no, my lady. He has every intention of restoring the farms—it is good land, according to Sir Simon. What he wanted to know was what kind of stocks would be necessary to tide the new holders over until harvest in the autumn.”
“Is there no one at Exceat he could ask?”
“I think not. Sir Frewyn is sick—”
Aha, Vachel thought, that is the old man who is dying.
“—and the lady of the keep is very young so her experience is limited. She knows well enough what should be planted and when it will be harvestable, but she seems to have no idea what a peasant family would need to live on.”
Lady Alinor shook her head. “I knew she was younger than Sir Frewyn, but not how young. Never mind, Martin, I will write to her directly and save Alex from needing to pass the information along. Lady…ah…yes. Lady Desiree. I remember the name from the summons.”
“But what has Alex to do with any of this?” Vachel asked in amazement.
“Oh, did I not say? Sorry. Simon appointed Alex the castellan of Exceat,” Lady Alinor replied. “When Simon and I talked over Lady Desiree’s appeal for help, I suggested he give the appointment to Alex. Alex is strong, bold, clever, capable, and, what is more than many would be, he would be kind to Sir Frewyn’s widow if the man dies.”
Vachel just barely turned his outraged gobbling to a cough over some crumbs of the cold pasty. He could hardly believe his ears. That was some rich reward for a simple lie. Say you were a knight and be made a castellan. What a treasure Alex would reap, gathering into his hands the yield of an estate that sounded larger than Lessai.
Driven nearly rabid over Alex’s constant good fortune, Vachel could only comfort himself by thinking that as soon as he was rid of Simon, he would bring an end to Alex’s pretensions. But he had to remove Simon first. Swallowing rage, Vachel tried to discover where he could find his uncle without seeming to ask directly about Simon’s route.
Lady Alinor answered readily enough, but of course, like a stupid woman, she knew nothing. Even though she had received a letter from her husband only the previous day, she did not know where he was or would be.
The letter, she said, had been sent as Simon was leaving Rye, the town farthest east in his shire, so he was surely on his way back to Roselynde. However, he had not been certain whether he would go next to Hastings, which was right on the coast, or instead go to Battle and then farther inland.
Vachel finally had to accept the fact that his favorite plan was impossible. There would be no meeting up casually with Simon, giving a false name and poisoning him in perfect anonymity. His choices then were either to stay at Roselynde until Sir Simon returned or find somewhere else to go and return to Roselynde when Sir Simon was likely to be at home.
At first Vachel requested guesting at Roselynde; he was tired of riding abroad in foul winter weather and he really had nowhere to go, except Lewes where he was not certain of his welcome since Simon was still alive. But guesting at Roselynde, he discovered, was no way to be warm and cosseted. Lady Alinor thought that would bore guests and made certain that they were kept busy and hard at work.
By the end of a week, Vachel no longer wanted to stay in Roselynde. Even his father had not worked him so hard. Everyone in Roselynde worked hard and not even the smallest oversight escaped that viper Alinor’s eye.
Finally, to escape the prospect of being sent out in a driving rain on a long ride to fetch wine from a monastery, Vachel decided that he might as well deal with Alex before he killed Simon. He had intended to be rid of Simon first so he could drive Alex out and take over as castellan, but rather than be worked to death by the bitch of Roselynde, he would do it the other way.
Thus, at evening meal he asked if Alinor had heard from Simon, and when she said she had not, he said, pretending regret, that he thought he should not wait longer but go to Exceat to “make his peace” with his brother. He would return in a few weeks when, he hoped, his uncle would be at home.
“Oh, very good,” Alinor said. “Then you can carry my letter to Lady Desiree and save me from sending a messenger.”
Chapter Seven
About the time that Vachel was first entering Roselynde, Alex had brought the question of acquiring more men to protect Exceat to Frewyn. It was a particularly good day for the old man, who was able to engage in a lively discussion of the various advantages and disadvantages of hiring masterless men-at-arms versus training men from the land to fight.
Frewyn pointed out that most of the serfs and villeins who had been taught to use sword and bow would never return to the land—and if they did were unlikely to be docile. On the other hand, Exceat was not a rich estate so hiring men-at-arms would be a strain. Worse yet, such men could not simply be turned off. Set loose, many would engage in rape and robbery because they had no homes to go to and no ties to Exceat as local men would have.
Alex could only agree with Frewyn and suggest that they take most of the men from the fisherfolk. Well, he said, fisherfolk were seldom docile anyway and might be more eager to learn sword and bow to defend themselves from marauding French ships.
“And that shows why a landsman should not be set to protect a seaside keep! I never thought of the fisherfolk,” Frewyn exclaimed and laughed so hard he almost choked.
Desiree rushed over from where she had been consulting with Elias about what to offer Frewyn for an evening meal and straightened her husband in his chair, patting him tenderly on the back while he caught his breath. She had been so eager in her movement that Alex had no time to get out of her way, and her hip rested against his arm.
Alex’s breath caught. Although it was impossible through her warm winter gown
and his own woolen sleeve, he was sure he could feel the heat of her flesh. And he dared not move away because to remove his support while she was raising Frewyn would surely overbalance her.
A moment later, Frewyn was propped more securely and his breathing had steadied. “Be careful,” Desiree said to Alex, who could not answer and dared not look at her.
“It was my fault,” Frewyn said, saving Alex from needing to reply. “I breathed in some of my own spit while I was laughing. No, don’t go away, my love. In a moment I will need you.”
Desiree smiled, pulled her stool closer and took her husband’s hand. “I hope you always need me,” she said.
He did not answer, he was looking at Alex, whose breath caught again. There was such pain in the old man’s eyes. He did not want to need anyone, he did not want to be utterly helpless no matter how loving the help extended was.
Unable to think of what to say, Alex rushed to offer what he hoped would be a diversion to Frewyn’s mind. “My lord, will you be able to tell me who is most likely to know which families can easily spare a son or brother to be trained? Do you think Godric would know?”
Frewyn sighed. “I think not. His family has been in service in Exceat for generations. But even if he knew, I doubt Godric would speak out. I do not know what ails the man. He knows his work and can manage the men very well, yet he is afraid to give orders.”
“Well, my lord,” Alex said, smiling. “It is an ill wind that blows no one any good. The way Godric is turns out greatly to my benefit. I brought with me a clever man, well fit to be master-at-arms. I knew if there was already a good master-at-arms, who was ready to work with me, that I would have to send Byford back to keep the peace, but I would have been sorry to lose Byford. With Godric as he is, I now have two excellent leaders, Byford as master and Godric as second.”
Frewyn laughed again, but more carefully. “And I have a good master-at-arms that I do not even need to pay.”
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