by Alys Clare
He was looking at me as if waiting for my thoughts to run their course. Then, leaning close and speaking quietly, he said, ‘I am concerned about our mysterious veiled lady, and I sense that there is much going on that we do not know.’ He paused. ‘I may be wrong, but I will not risk your safety.’
‘What about hers?’ I whispered back.
His mouth twisted down in a wry grimace. ‘Whatever trouble she may be in, she has probably brought it on herself. You, on the other hand, are involved purely because you wish to help.’
I’m not sure how I would have answered that. Fortunately, I didn’t have to. There was a clatter of hooves on the road leading from the bridge, and one of Jack’s deputies appeared, leading two horses. One was a grey gelding, its pale, silky mane and tail catching the light breeze, its wide, dark eyes eager and interested. It went straight to Jack, and he put his face to its nose, quietly murmuring its name, which sounded like Pegasus. It was clearly his horse; without doubt, he was its man.
My horse was a black mare. She was small and neatly made, with lines that suggested excellent blood. I stepped up to her and gently patted the graceful curve of her neck. She gave a low whicker.
‘Her name’s Isis,’ Jack said. My delight must have been obvious, and he was smiling at me. ‘Mount up, and Mattie can hand the child to you. Then –’ he glanced up at the sky, where the clear light of morning was slowly being overtaken by gathering cloud – ‘we’d better be on our way.’
We were lucky with the weather. September was marching on and we weren’t far from the equinox, which so often brings violent storms. Although rain threatened for most of the journey, however, we didn’t receive more than a brief shower, during which the veiled woman insisted we sheltered in a copse of fir trees. The lady didn’t want to get her finery wet.
Jack Chevestrier had packed food and drink, and we stopped when the sun was at its zenith to consume it. The baby – Leafric; I was trying to remember to whisper his name to him as I tended him – had been asleep in my arms, soothed by the smooth pace of my lovely horse, but woke hungry when we stopped. Mattie had fed him before we left, and had prepared soft bread sops soaked in her milk for the journey. Leafric was reluctant at first, but, driven by increasing desperation and catching the familiar smell of Mattie, finally ate. I cleaned him up as best I could, then put him back in the cradle I had fashioned for him from my shawl. He burped, blinked his eyes a few times, then fell asleep again.
By early afternoon, we were close to Aelf Fen. I was amazed at how much faster the journey was achieved on a good horse. We were taking the veiled lady to Lakehall, the residence of Lord Gilbert and his wife, Lady Emma; nowhere else in Aelf Fen was suitable for a noblewoman. Jack, apparently, knew of Lord Gilbert. I wondered if he was aware that, while a basically kind man, Lord Gilbert carries the fat of over-indulgence, is indolent and not very bright, and that the brains of the family rest, along with a good heart, with Lady Emma.
As my mind leapt ahead to riding up to Lakehall and presenting our foreign companion, I hissed to Jack, ‘We don’t know her name!’
Jack frowned. ‘I’ve asked her, but she’s reluctant.’ As if making up his mind that he’d had enough of her nonsense, he drew rein, waited until the veiled woman came up beside him, then said firmly, ‘Madam, we shall shortly arrive at the house of Lord Gilbert de Caudebec, who we hope will welcome you as his guest. Lord Gilbert will help you locate your kinsmen.’
She studied him with her usual cool-eyed stare, but made no reply.
‘You have so far refused to reveal your name, and, out of courtesy to a stranger, I have not pressed you,’ he went on. ‘Now I must insist. You cannot be presented to Lord Gilbert as an anonymous foreigner, and, in addition, he will need to know your family name if he is to help you.’ He paused, and I had the sense he was controlling rising irritation, if not anger. Then he said abruptly, ‘Speak, please, madam.’
The veiled lady gave an over-dramatic sigh, and in a tone of resignation, as if she was being forced to accede to a totally unreasonable demand, said grandly, ‘I am Rosaria Dalassena, widow of Hugo Guillaume Fensmanson.’
None of the names meant anything to me, although the family name Fensmanson supported the woman’s claim to have kin hereabouts. Well, not her own kin; it was her late husband’s family she sought. That seemed reasonable enough. Widowed, and left with no one to support her and her child, she had abandoned the faraway place where she had met and married her husband and made her way to England, to seek out his kin. You had to admire her courage. Perhaps she had been driven by desperation …
Jack was studying the woman with a frown. ‘Dalassena?’ he said softly. Her eyes shot to him, their expression hard and challenging, as if daring him to question her further. ‘Let us ride on, then, Lady Rosaria.’ His tone was carefully neutral. Nudging his heels into the grey’s sides, he led the way on down the track.
We came into Aelf Fen from the south, having followed the road that curves round the lower limits of the fens. Lakehall was the first dwelling we came to. I pointed it out, and Jack stopped to study the place.
I have known it all my life, but I tried to see it as a newcomer would. The house had been built by Lord Gilbert’s father, Ralf de Caudebec, who had fought with the Conqueror and been awarded the manor of Lakehall as reward. The estate rose up to the eastern side of the track, a mixture of arable land on the higher, drier ground, and waterlogged marsh – rich in eels – out on the fens. The house and its outbuildings were surrounded by a paling fence, and the house itself boasted a wide hall, a solar and extensive kitchen quarters. Lord Gilbert was very fond of his food.
We set off up the drive. ‘The reeve will receive us,’ I said to Jack. ‘His name’s Bermund. He’s not exactly a cheerful, outgoing sort of man –’ my younger brother Squeak had once said the reeve looked like an anxious rat – ‘but he’s fair.’
Jack nodded. ‘Anything else I should know?’
‘Lord Gilbert’s lazy and not very quick-witted.’ I lowered my voice. ‘If you can enlist Lady Emma’s sympathies, the job’s done.’
He nodded again. ‘Thank you.’
We clattered into the courtyard, our horses’ hooves announcing our presence. A lad poked his head out of the arched entrance to the stables, and someone else ran up the flight of stone steps into the hall. Bermund appeared in the doorway.
He studied each of us, his eyes resting on me. ‘You’re the eel-catcher’s daughter. The healer girl,’ he said.
‘I am,’ I agreed.
His glance went back to Jack, then to Lady Rosaria. ‘What do you want?’ He fixed me with a stare. ‘Who are these people?’
I opened my mouth to speak, but Jack forestalled me. ‘My name is Jack Chevestrier,’ he said, ‘and I am an officer of the sheriff of Cambridge. This is the lady Rosaria Dalassena, widow of the late Hugo Guillaume Fensmanson, and she has come here to seek her husband’s kinsfolk, bringing with her his child.’
Bermund’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What has this to do with Lord Gilbert?’
‘The family whom Lady Rosaria seeks are fenland people,’ Jack said firmly, ‘and she needs help in finding them.’
Bermund looked as if he’d like nothing better than to shut the great door in our faces. But observance of the old rules of courtesy, hospitality and chivalry to ladies in distress goes deep. He said curtly, ‘Wait there,’ and disappeared inside the hall.
He reappeared a short time later. ‘You’re to come up.’ He summoned the pair of stable boys who had been watching, wide-eyed, from the courtyard, and they hurried forward. Lady Rosaria, Jack and I dismounted, and the lads took our horses. Just then, the baby gave a start – the movement had woken him – and let out a shrill cry. The cry swiftly escalated to a steady scream of protest: Leafric was ravenous.
I made an apologetic face at Jack. ‘He won’t stop till he’s fed, and there’s no more of Mattie’s bread sops,’ I said above the yelling. ‘I’ll take him straight to Edild. She’s bo
und to know of a wet-nurse, and, in the meantime, she’ll feed him.’
I turned and, on foot since there was nowhere at Edild’s house to care for a horse, set off back towards the track, all other thoughts and preoccupations dissolving in the face of Leafric’s mounting distress. His little body had stiffened in outrage, his mouth formed a gaping square, and his face was screwed up and bright red. Jack called after me, ‘Where will you be?’
‘I’ll stay at my aunt’s house,’ I called back. ‘Go on towards the village, past the church, and it’s the next house on the right.’
Then, clutching Leafric close, I broke into a jogtrot and hurried away.
FIVE
Edild exhibited no surprise at my sudden arrival with a screaming baby in my arms. Typically, it was his needs she addressed first, warming some milk over the hearth and dipping in some small pieces of bread. ‘He is presumably in need of a wet-nurse,’ she said in the sudden, blessed silence.
‘Yes.’
Leafric was on her lap, gazing up at her as he sucked at the bread, his gummy jaws mumbling like an old man’s. She glanced up at me over the top of his head. ‘And are there the means to pay such a woman?’
I explained about Lady Rosaria. ‘She paid the woman I found for her in Cambridge,’ I concluded. Mattie, I recalled, had told me Jack Chevestrier made quite sure Lady Rosaria rewarded her adequately.
Edild nodded. ‘The smith’s wife had a baby two months ago,’ she said. ‘It’s her fourth, and she has ample milk. I will ask her.’
I didn’t answer. I was watching Leafric, and wishing that the woman who had given birth to him was a little more maternal. A little more loving. Well, that was how it was with rich noblewomen, and nothing I thought or felt would make any difference. ‘What is it?’ Edild asked.
I remembered, then, the other reason for bringing Lady Rosaria to Aelf Fen. ‘Do you remember the woman who took against her baby?’ I asked. I’d lowered my voice, as if I didn’t want poor little Leafric to overhear. Silly, really.
‘Yes.’
‘You helped her.’
Edild sighed. ‘Time helped her, Lassair. As the days and weeks passed, she came to her senses and realized that her little girl needed her.’
‘Then you can do the same with Lady Rosaria!’ I exclaimed. ‘You can do what you did before, and—’
But my aunt shook her head. ‘It’s not the same at all. The woman who bore this child hasn’t been brought up to be a mother, except in the sense that she conceived, carried and gave birth to him. High-born ladies are not expected to have anything to do with their offspring. Child-rearing duties are put into the hands of others, paid for their services.’
‘I know, but—’
‘No, Lassair,’ Edild said firmly. ‘Where is Lady Rosaria now?’
‘Up at Lakehall. She’s trying to trace her late husband’s kin. She says he was from a fenland family.’
‘Then no doubt Lord Gilbert – or, more likely, Lady Emma in conjunction with that reeve of theirs – will help her, and, before we know it, Lady Rosaria and her son –’ she looked down at the baby, one hand gently stroking his head – ‘will be swept away into the bosom of her family, and that will be the last we’ll ever see of her.’ She looked up at me, her expression intent. ‘Don’t get involved, Lassair. She’s not like us, and she lives in a very different world.’
‘So you won’t go and see her?’
‘If Lord Gilbert sends for me because his guest requires my assistance, then yes, naturally I will. Otherwise, no.’
Then she picked Leafric up and put him against her shoulder, rhythmically rubbing his back. ‘Now, I shall go and speak to the smith’s wife. That bread and milk has satisfied him for the time being, but he’ll be yelling again soon if we can’t find him what he really wants.’
She stood up, and I knew the discussion had come to an end. I gazed down at my hands, folded in my lap. I felt very miserable suddenly.
As Edild passed me on her way to the door, she put her hand on the top of my head. ‘Don’t be sad,’ she said softly. ‘He’ll be all right.’ Then she was gone.
I sat there for some time. Yes, Leafric was going to be well-fed and cared for – providing the smith’s wife was willing – but that didn’t necessarily mean he would be all right. His mother didn’t love him: how could he be all right?
It’s the same for all children born into nobility, I told myself. Why, then, was I so disturbed about this particular one? I didn’t think it was personal – although, in truth, he was a very appealing baby – since I’d only known him a matter of days. Sitting there by Edild’s hearth, I tried to analyse my feelings.
And, all at once, I knew what it was.
In my head, I heard Mattie’s voice. He’s sad, she said. He just lies there, staring around, for all the world as if he’s looking for something, and can’t let himself drop off till he’s spotted it. And the look on that dear child’s face! Oh, it fair twists my heart.
Yes. I knew exactly what she meant, and it twisted my heart, too.
What was troubling me so much was that, somehow, I knew this little boy had experienced love. Someone – presumably the nurse who had cared for him on the journey and who now appeared to have left Lady Rosaria’s employ – had shown him what it was to be cared for with tenderness and consideration.
And, bless him, he missed it.
All at once my sorrow at the ways of the world overcame me. I dropped my face into my hands and wept.
I had managed to pull myself together by the time Edild returned. The smith’s wife had agreed to care for Leafric while Lady Rosaria was in residence at Lakehall.
I got up. ‘I’ll go and tell her,’ I said. I couldn’t summon much enthusiasm for the task. ‘I’ll call by to see my parents before I come back,’ I added, wrapping myself in my shawl. When I’m in the village, I live with Edild; besides the fact that I work with her and it’s better to be on the spot, one less body in my family’s home definitely eases the overcrowding.
‘Very well,’ Edild said calmly.
Even if Lady Rosaria appeared indifferent concerning the arrangements for her infant son, others at Lakehall were anxious to hear. Perhaps I did her an injustice; perhaps it was she who had dispatched Bermund to keep an eye out for my return. He ushered me inside the great hall, where Lady Emma sat peacefully sewing beside the fire. She looked up and gave me a smile.
‘I would judge by the fact that you no longer bear a child in your arms, Lassair, that you have been successful?’ she said.
I returned her smile. I like Lady Emma. ‘Yes, my lady. My aunt Edild found a woman willing to act as wet-nurse, and Leafric is with her now.’
‘She’s welcome to come and live here while she is in Lady Rosaria’s employ,’ Lady Emma said. ‘Lady Rosaria may wish to have the baby close.’
I gave a sort of snort of disbelief: it just burst out of me before I could stop it. Lady Emma studied me for a moment, and I thought I could guess what she was thinking. Tactfully, she made no comment. After a short pause, she said, ‘Lord Gilbert and Jack Chevestrier are already thinking how to set about finding the lady’s kinsmen. She is providing what information she can, although it appears to be rather sparse.’
‘Where has she come from?’ I asked. ‘From her colouring and her style, she seems to be a woman of the south.’
Lady Emma gave a graceful shrug. ‘I have no idea. I was not privy to the conversation.’ Again, her eyes met mine, and, from their expression, I would have sworn that her absence from the discussions was entirely her own choice.
I can’t say I blamed her for wanting as little to do with Lady Rosaria as possible.
I said quietly, ‘I am sorry to have brought her here, my lady.’
Again, she shrugged. ‘You had little choice, Lassair. She could scarcely have been left to fend for herself in a Cambridge inn.’ She sighed. ‘Let us hope that Lord Gilbert’s enquiries will swiftly meet with success.’
Then she bent her head over h
er sewing once more, and I sensed myself dismissed.
I was setting out along the road into the village when I heard running footsteps. I stopped, turning round and saw Jack hurrying after me.
‘You’ve found a wet-nurse, I hear,’ he said. He’d just been running, quite hard, and yet he wasn’t at all out of breath.
‘My aunt did. And I hear that you and Lord Gilbert have been planning how to find the lady’s relatives and dispatch her off to them as fast as you can.’
He grinned. ‘Quite right, although I bet Lady Emma didn’t phrase it exactly like that.’
I waited, not speaking. ‘Well?’ he said after a moment. ‘What is it?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ I said. ‘I’m waiting for you to tell me all about her.’
He sighed, falling into step beside me. ‘Not much to tell. She says her husband’s father was a Saxon noble from a wealthy, landowning family, and he left England after the Conquest to set about restoring his fortunes. His name was Harald Fensman, which I suppose we could have surmised, given that her late husband was called Hugo Fensmanson.’
‘It’s the Norse way, to add son on to the father’s family name,’ I said. ‘My—’ I’d been about to tell him that the man I now knew to be my grandfather, Thorfinn Ofnirsson, had the same custom. But I held back; very few people knew that my Granny Cordeilla’s husband had not fathered her third child, my father. Including my father …
‘What?’ Jack asked.
‘Er – nothing. Did she reveal any more?’
‘Not much. She said she’s a widow, which we already knew, and that her husband died earlier this year.’
I gave an exclamation of impatience. ‘If she wants to be helped, surely she needs to be more forthcoming?’
‘I agree,’ he said. ‘So, I think, does Lord Gilbert, although courtesy to his guest prevents him from saying so.’
