Fires of Winter

by Roberta Gellis

  Also, Audris did not seem in the least interested in overhearing what the men said. Mostly to keep the subject away from her uncle and Bruno’s reaction to the news of his death—Bruno’s face was still without any expression, although he was telling Hugh about the elevation to the peerage of many of Waleran de Meulan’s relatives—I asked whether her husband preferred that women did not listen or speak on political matters. Audris smiled and shook her head.

  “I am sure Hugh would not care, but why should I wish it?” she remarked easily. “Hugh tells me what is important for me to know. But if you like we can join the men and listen. Are you interested in affairs of state?”

  “I have no choice,” I replied dryly. “But I have no need to listen; Bruno has already told me about the messages. I—” I hesitated, on the verge of pouring out the whole tale of my lost lands, my lost family. But this was not the time, not while we were all balanced on a knife edge of grief. Instead, I went on, “I am one of the queen’s ladies. At court if I say the wrong word or smile at the wrong person at the wrong time I could bring great trouble upon myself and Bruno.”

  Audris shuddered. “That life is not for me. What is in my head spills out of my mouth. Do you wish to go back to court? You could stay here, safe with us.”

  “I wish I could,” I sighed, “but Bruno is tied to the king, and—and I am suspected of being a rebel. If I did not return, the queen might blame Bruno for letting me escape her watchful eye.”

  “Are you a rebel?”

  Audris’s question held only a touch of surprise and mild interest, and when I shook my head and said that for all I cared a pox could take all three—King Stephen, King David, and Empress Matilda—she nodded but then shuddered again and said, “If only there would be no war, no more war, I would not care if an ape ruled.”

  Before I could agree, Lady Eadyth appeared and hustled Bruno away, and we talked of small, light matters until he came from her chamber in dry clothes. Then we had our evening meal. Another lady joined us, introduced as Hugh’s Aunt Marie. She was very quiet, looking always at Hugh if she ventured any remark, though he smiled at her each time without fail. The talk was of local matters, the fear of famine owing to the ravaging of the Scots and what could or should be done to ease it and when, if ever, recompense could be expected for the outlay.

  Then I went to Audris’s chamber with her to see her babe. I was shocked by the ugliness of the maid who was caring for him and to learn that she was mute, but I soon saw the woman’s devotion. And then I forgot her as Audris began to tell me of her childhood and Bruno’s while she nursed Eric. The tale made clear to me the bond between her and Bruno and that there were things I must never confess—like my attempt to kill him—but there was nothing in what she said that explained how he had felt about Sir Oliver. I began to hope that I had misread Bruno, rather than Audris, and that only the shock of the news had turned him to stone. Only when we came down to join the men again, I knew at once that he felt even worse.

  As soon as he saw me, Bruno broke off his talk with Hugh and reminded him that he wished to make an early start the next morning. He said also that I must be very tired and that he was tired too and wished to go to bed. I do not know why neither Audris nor Hugh seemed to see that Bruno only wished to escape. Perhaps they did understand and hoped to lighten his heart, but Hugh responded that an early bedtime was most suitable to his needs also—with such lascivious looks at his wife as made very clear what those needs were—and Audris began to make jests that brought blood to my face. There was fear mingled in with that blush—God help me, of desire, not shame—but Bruno did not betray my refusal to couple. He replied so cleverly that without saying yea or nay he made them believe all was well between us. The kindness, when I knew he was on the rack—and the suggestion too—set off in me that warm trembling that I had learned to dread.

  It died as swiftly as it had risen, as soon as the door closed and I raised my eyes to Bruno’s face. I suppose, because of the jests, I had expected to see his face as it had been that night in Winchester when he first made me recognize my lust for him. Instead, I saw such desolation, such a depth of pain, that I reached for him. When I touched him, tears came into his eyes and he told me that he would not take me to Ulle and force me to watch another man sit in Papa’s chair.

  I took him in my arms. I could not resist the need to comfort the agony that echoed mine—but I no longer felt that first piercing pain. I would hate seeing Stephen’s warden in Papa’s place, but I could bear it, knowing it would not be forever. There was another thought, far more disturbing because it was not painful, that crept into my head as I soothed Bruno with meaningless words and helped him to undress and get into bed. Bruno in Papa’s chair?

  Not painful? Was I so far gone in shame that I could be content to smile as Bruno, who might have killed my father and my brother, drank from Papa’s cup at Papa’s table? And then Bruno spoke again into the dark in a breaking voice of how Sir Oliver had been the only father he had ever known and how he had never given him one word of love or even thanks. My breath caught in sympathy for his suffering. That sorrow at least I had never needed to know, for all of us, except poor Mama, took and gave freely words and gestures of love. I took Bruno in my arms again and wept for him. It was not treachery to Papa and my brothers, I told myself. I was not giving way to love for their enemy. I was only making him love me. If I could fill his craving for love, there was nothing he would not do for me.

  Bruno rode out the next morning, accompanied by five good men-at-arms who would give him dignity as well as be able to stand by him if they should meet any bands of Scots as he rode after Aumale. I was at once comforted by his having the men and made anxious by his need for them. Not that I cared if he were hurt or killed, I told myself, not at all, but God knew what second husband might be forced upon me; perhaps one that would not want to get Ulle from the king.

  He was gone two weeks, and during that time the busy life of Jernaeve keep closed over and enveloped me. I was no guest, no stranger. Whore’s son Bruno might be, but even to Lady Eadyth, who was the only one, I believe, who ever thought of him in those terms, he was part of Jernaeve, and I, who they assumed was part of him, must also be one with the place. When I could be useful, and all were busy in some measure in repairing the damage the Scots had done, my task was assigned without any question as to whether I would be willing. That was assumed, and it was most comfortable and comforting to me. I was at home, as I had been in Mildred’s manor.

  I realized soon that warm enfolding was owing to Audris’s acceptance. Lady Eadyth went to and fro and gave orders concerning women’s work, Hugh ordered and inspected those tasks men were wont to do, but the life of the keep flowed around and around one still center—Audris. When that had sunk deep into me, I grew cold at the thought that she might learn how I refused her brother, but I had underestimated Audris. I suppose I had shown some sign of my uneasiness, and on the third or fourth day—I remember it was pouring rain and I had naught to do—I was sitting in Audris’s tower, watching her weave.

  “I do not expect all to be smooth as oil between you and Bruno,” Audris said suddenly. “I saw that it was not only shyness that made you blush when I teased you because Bruno wished to go early to bed. Have patience. You will find peace, and joy too, I think, in the fullness of time. I do not blame you for your doubts and angers. It was different for me and Hugh. We loved before we wed. That cannot have been true for you and Bruno.”

  “It could have been,” I replied slowly, “but it was not.” I recalled how it had actually happened, but I would speak no ill of Bruno to his sister. She would not believe me anyway. “I was with the queen some eight months, and part of that time Bruno was there too, with the king. We may have met. We may even have spoken to each other. If we did, I do not remember. One day I was told that the king had ordered we be married and we were.”

  “Bruno agreed to that?” Audris was clearly puz
zled. “It is not like him.”

  I laughed. “I told you the queen believes me to be a rebel. I do not know why, but she seems to fear that I can do some harm. Bruno married me to protect the king. He believed it to be his duty.”

  “Ah, that sounds right for Bruno, but not flattering to you. Lovely as you are, I can see that you might hold a small grudge.” Audris smiled. “But you, why did you agree?”

  We were both at peace then, but the question, lightly asked and showing no awareness of my helplessness, set off a wave of bitterness in me. I told her everything except how I had tried to kill her brother and my fear that he was the one who had taken my last two, my dearest, from me. Audris never said a word, nor did she ever show whether or not she believed I had been mad, but midway in my tale she left the loom and took her babe into her arms. And when I was done she gave the child to me, still without a word. He was so soft and warm. I had held Eric before, but not when I felt that blood should flow from my eyes instead of tears. I cannot describe the comfort and the terror I felt, for I was well aware how few babes lived to be men and women. Yet despite my fear of new loss and pain, a craving came into me for a child, a craving so strong that it pushed out all other feeling, even my grief.

  It was then that I recalled that Bruno had said a child would be a strong reason for the king to grant Ulle to us, and I began to reconsider my refusal to couple with him. After all, what did it matter who the father was? I knew Papa had not cared which of his sons sired the heir to Ulle nor on what woman the child was sired, so long as his grandchild would hold the lands. Well, my child would carry Papa’s blood as well as that of my brothers. Moreover, the more I considered the matter the more clear it became to me that I was not as young as most girls are when they marry so I could ill afford to wait much longer. Also, if the king granted Ulle to Bruno and Bruno died—I made myself think those three words despite my reluctance—would not the king disseise me as he had done before? Me, yes; Bruno’s child, no.

  Such were the reasons that came and went in my head over the next ten days. The ideas did not come all together as they are written, but in bits and pieces, so perhaps I really did not see where they were leading…or would not let myself see. I am not sure about that. What I am sure about is the effect Audris’s relationship to Hugh was having on me. By their manner and words to one another, they stripped away every ugly implication I had ever heard given to lust. Whether they tossed crude jests at each other or touched in tenderness or simply looked, the joy of his manhood and her womanhood was plain as the light of a torch in a small, dark room. They understood each other; they shared all things large and small; but whether it was Audris telling Hugh of Eric’s little ways or Hugh speaking to Audris of a necessary purchase of cattle, the red warmth of their passion underlit each word and gesture.

  They were more open about the joy their bodies gave them than Mildred and Donald had been—at least, more open before me—but it was the same magic as I had seen in my own dear ones. I had desired to know it then—that was why I had never told Papa that I did not wish to marry, although I knew he wanted me to say it—and I desired it again now. But now I need only reach out my hand and take what had been forbidden fruit before I had a husband. Yet if I found the magic and took it into my heart, was that not treachery to my dead? On the other hand, if I could not find the treasure with Bruno, that would free me from him completely. So, was it not reasonable to try that path of escape from my desire for him since I could find no other way?

  If this reasoning does not seem at all reasonable, I must agree, but I was in a ferment that was not conducive to clear thinking. Each time Hugh cupped Audris’s breast in his hand, mine swelled and tingled; his lips on her nape as she bent over Eric’s cradle, caused a crawling up and down my spine. Other gestures made me fight to sit still without squirming. Fortunately, Audris and Hugh were so absorbed in each other that I believe they were totally unaware they were torturing me. Of course, I masked my response as well as I could, and Eadyth and Marie, if they noticed at all were either indifferent or repelled, but I barely restrained myself from dragging Bruno off to bed as soon as he rode in, and I did kiss him in greeting more warmly than was my habit.

  His smile, startled and doubtful, presented me with a problem I had not considered in all my thinking. How was I to show Bruno I had changed my mind? I would choke if I tried to tell him in words. I could not! I would rather go celibate to my grave.

  I am afraid that although I may have seemed to listen with interest to Bruno’s report on Aumale’s campaign and the reactions of the men to whom he had carried Stephen’s thanks and rewards, I learned very little from what he said. I remained in this quandary without the shadow of an idea all afternoon, appalled to discover that although I knew myriad ways to soothe quarrels among men, winkle secrets out of them, and induce them to agree to my notions of what was right in household and, sometimes, even political matters, I had not the faintest idea of how to lead a man into coupling with me. A few times I touched Bruno, stroking the back of his arm where Hugh and Audris would not see, but he pushed his leg against me impatiently, so I moved away. I suppose it was too soon to try to signal my willingness, but even later when I tried again in different ways, Bruno seemed too immersed in his political talk to be bothered with me—and the more I thought about how to get his attention, the greater my desire became.

  It was only after the evening meal and after the two older ladies had withdrawn from where we still sat near the fire, for the evenings were growing chill as October advanced, that I realized the topic of conversation had changed. I was startled into attention by an explosion, half laughter and half exasperated expletive, from Hugh.

  “No,” he went on, “I mean yes, of course my Christian name is Hugh, but it is also the name of my family. My father was Kenorn of Heugh—a place not far from here. So Heugh and its manors are mine as well as Ruthsson and Trewick and some smaller farms. Well, Ruthsson is really my Uncle Ralph’s, but he has neither the will nor the desire to manage the land and rule the people. I am embarrassed by riches, in land if not in anything else.”

  Bruno laughed. “A pleasant embarrassment.”

  The laugh was not forced and now that I had been dragged from my purely selfish concern, I recalled Bruno’s misery when he left Jernaeve. It cannot have healed any more than my wounds were healed, but like mine his no longer bled unless they were touched. I realized too that Audris must have heard and remembered every word I said, even the few I expended on my first horror at the idea of seeing some stranger in my father’s place. Unlike our first evening, Hugh sat with us on the benches. Sir Oliver’s chair had been set aside on the dais, so there was nothing to remind Bruno every moment of his loss and he was at ease.

  “Pleasant or not, it is an embarrassment,” Hugh replied. “Ruthsson is not much of a problem. A really good bailiff to oversee the land is all that will be needed for a few years. Once the place begins to pay, I might go on with the work my grandfather started and build a real keep there, but that is for the future. Heugh is different. That is a strong place. Not like Jernaeve, but still stone built and as strong as Alnwick. There I need a man I can trust. Would you take it on, Bruno?”

  I had almost drifted back to my private problem, but my attention was renewed by that last question.

  “I?” Bruno was clearly distressed, thinking he had been asked to do a service by his friend. “Hugh, you know I cannot, at least not for longer than a month. I am now Knight of the Body to the king. I must return to my service before Christmas.”

  “I did not mean tomorrow,” Hugh said. “I have a man there now who can defend the place, and it is close enough for me to ride over for a day or two to deal with the people on the land. But Pierre is a mercenary, and I do not want him to begin to think Heugh is his. Can you not tell Stephen that your sister’s husband has offered you vassalage—”

  “Vassalage!”

  Bruno’s eyes flew to
me, and I knew at once that he was asking me whether I still feared to return to Ulle. Vassalage was a far different matter than holding a keep as castellan. A vassal held the land as his own and that land could be inherited by his children. If Bruno held Heugh as a vassal, we would be secure and free of dependency on the king and queen. But in the brief moment that our eyes locked, I saw Ulle nestled in the small valley carved out above the tarn; I saw Ullswater, dancing and sparkling in the sunshine, grey and sullen under a drift of rain, dark and deadly under a swathe of white mist.

  “Ulle—” I whispered.

  Bruno shook his head and looked from Hugh to Audris with such love that my throat ached. “So good you are to me, to rob your own child for my sake. I cannot take—”

  “Nonsense!” Audris exclaimed. “Eric will have more than enough, and the others I hope will follow him also. Besides,” she added, a touch of bitterness in her voice, “all that land seems to bring now is a need to defend it with blood.”

  “There is another reason also,” Bruno said. “Did not Melusine tell you she was disseised of lands in Cumbria? I have good hope of convincing the king to enfeoff me with those lands. What Stephen did was just, but Melusine was not at fault, and I will vouch for her future loyalty. What is more, the lands add little or nothing to the king’s income, so I hope—”

  “It is not impossible,” Hugh agreed. “Old King Henry would never disgorge anything, particularly land swallowed for what he called treason.” Hugh must have caught some flicker of movement that marked my unease, and he smiled at me. “I am passing no judgment, Melusine; what old Henry called treason might be anything from trying to overthrow the throne to sneezing at the wrong time, if you had something he wanted.”

  “But Stephen is different,” Bruno pointed out. “He is generous at heart, and nothing pleases him as much as giving and making others happy.”