The Shattered Rose

by Jo Beverley

  She sluiced him with clean water. Then, without noticeable hesitation, soaped her cloth and began to wash his genitals. At the first touch he caught his breath, and in moments he was hard.

  Her hands faltered. "Galeran?"

  The rising edge of it revealed the true state of her nerves. It asked for guidance, but carried with it a note of submission, an agreement to do whatever he commanded. If he said, "Take me in your mouth. Clean me with your tongue," she would do it.

  Was this all that was left between them—fear and penance?

  "I'll do it." He took the cloth and completed the cleaning, then stepped out of the bath, rinsing each scummy foot.

  She was composed again and ready with the cloths, but he noticed she kept her eyes lowered. Jehanne, who never lowered her eyes except in church. He rubbed himself dry, then wrapped a clean cloth loosely about his hips and sat on a bench.

  Finally he said the words he had avoided all day. "Tell me about Gallot."

  She was folding a cloth and her hands froze. "He's dead."

  "I know that. When did he die?"

  "Ten and a half months ago."

  He had the feeling she could record it in days, hours, heartbeats even.

  "How did he die?"

  She finished folding the cloth with untypically clumsy movements. "He just died."

  "Children don't just die, Jehanne. Was it a fever? Gripe?"

  She turned to face him. "He just died. He was happy and healthy. He slept with me. We played together before he slept...."

  He thought she wouldn't go on, and in the face of her pain, he wasn't sure he wanted her to.

  "Perhaps he was a little more fractious than usual. I don't know.... I tended some accounts and joined him in the bed and went to sleep too. When I awoke," she whispered, "he was dead."

  Galeran stared at her as if her frozen face could provide answers. "Of what?"

  "I don't know."

  "Don't be foolish! You must know. Did you overlay him?"

  "No." But she wouldn't look at him.

  "Jehanne. It can happen...."

  She turned on him. "I did not overlay him! Drunken women do that. I was not drunk. I'm even a light sleeper and he was eight months old. If I'd begun to smother him, he'd have struggled...." Her lips trembled and she pressed them together. "He did nothing..."

  "Was he sick?"

  "No. No.... He had some marks about him, but nothing to kill.... Don't you think this hasn't been gone over?"

  "Then how, in God's name, did my son die?"

  She turned icy eyes on him. "Perhaps I killed him. Is that what you're thinking, like Gil? You were dead, or so that passing monk said. Lowick was here, wanting to replace you, but not wanting your son replacing his. Easy enough to get rid of a small child. A hand covering mouth and nose..."

  "Easy enough for him."

  Her face changed and he knew it wasn't a novel idea. "I was sleeping with Gallot," she said shakily. "It isn't possible."

  "Perhaps you were sleeping with both of them. Rutting with Lowick beside my son's body."

  "No!"

  He lunged to his feet. "By the Holy Nails and Spear, Jehanne, I'll have the truth!"

  An unsteady hand covered her mouth. "Oh, Galeran, no more vows..."

  The squawk of a babe pierced the moment, the demanding squawk of a hungry young babe. Jehanne put her arm over her breasts and Galeran saw a damp patch begin to spread there. Those breasts had poured fourth milk on demand for his son once, and now they gushed for the child of Raymond of Lowick.

  "Go feed it," he snarled, and she left almost at a run.

  Galeran fisted the wall hard enough to bruise. So much for any idea of bodily ease. He could summon her back later, but he knew he wouldn't. No matter what had happened, he couldn't use Jehanne like a privy for his relief. There had to be something between them, something more than this.

  He collapsed back on the bench and sank his head in his hands. Was it possible that she had killed the child?

  No. Never. He would never believe that.

  Was it possible that she had connived at Lowick killing the child?

  He didn't think so, but love could do strange things. Look what it was doing to him.

  He couldn't deny that there was something very strange about Jehanne now, and the events as he knew them made no sense. She had clearly conceived the bastard at about the time of Gallot's death, and soon after the news of his own supposed death.

  Was it possible Lowick had raped her?

  He shook his head. Jehanne would have cut off his balls and choked him with them.

  Instead, she had kept Lowick here, and when Galeran had approached, had let him leave. He could see no sign of enmity.

  He'd have to find out what had really happened before he could have any chance of peace. What was he going to do, however, if Jehanne and Lowick had caused his son's death in any way, even if only by neglect?

  Kill them both.

  He would have no choice.

  He rose to pace the room, seeking desperately for some explanation that he liked and finding none.

  He'd intended to sleep after the bath, but now nervous energy fought with exhaustion so that he could neither think straight nor sit still. He might as well get dressed.

  If he had anything to wear.

  Yet again he was painfully reminded of the time Jehanne had thrown his clothes out the window, for if she'd thought him dead she would surely have given his clothes away. If Lowick had left anything behind, it would be too large.

  He threw open a wooden chest and stopped in surprise at the sight of his belongings neatly stored.

  Everything was in excellent condition, well interspersed with herbs to ward off moths and other pests. He found clean braies and shirt—a new shirt finely made by Jehanne's own hand—and his favorite red wool tunic with marten fur trim. His shoes were even in excellent condition, kept oiled and supple.

  He turned a shoe thoughtfully in his hand. If Jehanne had believed word of his supposed death nearly a year ago, why this careful care of his belongings?

  Servants came, presumably sent by Jehanne, to clear away the bath. Galeran dressed and went out into the hall, head humming with weariness and tangled thoughts. He gestured and a servant brought ale. It had been foolish to avoid the midday meal, which was a time for the castle community to come together, so now he walked around and talked to some of the people.

  There was no sign of Raoul. He, no doubt, was sensibly in bed with a cheerful, uncomplicated serving maid, one who'd be delighted to bear his child if God gave them one, since either the castle would pay her to raise it, or a good marriage would be arranged, or both.

  Matters were somewhat simpler among the servant body.

  But even there, adultery was not condoned. A man might accept a lord's child in the hope of favors, but he didn't want his fellow's cuckoos.

  Galeran caught some strange looks. Doubtless everyone was wishing they'd been witness to the events in the solar. Doubtless they'd all kept their ears peeled back for sounds of a deserved beating being well delivered.

  How dull they must all find this, and how puzzling.

  They weren't the only ones to find it a puzzle.

  Trailed by his dogs, Galeran went in search of his steward, Matthew, who was most likely to have answers to some questions.

  The man was at home in his small cottage within the bailey, but on demand he willingly accompanied Galeran to the walls, where they could talk in privacy.

  "Yes, my lord?"

  "How did Lowick come to be seneschal here?"

  The solid, middle-aged man hitched his belt uneasily over his belly. "He came to visit, my lord. He was well known to all here, of course, so we had no hesitation about letting him in. Sir Gregory had died of that cough he had—truth to tell, he'd not flourished much after you left—and Lady Jehanne had been considering with your father whom to take on in his place. It seems that when she heard Sir Raymond was available, she gave him the post."

/>   Galeran was trying to remember whether his seneschal, Sir Gregory, had been particularly ill when he'd last seen him. He had been the kind of man who always seemed to be coughing and spitting. Surely it wasn't possible, though, that he had been disposed of to make room for Raymond.

  That was too deep a plot.

  But like a blow it came to him that it had been Jehanne who had urged him to go on the Crusade. The plot, if it existed, could go back years, back even to the time of their betrothal.

  No, not that far, for Lowick had married elsewhere. But his wife had died.

  Another convenient death.

  "Do you know when Lord Raymond's wife died, Matthew?"

  The man flashed him an astute glance. Did everyone have these suspicions? More to the point, was there anything in them?

  "'Round about the time you left for the Holy Land, my lord."

  "And what did she die of?"

  "Some fever, my lord. According to Sir Raymond's men, who accompanied him here, she was never strong. She miscarried of four babes in the marriage. Rich, though. She brought some sturdy land with her, as I understand it, at a place called Beeston, but by the contract, if she had no children, the land reverted to her family. Sir Raymond did his best to get a child of her."

  "He always was ambitious...." Galeran had never had much to do with Lowick, but he knew his nature. He was brave and honorable, but also ambitious. Lowick was sure that his looks and warlike skills gave him a right to a high place in life, such as that of husband to Jehanne of Heywood.

  When Lowick had flirted with Jehanne during his visits, Galeran had judged it was more to annoy him than to seduce her. He'd never made an issue of it. That would have sullied Jehanne's name, annoyed his father-in-law, and possibly brought it to a matter of arms. Which he probably would have lost, since in those days he'd been no match for a larger man.

  He'd wondered sometimes if that had been Lowick's plan—to force a fight and kill him. Crude, but possibly effective.

  Jehanne had never objected to Lowick's behavior, but Galeran had always assumed that her reasons had been similar to his own—a desire not to cause discord in the house. Having been her father's squire, Lowick was in many ways like a brother to her.

  Galeran had once asked Fulk why he'd not offered Lowick the chance to marry Jehanne. The old man had never been one to explain himself, but he'd said he wanted someone with better connections for his heiress.

  Raymond's father had been a friend of Fulk's, both of them coming over with the Conqueror, but he'd not prospered. Fulk had taken Raymond into his household as a kindness, but kindness stopped at making him a son. No advantage in it, he'd said.

  Had it all been a facade? Had Jehanne really loved Lowick all the time?

  Chapter 6

  Galeran realized that the steward was standing by patiently. This wasn't what he'd wanted to talk to Matthew about anyway.

  It was hard to even speak the words, though. "And what of my son, Matthew? What do you know of how he died?"

  The man cleared his throat and looked away. "As to that, my lord, it was a great mystery. A fine lad making his first steps..." The steward coughed, perhaps to hide a genuine lump in his throat. "There wasn't even any screaming, if you know what I mean. Lady Jehanne walked into the hall with the child in her arms and just said, 'He won't wake.' Quite a few of us were in the hall, and we didn't know what to make of it at first, her being so calm. Then she looked down at the little one again and said, 'I think he's dead,' in that same ordinary voice. But then she said it louder. And then she started shaking...."

  The man cleared his throat again. "Her women gathered and took the babe, but he was already cold. There was nothing to be done."

  Galeran had his eyes closed and a pain in his chest that was likely to choke him. That simple telling revealed to him the depth of Jehanne's anguish.

  And he had been so far away.

  He had not even known.

  If there was sense in the universe, he should have known.

  He sent his mind hunting back. Gallot had died while Galeran had been on the way home, perhaps while he had been allowing the bath attendants of Constantinople to pamper his weary body. He remembered being restless then. He'd arranged to return home in the party of the Duke of Normandy, but the duke traveled slowly, so slowly.

  He remembered still having nightmares about Jerusalem, but try as he might, he could not remember any other shadow. He'd had no flash of awareness that thousands of miles away he had suffered a terrible loss.

  His voice was husky when he said, "Did anyone decide what caused the death?"

  "No one could, my lord." Hesitantly, Matthew added, "Of course, there were whispers of evil spells and such. You know the way folks are. And after that one outburst she... Lady Jehanne... became so calm. Just carried on as if nothing had happened."

  "It was always her way, you know that, Matthew."

  "Aye, my lord, but when a woman's lost her only child, it looks funny. And when there's been news that she's lost her husband too, it looks even worse...."

  Galeran looked out over his land, fading to invisibility as darkness settled, but scattered with the fires of his father's army. Desperately, he wished he'd known his son, that he'd been here when all this had happened.

  But if he'd been here, it might never have happened.

  Could a woman's love—obsession—with a man cause her to connive at the murder of her child?

  He turned his mind from torment to puzzles. "So, Gregory died and Lowick came here. That would be—what?—about two months after I left."

  "Aye, lord."

  "About the time Lady Jehanne found herself with child..."

  He caught his breath.

  Whose child?

  All those years of toying and no babe, then miraculously, a babe. And later, another babe without great difficulty. Had Jehanne gone to Lowick as soon as she'd left Galeran in London? Or had she, even, been with child when she urged him to take the Cross?

  No, he gathered his flailing mind. Gallot had been born almost an exact nine-month after that last night.

  Hadn't he?

  "Gallot's birthday was St. Stephen's Day, yes?" That was what Jehanne had told him in her letter.

  "Yes, my lord, and a day we all remember. A right happy one."

  Thank God for that. He could check later to see if Jehanne had come straight back to Heywood. She'd been with Lord William, her uncle Hubert, and ten men-at-arms, however, and accompanied by three women. It would have been a remarkable feat to arrange an assignation in that company.

  "Sir Raymond was always a competent knight," Galeran said. "I assume he ran the castle affairs well."

  "Aye, lord." But it was said grudgingly.

  "Why the scowl?"

  "He was a proud man and acted as if it were all his."

  "Had he reason to?"

  Matthew knew what Galeran was asking, and shook his head. "I don't think so, my lord."

  A fragment of good news. "So, the next thing that happened was word of my supposed death."

  "Aye, lord. A monk it was who'd heard news from Rome of deaths against the infidels, and counted you one of them. It was a night for tears, my lord." The man cleared his throat and looked away.

  It was nice, Galeran supposed, to be mourned. "And within days Gallot was dead."

  "Aye, lord."

  Galeran was beginning to feel uneasy about the questions he was asking and the interpretation that could be put on them. He trusted Matthew, however. He was an honest, shrewd man who could hold his tongue.

  "How did my wife react to the news of my death?"

  The older man took his time in replying. "You know the Lady Jehanne, Lord. She's never done what anyone expected. The news hit her, that's for certain. She asked the monk a great many questions and was clearly upset. But then she regained her spirits and said she'd not believe it unless she had proof. After that she seemed to put the matter out of her mind, apart from the fact that she prayed more than usual.
I remember Sir Raymond talking to her, trying to make her accept the news, but she shrugged it off. Turned quite sharpish with him, in fact. He did persuade her to go to your father about it, but I don't know what happened there. She came back as if nothing were amiss, so we all took her lead. None of us wanted to think you dead, my lord."

  "Thank you."

  "But after that," added Matthew, "Sir Raymond grew bolder. I think he truly thought the place was his for the taking."

  "And then Gallot died."

  "Aye, Lord. And the lady changed."

  "So I would hope."

  Galeran wanted to ask whether Jehanne had truly taken Lowick as her lover, but of course she had.

  He wanted to ask whether she had truly taken him to her bed within days of the news of her husband's possible death, and the certain death of her son. But she had done that too, or she could not have born a babe a nine-month later.

  Why?

  Why?

  Why?

  It was, he discovered, not something he could talk about yet, not even with Matthew. So he asked another question. "Matthew, tell me honestly, what do you think caused my son's death?"

  "The honest truth, my lord, is that I don't know. I'm no believer in spells and wizardry, but something like that is the only explanation."

  "Such things do not exist."

  "Miracles do, my lord."

  "Perhaps."

  "Then why not works of the devil?"

  Galeran sighed. "An excellent question."

  "One thing I do know, Lord."

  "What?"

  "It would have been better if Lady Jehanne had taken to her bed with grief alone instead of with Sir Raymond."

  Galeran didn't want to know more, but the man continued doggedly. "The very day the babe was buried, she slept the night with Lord Raymond, and all knew it."

  Galeran turned away, blocking talk he could not yet bear. "Where is Gallot buried?"

  "In the churchyard, near the wall, lord. There's a stone."

  Galeran waved the man away and stayed on the battlements for a while, his mind wandering aimlessly in random patterns over his shattered life. It did no good, however, and so he went and prayed by the stone that marked the brief life of his child.