Fire and Steel

by Anita Mills

  Guy looked up and his divided eyebrow lifted in surprise. In all the years William had served him, Guy had never been able to glean more than the barest of facts about the Lady Alys or Count Eudo, and now he offered what Guy had once thought he wanted to know. Hope that Belesme had lied flared briefly, and he nodded. “Aye, I’d walk the wall.”

  The night air was cold enough that Guy could see his breath in the moonlight as he climbed a deserted portion of his new stone wall and stood to look out over the huddled huts below. This was his land, his patrimony—this was Rivaux. His heart swelled with pride in what he’d built—his wall, the foundation for a new church, new huts for his people—aye, he was lord of everything as far as he could see. He breathed deeply to clear his head as William came up behind him.

  “There was a time I never thought to see it again,”

  Guy murmured. “Between Curthose’s beggaring me and Henry’s sending me into exile, I thought I dared not think of having it again. I thought I’d lost everything at Tinchebrai.”

  “I knew Henry would call you back, my lord. You were destined for greatness from your birth.”

  “My birth,” Guy snorted bitterly, “Aye, and how long do you think I would have this if my birth were known?” He swung around to face William in the pale moonlight. “You knew,” he accused. “You knew, and you told me not.”

  “I knew—aye.”

  “Would you ever have told me?”

  “Nay. ’Twould have served no purpose save to harm you.”

  “I have heard Count Robert tell the tale, William, and I’d hear my mother’s side of it now.”

  “All of it? I’d not know where to begin, Guy.”

  “Did my mother lie with Robert of Belesme?” he demanded.

  “Aye.”

  “Then I’d hear all of it. If I am truly his son, there’s naught to spare me now.”

  William pulled the wide sleeves of his overtunic over his hands and then folded them together for warmth in the chill breeze. “Your mother was the Lady Alys, daughter to the Vicomte of Varanville, wed to Count Eudo at thirteen.” William cleared his throat and prepared to go on. His eyes took on that faraway look of one seeing the past relived. “Count Eudo was more than fifty—I know not how old for certain—and he’d buried two wives before he took Alys. Three living sons he’d had of them, Roland, Ralph, and Walter by name, and there was a daughter, Mathilda—full half of the girls in Normandy were Mathilda in honor of the Conqueror’s duchess then. Anyway, all of his issue were older than Alys when she came to Rivaux.”

  “What did she look like?”

  William appeared to consider, and sighed. “She was a little like your own lady, but she had not the spirit. She had dark hair and brown eyes so light that sometimes ’twas said they were pure gold, and she was slender—more so than Catherine, I think—and she had a laugh that was most pleasant before she came to Rivaux. I came with her as master of her household on her marriage, so I remember her best for what she was at Varanville.”

  “Go on.”

  “Count Eudo was too old for a young wife, Guy. It was whispered in the stables that he could not so much as lay the serving wenches anymore, but Alys had a dowry that he coveted—she brought him Belvois on her marriage. There was no blood in her marriage bed, but none blamed her for that.”

  “Did he love her?”

  “Eudo?” William’s voice raised incredulously at the thought. “Nay—he thought of her not at all, save to tell her to be modest and mind her prayers.”

  Guy could almost be sorry for the young girl sent to an indifferent and self-centered old lord. “Go on,” he prompted again.

  “When the fall came, the Old Conqueror passed through on his way to Mantes, bringing his court with him. Among them was a man he’d once fostered himself, Robert of Belesme. Even then, ’twas difficult to find any to like Belesme, for neither his arrogance nor his cruelty knew any bounds. Old William—the Conqueror—did not like him overmuch, either, but he said that on the battlefield there was none to compare with Robert of Belesme even then. They quarreled—Belesme and the Conqueror—over some blood sport where Robert had dragged a peasant from his cottage at Domfort and had killed him slowly with his knife, castrating him in front of his wife and daughters for some insult the fellow was said to have offered him. The castellan of the keep appealed to William as overlord for justice, but when William would have heard the case, no witness could be found. Anyway, William did not take Belesme with him to Mantes.”

  “And Belesme met my mother.”

  “Aye. ’Tis difficult to tell it now, but Count Robert was as comely a man as there was to see then, but cold—aye, those green eyes frightened better men than me. But to Alys, a lonely girl shut up here, he was someone to entice. Evil is like a flame, Guy—it draws good people sometimes much as fire draws moths in summer.” William stopped and spat over the side of the wall. “But he never seemed to notice any of the women, and as there were two stories credited about him—one that he lay with his mother and no other, and the other that he lay with men—well, there was no reason to think he knew the Lady Alys even lived.”

  Guy hugged his clothes tightly to his body and tried to keep warm. “Belesme said she wanted him to kill my…”He stopped, aware that he still tried to think of Count Eudo as his father. “…to kill her husband,” he finished lamely.

  “I know not why she lay with him, but she did, and I’ll not understand it to this day.”

  “Belesme told me the rest—there is no need to finish the tale. You do but confirm what he said. If I would know anything more, ’tis why you have cared for me.”

  “Lady Alys died in childbed when she was but fourteen, Guy. Had the old man not beaten her daily, I think she might have survived, but by the time she had her lying-in, she was wearied of it. The birth was hard, for you lay wrong and did not turn. When she began to bleed heavily, she asked to see me, and she told me she thought she would die. She would not hear otherwise, and I suspected she knew. She said that if the babe was a son, Eudo would not let him live, and she asked that if you were born alive I would take you to her family.”

  “And he let you?”

  “Nay. Her women told him it was not over whilst I wrapped you under my shirt and rode for Varanville as though devils were after me. At first, I thought your grandsire there would kill you himself, for you were a reminder of Alys’ wantonness, but the old priest would not let him. He finally wrote to Eudo that you lived and promised to rear you to hide his daughter’s shame,” William remembered.

  “We lived in a peasant’s hut beneath the castle walls with a kitchen wench to give you suck, until the old vicomte decided it was not meet that I who was son of a knight should live thus. Then he let me bring you to his table, but even though he acknowledged you as his grandson, he treated you worse than the lowest bastard in the keep until he ate spoiled lampreys and thought to die. The old priest said ’twas a sin what he did to you—I think you were mayhap two or three then—and he reminded your grandsire that Holy Church considered you had been born in wedlock despite what Count Eudo said. When he recovered, your grandsire met Eudo on the matter, and ’twas agreed that to keep the world from knowing he had been cuckolded, Eudo would recognize you, as he had other sons to inherit. And so that neither of them had to look on you, you would be sent to be taught by the monks. They took you away from me then.”

  “Aye, I remember.”

  “But your brothers died. One by one, they died, Guy—but you have heard of that. And when Robert Curthose would not stand with Count Eudo against de Mortain, the old count never forgot it. Rather than let Rivaux become Curthose’s on his death, he recognized you as heir. By then, you were overold to foster, and I was asked to train you, as I knew the whole, and it pleased me to do it. I knew if you were Belesme’s son, I could make you mayhap into the finest, fiercest fighter in all of Normandy.”

  Despite the faint light, Guy could see the sparkle of tears in the old man’s eyes and was deeply move
d. All of his life, he’d been able to turn to William de Comminges, and now that he knew why, it humbled him.

  “William—”

  But the old man was not quite finished. Nearly breaking with emotion, William’s voice dropped almost to a whisper. “And, afore God and his saints, Guy of Rivaux, I think I have done it. You’ve naught to be ashamed of—art the best knight I know.”

  “’Twas you who taught me all I have become,” Guy responded quietly.

  “You are Robert of Belesme’s son in nothing but blood, my lord—there’s naught else of him in you.”

  “’Tis the blood that haunts me—’tis the blood of madness—’tis the blood of Satan that flows in Belesme’s veins.”

  “If Belesme is mad, ’tis because of Mabille.”

  “And who is to blame for her madness, then?”

  “Her father.”

  “And his?”

  “Jesu! You will have to put these thoughts from your mind, Guy, else you will go mad. You are what you make yourself—not what blood you bear.” William spoke earnestly. “Had I not believed that, I’d have left you for Count Eudo to kill.”

  Guy stared silently over the edge of the wall to the broken rocks far below them. “Think you I do not argue it with myself? Aye, I have thought of little else since Belesme spoke to me.”

  “My lord…” William reached to comfort for the first time since Guy had been a small boy.

  “You do not understand—I fear to lose Catherine.” It was as though the words were wrenched from him, pulled from deep within, as Guy gave voice to his greatest fear. “And I do not think I could bear it if she turned away from me.”

  “Tell her—’twill make no difference.”

  “Nay. But I live in dread that one day she will see Robert of Belesme in me and know the child she bears carries Devil’s blood.”

  Sensing that argument was futile, William shook his head sadly and dropped his hand. “’Tis a secret that can give you no peace, my lord.”

  35

  “The FitzHenry returns, my lord, and ’twould appear that there are more riders in pursuit.”

  “Brian?” Cat turned around from where she had been showing Guy the fabric she’d bargained from the cloth merchant. “Art certain?”

  “Who follows him?” Guy demanded tersely.

  “’Tis too far to tell, in truth, but would you have the draw lowered?”

  “Aye, and I’d have the bowmen in position should there be trouble. Tell William to secure the inner wall—nay, I will tell him myself,” Guy muttered, already halfway to the stairs. “Jesu, but I am not ready for this—he should have tried for Belvois.”

  “Mayhap he had not the time.”

  Catherine followed them down to where William already armed the bowmen and gave them their positions. Alerted by the sentries’ shouts, peasants from the huts below pressed outside Rivaux’s gate, while laborers within brought out pitch vats. Seeing that Guy meant to order his defenses, Cat turned and climbed the back steps of the timber wall to watch.

  Aye, it was Brian all right, riding as though hell pursued, splashing across the river, while several of his escort broke away and turned to delay those who followed them. As they drew closer, she could see that Count Hugh himself came after him.

  “Aislinn!” she shouted, recognizing the rider beside Brian. Running back down the wooden steps, she nearly collided with her lord. “Guy, he brings Linn! Merciful Mary—’tis Linn who comes!”

  “Aye, and ’tis Mayenne that follows,” he told her grimly. “Stand back when they come in—I’d not have you trampled. By the looks of it, there could be a fight.”

  The entire household was in earnest preparation now as men-at-arms struggled hastily to pull on coats of mail, while boys ran from slit to slit with supplies of arrows for the crossbows. In a matter of minutes the nearly finished wall bristled with shafts deftly fitted against tautened bowstrings. The drawbridge went down so quickly that the sound of its hitting the mooring reverberated through both baileys, only to be drowned in the din of riders crossing over it, followed by villeins armed with cudgels and pitchforks tramping on its wooden floor.

  “God’s blood, but I’d thought we’d not make it,” Brian breathed as a cheer went up from the men on the wall. Behind him, the last fellow had barely climbed over the rising bridge when the men of Mayenne emerged over from the river shallows.

  “Brian, what…?”

  Before she could even ask him what had happened, he’d turned to Guy. Cat looked up at Aislinn, who still tried to catch her breath. Her face and hands were ruddy from the cold, and she had the sniffles, but otherwise she appeared to be all right.

  “Geoffrey’s dead, Cat.”

  For an instant Catherine thought Brian had caused the death, and she stared upward in disbelief. “Geoffrey’s dead?” she repeated.

  “Aye, Count Hugh would have him ride out two days ago when he could scarce sit in the saddle. He fell from his horse and broke his neck.”

  “Sweet Mary,” Catherine murmured, saying a quick silent prayer for his soul. “But that does not explain—”

  “’Twas a hunt, Cat, and Geoffrey would not have gone but for Count Hugh. When he fell, they all gathered round to discover him dead, and Brian grasped my bridle and told me to say I was going back inside the castle. While they made a litter for his body, we ran, gathering Brian’s escort as we fled.”

  “Oh, Linn, I am so sorry…”

  “Nay, I am glad to be out of there, and ’tis better that my husband is dead. He had so little pleasure in living.”

  Geoffrey of Mayenne was dead, and his widow had fled to Rivaux ere he was buried. Apparently her shock was evident, for Aislinn sought to explain. “I was a good wife to him while he lived, but I came to hate his father. I knew that if I did not leave then, I’d never see the Condes again—Count Hugh intended to wed me to one of his men to keep my dowry.”

  Behind her, Catherine could hear Brian arguing with Guy over what he had done, saying that Aislinn had been little more than a prisoner at Mayenne. “But you cannot expect him not to fight over her,” Guy retorted, “Not when she carries the heir. And I’d not fight with an unfinished wall.”

  “You would not have left her, either.”

  “I would have taken her to Belvois.”

  “That way was cut off by Mayenne’s men. Besides, he’ll treat—he’ll not want to make an enemy of you.”

  “Your faith in my power overwhelms me,” Guy muttered dryly. “And what am I supposed to do with her—send her to the Condes when her father is gone to England?”

  “I’d have you keep her here until I can speak with Earl Roger and my father.”

  The acrid smell of melting pitch floated over them, a grim reminder of what they faced. “Alan, I’d be armed,” Guy told his squire. Meeting Cat’s worried eyes, he nodded. “Aye, I mean to treat with Mayenne.”

  “You’ll not give her up?”

  “I know not what I’ll say to him, but nay, I’ll not give her up. But…” He turned to Brian and sighed heavily. “But I would have been warned that I was gaining an enemy.”

  “Would you have me speak with him?” Brian asked.

  “’Tis not your keep he would threaten. Catherine, take your sister inside and see she is made warm.”

  Unclad, Aislinn was thinner than Catherine remembered, despite her swollen abdomen. She shivered as Hawise rubbed her limbs to warm them, and Cat heated honeyed wine. Beda held a blanket close to the brazier, where a roaring fire had been set, and when it was almost hot to touch, Hawise pushed Aislinn into Cat’s bed and covered her with it.

  “You are nigh frozen,” Catherine muttered as she brought the wine to her sister.

  “It was a long ride—I’d not thought to make it.” The younger girl took the cup and sipped from it, then leaned back, sighing. “I know Lord Guy is angered with Brian, Cat, but I could not stay there. You know not how it was.”

  Catherine signaled to the tiring women to leave and sat beside
the bed. “Guy will stand for you, Linn, but I doubt you can keep the babe from Count Hugh.”

  “Aye—the babe,” Aislinn remembered, and her voice grew bitter. “’Twas why I was married, was it not? Poor Geoffrey wanted to die in peace, but there had to be a babe.” She closed her eyes for a moment and pulled the covers closer, as though to shield herself. “I suppose I should count myself fortunate that I conceived while Geoffrey could still do the deed, for I heard Count Hugh say that before he’d let Anjou have Mayenne, he’d get me with child himself.”

  “Jesu!”

  “Aye, ever was I afraid of him, Cat. When Geoffrey grew worse, his father sought my company, taking me from my husband’s bedside, saying that I should enjoy a whole man’s company. I think if I had not the babe within me, he would have ravished me.”

  “Did Geoffrey know of this?”

  “Aye, I think he did, for when Brian came to see us, Geoffrey told him to take me away while he could.” Aislinn’s eyes filled with tears and her lower lip trembled. “He wanted to die, Cat—there were no pleasures left for him. And his father would not understand—’twas as though he thought Geoffrey became ill to thwart him. When Brian wished to hunt, Count Hugh made him—made him—ride with us, knowing full well that he could not sit his horse. He killed his own son, Cat.”

  “Shhhhh—do not think on it, Linn. You are safe here, I promise you. Drink your wine, and I will hold your hand as we did when we were small, until you sleep.”

  Aislinn obediently took another sip, but shook her head. “Nay, take it away. I am too tired to drink.”

  Cat took the cup and set it aside before leaning over to tuck the covers closer about her sister. “You will stay here until the babe is born, and Guy and Papa will decide what is to be done.”

  “I wish Papa were here.”

  “So do I, but we have Guy, after all, and I doubt Mayenne will wish to force a quarrel on him.”

  “You would have been proud of Brian, Cat—he did not hesitate in the least. He risked his life for me.”

  “He loves you.”