by Claudia Dain
William also had left certain things unsaid with Cathryn. When he and Rowland left, they did not head for the wood on the Greneforde side of the river Brent. Instead, they made for Lambert's former holding.
* * *
The clouds of dawn had fulfilled their promise. The day was full of rain. It came down gently but steadily, soaking the already wet earth and swelling the brooks, flooding the banks of the river Brent. Yet they had crossed it easily, perhaps because they had no thought of being dissuaded by mere water, and now sat mounted on their shivering horses, surveying Lambert's legacy.
It was a motte and bailey fortification, or had been, the walls all of wood. One wall was ashes now, long since cold. The roof was half gone; fractured timbers, charred and black, struck into the gray sky.
It was naught but a ruin.
Lambert would claim it not, not with Greneforde and her stone walls so near at hand.
Rowland and William shared the thought, though not the words.
Movement and a heavy grunting in what was once a cultivated field caused both heads to turn toward the sound and hands to go to swords. It was no man, but a boar of immense size rooting for food in that deserted place. William smiled with cold satisfaction. He would have his meat for Cathryn and he had not had to hunt for it; it had come to him handily.
Pulling forth his spear, William took aim with a steady hand and let fly. It struck the beast in the shoulder. Enraged, the beast charged, his eyes red, the blood running in a stream down his leg to the rain-soaked earth underneath his feel. It was a sight to strike fear in any man, for only the bravest hunted the wild boar. He was a ruthless and fearless killer, striking with his sharp tusks whatever was at hand, and could rip the bowels out of a man with but a few slashing cuts.
William le Brouillard faced his quarry with a cool eye; if the beast had been blessed with more reason, he would have stopped his headlong charge and reconsidered his adversary. But he had no such reason. He was a wild beast, nothing more.
In one motion, William dismounted and pulled his sword free, the metal glinting dully in the heavy air. He stood his ground as the very earth shook with the pounding of five hundred pounds of blood-maddened animal. William's eyes glinted, matching the deathly glimmer of his blade. He waited.
The beast was upon him, and with a swift turn William sliced downward at the base of the neck, breaking it with the force of his blow. The boar dropped at his feet, dead in an instant.
William raised his sword again to the sky, the rain mixing with the blood and coursing down the blade in ever-widening rivulets of red. With a mighty hack, he separated the head from the body and kicked it away. It rolled into the debris that was all that remained of Lambert's bailey.
Rowland watched all in silence—amused silence.
"You did not miss with your throw."
"Nay," William agreed.
"You could have killed him cleanly had you aimed for the lung."
"Yea, 'tis so."
Rowland watched as William quickly slit the carcass and blooded the animal, staining the thick mud at his feet a richer shade of brown.
"Boar's head is fine eating," Rowland remarked casually. "You have thrown the best away."
"Nay, he was too ugly to eat," William disagreed, cleaning the blood from his sword on the wet grass a few paces away from the killing site. "We must make do with the body."
"You are covered in blood," Rowland observed as William remounted. "You will most likely want a bath when we return to Greneforde."
A vision of Cathryn bending over his body, the heat of the water dampening the hair that framed her face, rose before him. He and his wife had shared the image of such a scene before and it had rocked her composure; how much better might be the reality of her touching him? All of him.
William smiled and urged his horse into a canter.
"I most certainly will."
Chapter 13
Again Cathryn was in the storeroom in the undercroft, as she had been at the same time the day before. This day she did not spend her time on the precious seed that William had brought as part of his bride price. This day she studied the cloth. It could not stay long in such damp surroundings or it would molder. It was only sensible of her to inspect and tally what had been gifted to her through marriage and to determine where it would be stored on a permanent basis.
Though Greneforde had once been prosperous, she could not remember a day when they had possessed cloth such as this. It was most fine. The fabrics were rolled and stored in a large chest, glistening richly even in the dim light of the storeroom. Cathryn did not dare hold her taper near them for fear that a falling ember would burn a hole. Setting the taper in a holder on the wall, she cautiously drew near the open chest, afraid to touch the splendor at her fingertips, yet helpless not to. There were silks and sarcenets and baldachins and they were cool to the touch.
Gathering her resolve, she lifted a brilliant azure from the pile. Even the summer sky did not have such a hue. With it came a rich acajou, rivaling the lush brown of freshly turned fields, and then a shimmering aureate. She let it cascade against the azure and it looked like nothing less than the sun against a cloudless sky. Beneath the aureate was ebon, and she thought how well the color matched her husband's hair; it might make a fine tunic, though it was an unusual color for such a choice. Then cordwain followed by burnet and then bure; all shades of brown from deepest red to yellow. All beautiful. And then she saw, at the bottom of the pile, a rich scarlet silk with golden thread. It was in her hands and at her cheek before she realized what she intended.
"'Tis called acca, from the city of Acre," Father Godfrey said.
"Your pardon," Cathryn said quickly, dropping the cloth.
"Silk woven with gold thread—'tis called acca," he repeated, misunderstanding her.
"'Tis most fine," she said calmly. "'Twould make a kingly mantle for William, would it not?"
"It would," he agreed pleasantly.
"Your pardon. Father, for having to delay the reading of the funeral mass."
"There is no need to apologize, Cathryn. It can just as easily be performed after today's meal." Godfrey smiled into her solemn face. "Have not the dead all eternity, where a thousand years is as a day?"
"'Tis odd." She frowned, absently fingering the scarlet acca so near her hand. "William said much the same to me."
Godfrey smiled broadly and approached the chest, smoothing the cloth with his hand.
"It pleases me that some of God's Holy Word has penetrated William's skull after so much effort."
"You have been with him long?" she asked almost shyly.
"Many years, though not until he had departed Damascus. I have known Rowland longer."
"Then you did not know him as a child," she said, a little disappointed.
"Nay, I did not, but I know of his childhood, short as it was."
Her expression was so hopeful and so wistful as she stood there caressing the scarlet cloth that Godfrey decided to tell her what he knew of William le Brouillard without betraying any trust. Knowing more of her husband might help her to soften toward him; that she was curious he took as an excellent portent.
"His Father lost his lands to Matilda's man, he of Anjou, and died in the process," Godfrey began. "William, just a lad of less than ten and two, began his knight's training while his mother and sister traveled the land, staying with first one relation and then another, staying long enough for hospitality to sour."
"I did not know he had a sister," Cathryn murmured.
"Yea, and he loved her much, though he did not see her often, for he had his obligations to uphold. In time, the wandering from home to home weakened his mother to the point of death." After a pause, he added, "She died before William could return."
"How sad," Cathryn said softly.
"Yea, sad for them both, for William felt driven to earn his accolade at an early age so that he could support his sister with his knightly feats."
"And did he?"
"Oh, aye, he won his spurs before the age of ten and eight, in part because the knight he squired under was a harsh man and prodded those he trained with a steel tip."
"Please continue," Cathryn prompted when Father Godfrey had been silent for many minutes, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.
"He rode as swiftly as angels about God's will to his sister's side... but too late."
"Why too late?"
Father Godfrey blinked and swallowed before answering, and his tone was reluctant.
"She died just hours after his arrival, lying near death even as he rode through the gate. She died in his arms."
Cathryn absorbed that. Truly, her husband had known sorrow in this world. He had known sorrow, yet his spirit had not been dulled.
"Her name?"
Godfrey looked deeply into Cathryn's eyes, pleased with the compassion he saw there.
"Margret."
Cathryn nodded. Margret would be included in the mass.
"'Twas after burying her that William departed for Damascus."
Where he could so easily have died. After all, what had he to live for? Why, he had lived to find a home. He had lived for Greneforde.
Father Godfrey noted that Cathryn had not stopped fingering the scarlet acca, though she seemed unaware of it.
"The cloth would flatter you, Cathryn," he observed quietly.
Again, with a start, Cathryn dropped the fabric.
"'Tis an odd remark for a priest to make," she said.
Godfrey smiled and replaced a bolt of vivid cloth.
"God did not see fit to take my eyesight when I gave Him my vows, and for that I am grateful."
"You are an unusual priest," Cathryn pointed out, helping him to reorder the bolts.
"And you are not the first to remark upon it," he answered. "The scarlet suits you, Cathryn. William would be pleased to see you in it."
All the cloth had been replaced, all except the scarlet acca. She dropped it as if burned.
Father Godfrey smiled again and left as softly as he had come. When he was gone, Cathryn again picked up the scarlet. She could not seem to stop herself, and if Father Godfrey was correct, she might not need to try.
She touched just a corner and then an arm's length. It was not long before the fabric was unrolled and draped over her shoulders. Cathryn looked down longingly at its vivid color and blazing warmth, and twirled to catch a glimpse of it spinning out behind her.
Would William like her in the scarlet? It was hardly possible that she could look less appealing than with the faded castor gray she now wore. In the scarlet, she felt... she felt...
Cathryn dropped the cloth into the chest and hurriedly closed it before rushing from the room in search of Marie. She would probably find her in the company of Ulrich. With a vision of herself swathed in the glimmering red, Cathryn hurried on. She needed an excuse to keep Marie away from Ulrich anyway.
* * *
It was the sound of giggling that alerted her, coming from the corner where the kitchen wall met the wooden wall of the enclosure. It was a well-shaded spot and nearly black on a day such as this. The rain had stopped, but looked ready to return again before dusk. It was a dreary day—hardly a day to be standing in the mud, giggling.
Rounding the corner, Cathryn was taken aback at the sight that met her eyes.
A buxom young woman with bright blue eyes and glossy brown hair was trapped, so very willingly trapped, within the outstretched arms of Ulrich. Marie! He had her pinned within the corner, her back against the wall, his arms planted on either wall to hold her in a very warm cage. And she was laughing! Marie, washed and wearing clean clothes, had been transformed into a pleasing-looking woman. And under Ulrich's appreciative eye and glib tongue, her manner had been transformed as well. The timid girl was gone. A coquette had supplanted her.
"Ulrich!" Cathryn began, and had the satisfaction of seeing him drop his arms and spin to face her, a blush rushing up from his throat. "You have time to waste, it seems, for this is the second time today that I have caught you idle. If your lord does not have enough tasks to keep you busy, then mayhap he will lend your strong back to me. Under my eye you will find the day passes quickly, and you will yearn for the rest the night brings."
"Lady, your pardon," Ulrich answered, "but time spent with Marie is not time wasted. Indeed, it is the reason for my rising each day and the curse of my sleeping at night, for then I must be absent from her and only await the dawning—"
"Yea, Ulrich, I understand," Cathryn interrupted. "You like Marie."
"Ah, lady." He sighed, casting his eyes to the smiling object of his discourse. "Do I 'like' to breathe? Does the hawk 'like' to hunt? Does a knight 'like' to battle? Nay, she is the reason for my existence, and without a smile from her, my day is as black as if there were no sun in the sky to light our way."
"You have little reason to worry that there will be no sun," Cathryn noted, fighting a smile, "as Marie smiles often when you are near. But begone; I have a greater need of her than you," she commanded.
"Yea, Lady Cathryn," he acquiesced, moving off. He looked backward at the object of his affection so often that Cathryn wondered that he did not fall facedown in the mud. As lovestruck as he was, he most likely would not notice if he did.
"Now, Marie," she said when they were alone, "I have decided to make use of one of the bolts that my lord brought to our marriage. I need your help."
"Yea, lady, I will help, and gladly," Marie answered eagerly.
With brisk steps, they were at the chest in the storeroom. When Cathryn lifted the heavy lid and Marie saw the shining scarlet in the flickering light, she gasped in pleasure.
"Oh, lady, 'twill make you glow as bright as fire flame!"
"You think it not too bold for me?" Cathryn asked, suddenly unsure of her course. She had never worn anything brighter than citron all the years of her life.
"Oh, nay, nay," Marie argued, "'tis all the fashion for ladies of rank to wear colors bright and bold."
Cathryn smiled in amusement, "And how is it that you know more of fashion than I? We who have not left the walls of Greneforde for endless seasons?"
Marie blushed lightly and answered, "'Tis Ulrich who told me."
"Believe all Ulrich tells you and you plot your own heartbreak."
"I do not believe all he tells me, only, why should he prevaricate upon the subject of women's fashion?"
Cathryn chuckled and began to gather the cloth in her hands.
"I do not know as to that, but I will say that it is wise to consider the 'whys' of whatever he whispers in your ear."
"Or proclaims to his lord's lady?"
Cathryn stopped in surprise. Marie? Parrying words with her? Truly a transformation had been achieved, and with a few kind words from a romantic squire.
"I am learning that I do not need to counsel you, Marie." Cathryn laughed lightly as Marie closed the chest. "Mayhap you should counsel me? The cloth," she specified, "how shall we fashion it?"
The upward climb to the solar was achieved on light feet as they discussed how the cloth should be cut and sewn.
"Ulrich has told me that fashion is running to long and slender for ladies of the French nobility," Marie said, sitting on a stool in the well-lit room and running loving fingers over the scarlet acca. "Perfect for you. Lady Cathryn."
"In what manner do they fashion the sleeve? Or did Ulrich forget to mention that particular?" Cathryn teased, enjoying herself immensely despite the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
"Aye, lady, he told me, for 'tis different than the English sleeve. It is worn so long that the ends must be knotted to keep them from dragging on the floor, and also the width is cut fuller."
"And better?"
Marie blushed. "He did imply so."
"It is queenly fabric and should be worked to its own best advantage, but I am English and will wear an English sleeve," Cathryn stated, ending all talk of sleeves.
"What will you use as mantle, Lady Cathryn?"
"I had given it little thought," she admitted. "Let us begin with the acca and move to the subject of the mantle as we are ready."
Cathryn had just laid out the fabric to determine the line of cut when Kendall requested admittance to the solar. He showed his breeding. A man did not enter the solar except by express invitation of the ladies present. Cathryn quickly stood in front of the flaming fabric and bade him enter. For reasons unknown to her, she did not want all within the walls of Greneforde to know she was fashioning a new garment for herself. And out of William's cloth.
"Lady Cathryn! William and Rowland have returned from the hunt lugging a large boar between them!"
There was naught to say to that. Boar was a vicious adversary and therefore rarely was its taste enjoyed. The three rushed from the room and down the stairs, eager to witness such a glad homecoming.
William was dismounting as they hurried from the stair tower. He was covered in blood and grinning from ear to ear.
"Our lord had gone a-hunting and come back heavier than when he set out!" Tybon joked loudly amid the general noise.
"Would you have him come back the lighter?" Alys laughed.
"Nay, for that would make us all the lighter! In our stomachs!" Lan supplied, and his remark brought gales of laughter from the crowd for his saucy wit.
"His person should not look lighter, as with one who has expended great effort," Rowland said with a rare smile, and loudly enough for all to hear, "for he did but little to bring down the beast, which was rooting peaceably in a field."
"Little, you say? Why, is he not a monstrous big beast and am I not covered in blood?" William demanded good-naturedly.
"Aye to both, but the most strenuous work done by you this day was in the carting of him back to Greneforde!"
"Spoken by the man who did none of the first and little of the second." William laughed, pointing his finger at Rowland accusingly.
"And so they bicker," Lan said with a smile to show his true intent, "while the heaviest work is yet to come."
"The heaviest work?" William laughed. "You make light of my accomplishment? To face down an enraged boar, for I assure you, he did not welcome the spear that pierced him, is no light encounter."
