A Man of Value

by Anna Markland

  Ram laughed and the warm sound rolled through her. “What will you do now, Lady Ascha?”

  “I’ll return to Shelfhoc with Caedmon and Agneta and help them with the children. I have nowhere else to go, and Shelfhoc is a comfortable manor, big enough for all of us. I thank you for your stewardship of it for all these years.”

  Ram nodded. “I hope you find contentment, milady.”

  “I’ve found it already, Ram. I’m content Caedmon has found happiness with Agneta, and now knows, and is proud of, his true heritage. I no longer have to keep hidden secrets. I will devote myself to being the perfect grandmamma.”

  And I will always love you.

  “I too am a doting grandsire,” he laughed, then sobered. “That’s something else we share, Ascha. They’ll never want for anything. I swear it. I regret the burdens you’ve had to bear alone.”

  “You’re an honourable man, Ram, and I’m confident these children will bring more honour to your name and your household. Caedmon was never a burden.”

  “Have you talked with him since our return?”

  “Only briefly. I couldn’t speak.”

  “He’s waiting for you. Will you take my arm, Lady Ascha, and I’ll escort you to him?”

  Ascha inclined her head, and placed her hand on Ram’s arm. “Thank you, my lord Earl.”

  ~~~

  “Caedmon, forgive me.”

  He took his mother’s hands and pulled her back to her feet.

  “There’s nothing to forgive, mother. Come, sit with me.”

  Ascha sat in the chair by the hearth, facing her son. “But I lied to you. It was my wantonness and lies that almost destroyed you.”

  He leaned forward and took her hand. “I understand why you did what you did. My father told me what happened after Hastings, what it was like—for both of you. I humbly beg your forgiveness for the way I treated you.”

  She looked away. “I deserved it. I was weak.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Look at me.”

  Ascha lifted her eyes.

  “You’ve never been weak, mother. Your courage has made me the person I am.”

  She choked back a sob.

  “What was your husband like?”

  Ascha’s eyes widened with surprise. “He was a brute,” she whispered.

  “He beat you?”

  She shifted uncomfortably and looked away again. “Sometimes, when he was angry. He was a difficult man to please. I found it hard. My father was a warrior, but he was never a violent man. I wasn’t used to it.”

  Caedmon rose, drew his mother up from her chair, put his arms around her trembling shoulders and embraced her. He suspected her husband had not cared much about pleasing her either and his heart ached for her. He understood why his mother had lain with Ram de Montbryce.

  “Don’t cry, mother. I should have known brutality is not solely the purview of Normans. I’m glad I’m not the son of such a man. Better he died at Hastings.”

  Ascha nodded. “You’re a son to be proud of. I’ve never regretted your birth for one moment.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and held her away from him, smiling. “And you’ve no doubt taken secret pleasure from my middle name.”

  She too smiled and blushed. “It was wicked of me. I wanted some small part of you to bear a trace of your real father.”

  “It means more to me now. There’s something else you probably aren’t aware of. The thirteenth day of November is Saint Brice’s Day.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “That’s the day the Battle of Alnwick took place.”

  “Oh, Caedmon.”

  He sensed his mother still loved Ram de Montbryce, and he grieved for her that it was a hopeless love. He silently thanked the saints he was a man whose deep love for his wife was returned in full measure.

  ~~~

  Ram gave orders for a special feast to celebrate everything they had to be thankful for—the Yuletide season, their safe return, the birth of two healthy children, and the reunion of Caedmon and Agneta. The hall was filled with the Ellesmere men-at-arms and their commanders, and local noblemen and women. The aging Trésor, still the doyenne of the kitchens, outdid herself and they feasted on roasted lamb, pigeon pie and trout. Trésor always acknowledged her debt for the secret recipe to the now dead La Cuisinière. The ale and wine flowed freely.

  Caedmon and Agneta proudly carried Aidan and Blythe around for everyone to see. At the end of the meal, Ram stood and raised his hand. The Hall fell silent.

  “This day, it’s my honour to recognize, before all, Sir Caedmon Woolgar as my son. He’s a child begotten of my seed and the body of Lady Ascha Woolgar not long after the battle of Hastings.”

  He nodded to Ascha, who was also seated at the head table. A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd, and they looked at Mabelle, sitting next to Rhoni—both continued to smile regally.

  Ram came down from the dais to stand at the front of the assembled gathering. Baudoin stood at his side, trying to look serious, a rolled and beribboned parchment in his hands.

  “I call Sir Caedmon Woolgar to stand before me.” Ram’s voice was authoritative.

  Caedmon came to stand before his father. Ram looked at this younger replica, the same stance, the same set of the shoulders, the same face.

  “Sir Caedmon.” He paused and coughed, momentarily overcome with emotion.

  “Sir Caedmon, as Baudoin and I travelled with you through many countries this past autumn, we came to know you as a man of courage, honour and fortitude. I’m proud to call you my son, and we welcome you to our family. I bestow upon you the right to bear the name FitzRam.”

  He paused, unsure whether his son would accept the gesture, whether Caedmon understood the enormous honour he was granting him in Norman eyes. An imperceptible nod from Caedmon reassured him, and he continued. “As a token of our love and esteem for you, and your family, I also deed to you the manor houses and estates of Pagham, Tangmere and Slindon in Sussex.”

  With a flourish and a smile, Baudoin handed Caedmon the official document, prepared before they’d left on the quest.

  “I feel I’ve been struck by lightning, and am perhaps imagining all this,” Caedmon said as he broke the seal and unfurled the parchment. He scanned the document then looked at his father.

  “You ceded these lands to me and my family before anyone knew if I would ever return. You wanted to take care of Agneta.”

  Ram nodded.

  Caedmon whispered, “The Romany spoke true.”

  Ram looked at him enquiringly, but Caedmon shook his head.

  Caedmon went down on one knee and his father held out his right arm, palm down, fist clenched. Taking a firm hold on Ram’s wrist with his left hand and placing his right hand over his heart, Caedmon swore his allegiance, keeping his eyes fixed on his father’s face.

  “Since my lord Earl of Ellesmere has asked me to acknowledge to him my fealty and homage for the manors with which he has today gifted me and my heirs, in the name of the Lord, I, Caedmon Brice FitzRam, knight of Ruyton, in the presence of my mother, Lady Ascha, my son Aidan and my daughter Blythe, and my wife, Agneta, my brother, Baudoin, my sister, Rhoni, my lady Countess Mabelle de Montbryce, and of the nobles and other honourable men here gathered to honour our return, and the birth of our children, I acknowledge to you, my lord Rambaud de Montbryce, Earl of Ellesmere, that you are my liege lord—and my father, and I am your loyal man.”

  He took out his sword and handed it, hilt first, to his father, laying the blade across his arm. Ram nodded, took it from him, held it up, turned it and gave it back, never once averting his eyes from Caedmon’s.

  “Let the feasting begin,” the Earl commanded.

  Applause and cheering filled the room.

  ~~~

  “Lady Agneta FitzRam, please come forward.”

  Agneta felt sure everyone in the hall must have heard her gasp as her head shot up in surprise. The Earl of Ellesmere had summoned her to the dais a
s the remains of the meal were being cleared away. She turned in her seat to look at Caedmon for some clue, but he seemed as surprised as she. She rose and walked on unsteady legs to stand in front of the Earl, head bowed.

  “My lord Earl,” she whispered.

  “Lady Agneta, it has come to my attention you are the rightful owner of a manor in Northumbria known as Kirkthwaite Hall.”

  She looked up at the Earl and saw kindness in his eyes. She stole a glance at Caedmon whose expression told her nothing. She cleared her throat. “Kirkthwaite Hall belonged to my parents. It was built by my grandparents.”

  “And you are their only surviving issue?”

  “Yes, with my children.”

  Ram cleared his throat. “I have sent messengers to the King, establishing your right to the manor and all it entails. I’m confident of a positive reply.”

  The tears came unbidden and rolled down Agneta’s cheek. “It’s a ruin,” she choked.

  “I’ve also asked for his assistance in rebuilding the hall and manor house. Rufus will recognize the benefits of a prosperous estate in that area of Northumbria, now Roger de Mowbray has been disgraced and imprisoned. I’m sure you and my son can restore it to its former standing.”

  She looked up again at the Earl. His smile filled her heart and she could barely speak.

  “Thank you seems little to say in return, my lord Earl.”

  Caedmon rose from his chair, nodded to his father and escorted his wife back to her place. Agneta felt his hand tremble at her elbow.

  ~~~

  They’d retired to their chamber. Caedmon sat, gazing at Blythe cradled to his chest. Whenever he looked at the child he couldn’t believe how much she already resembled Agneta. His daughter slept peacefully, unaware of the thudding of her father’s heart as he waited for Agneta to finish reading his codex.

  Finally he heard his wife sigh and plucked up the courage to steal a glance at her and saw her tears. He rose and lay the child carefully in her cradle, then strode over to where Agneta sat, the closed codex on her lap, her hands folded atop it. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. As soon as he touched her, the blood rushed to his groin.

  “Don’t cry, Agneta. I didn’t want to make you sad.”

  “I’m not sad, Caedmon. I’m filled with a happiness that makes me want to weep. You truly love me.”

  He sat down beside her, took her hand and placed it on his erection. “Did you ever doubt it?”

  She giggled. “No. I’m fortunate to have a lusty man like you for a husband.” The smile left her face. “I grieve for the torments and trials you underwent on the Crusade.”

  He put his hand on her thigh. “But the experience made a better man of me, though it hurt you when I left.”

  She put her hand atop his. “But I’m stronger too. I’ve learned not to let my hatred and resentments rule me. I thank God for bringing you back safely to my side.”

  “And our children will perhaps benefit, if we teach them the futility of hatred.”

  She smiled. “The best way to do that is to preserve this book of yours and make sure they read it as they grow older. I’ll make a new cover for it.”

  “And I’ll teach you how to make quills, but first—”

  She screamed with laughter as he pushed her back onto the bed. The codex fell to the floor.

  “Your journal,” she spluttered.

  “Later,” he replied.

  ~~~

  “Caedmon,” Agneta whispered as they lay skin to skin in each other’s arms that night, listening to the steady breathing of their sleeping infants. “Your father has given us the Sussex manors, but when Kirkthwaite Hall is rebuilt, would you want to live there? You’ve said often you would like a piece of Northumbria for yourself.”

  He looked at her with surprise. “I would like that very much. I’m a northerner at heart. And my mother wants to return to Shelfhoc, though she’ll be without a knight.”

  “Leofric will be more than happy to stay there, with his wife.”

  Caedmon sat up abruptly. “His wife?”

  “He and Coventina married.”

  “The devil! Her mother approved?”

  “She didn’t have much choice. Coventina finally stood up for what she wanted.”

  Caedmon lay back down and cradled his wife again, chuckling.

  Agneta put her fingers on his lips. “Will you promise, if we go to Kirkthwaite, to do something for me?”

  “I’ll do anything for you,” he whispered, nibbling her earlobe.

  Agneta rose and went to the armoire. She didn’t unwrap the bundle she retrieved, but knelt on the bed beside Caedmon with it in her hands.

  “I was proud of you this evening as you pledged yourself to your Father. My heart was ready to burst.”

  He sat up, pulling the linens around his hips, his arms resting on his bent knees. “I was proud of myself too. I’m a better man than I was.”

  She paused, trying to gather her thoughts. “When we left the Abbey, Mother Superior gave this to me. You’ve never asked me about it.”

  He looked into her eyes. “I trusted you would tell me.”

  She unfolded the wrapping and held the dagger out to him with both hands, like an offering.

  “It’s a ceremonial dagger,” he said, leaning forward to take hold of the walrus ivory handle, examining the workmanship. “Danish, I think? Someone laboured long over this.”

  “It belonged to my mother, who inherited it from her mother, who received it as a gift from her grandfather. He made it.”

  “Your great, great grandfather,” he calculated.

  “Yes. My mother took her life with it.”

  There was a long awkward silence as he sat looking at the dagger. Finally he raised his eyes to meet her gaze. “After Bolton?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry, Agneta,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Sorry for the pain I caused.”

  She struggled to continue. “At first I refused to take it, but Mother Superior insisted. She told me it’s good to have a reminder of past sorrow.”

  Reaching forward, she took the dagger from his hands, and pressed the point lightly to her breast. “When you left on the Crusade, I intended to take my own life with it.”

  “No, Agneta,” he cried, rising to his knees, trying to wrest the dagger from her.

  She held his warm hand over the cold dagger at her breast as they knelt, their bodies pressed together, the dagger between them. She smiled and shook her head.

  “I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty. I knew then I loved you and didn’t want to live without you. I truly understood, for the first time, something of what my mother felt on that fateful day when she took her life. The dagger brought home to me many things. My pride in my ancestry, my love for you, the sure knowledge you are a good and true man, a noble man, a man of value. When I saw you at Bolton, your actions showed you were sickened by what happened there. The way you cradled Aidan—”

  She pressed her lips together, unable to continue.

  “I’m not worthy of you,” he choked.

  “Caedmon, I’m the one who hasn’t been worthy of you. I insisted on making you feel guilty for something you’d atoned for long ago. I failed to provide you with the love you needed to cushion the blow when you found out—”

  Caedmon put his fingertips on her mouth, took the dagger, placed it beside them, then drew her back into his arms. “You’d suffered such a great loss.”

  “Our conversation about your codex made me think about what I want to pass on to my children. When we return to Kirkthwaite, I want you to find a place of honour to display my dagger. After my death, I want you to give it to Blythe. I will tell our children its history when they are old enough. It will be a reminder of pain and sorrow, but also love and endurance. We marked Aidan as firstborn with it. The dagger saved my life, and perhaps yours. It sent me to your father for help.”

  They clung to each other for long minutes,
thighs to thighs, belly to belly, breasts to chest, her head resting on his shoulder. His breathing quickened and she felt his hard male length against her. She moved one leg to press against his hip. He kneaded her thigh and she wrapped her legs around him. He lifted her slightly and she impaled herself on his shaft.

  “You’re my heart,” she whispered, rocking against him.

  “And you my soul.”

  ~~~

  Later that night, the faithful steward of Ellesmere Castle, Martin Bonhomme, was making his final rounds through the darkened castle to ensure all was well. As he passed the chamber of the Earl and Countess, he smiled. Judging from the squeals of delight coming from the room everything was back to normal at the castle.

  He carried on past the chamber assigned to Sir Caedmon and Lady Agneta, and after pausing briefly to listen to the happy commotion inside, chuckled, “Like father, like son.”

  He hurried off to his own chamber, where his wife awaited him.

  EPILOGUE

  The heroes and heroines of this story outlived King William II (William Rufus) who died in a bizarre hunting accident in the New Forest, in the year of Our Lord Eleven Hundred, after being king for only thirteen years. He was accidentally shot with an arrow, by a hunting companion renowned throughout England as an expert bowman. Rufus might have lived had he not fallen from his horse and driven the arrow deeper.

  He was succeeded on the throne of the English by his brother, Henry, co-conspirator of the chamber pot incident, who coincidentally was also present in the New Forest on the day of the accident. We must bear in mind the New Forest covered a vast area.

  The dramatic lives of the descendants of Ram and Mabelle, Rhodri and Rhonwen, and Caedmon and Agneta form the lore and legend of the next generation and the beginning of the turbulent twelfth century. But those are other stories in the Montbryce Legacy.

  ####

  Afterword

  Thank you for reading A Man of Value. If you enjoyed this book, I would appreciate it if you would help others enjoy it too. Recommend it. Please help other readers find this book by recommending it to friends, readers’ groups and discussion boards.

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