Sybilla snorted. “I’m protected as Antoine’s wife. That’s why he wed me, to ensure I would testify, that I’d be vouchsafed. I’m considered almost worthy to be a Norman now.”
She saw Devona eye her curiously and shake her head. “From what I know of Antoine, he would not marry a woman, unless—”
Sybilla felt her heart start to race. “Unless?”
“Do you love Antoine?”
Sybilla saw little point in lying to this perceptive woman. “With all my heart.”
Devona smiled and embraced her new friend. “Antoine is a man in a million, Sybilla. Treasure what you have found in him. He must have deep feelings for you to offer for your hand. Much as he loves Hugh, he wouldn’t betray a woman to save his brother. He’s a man of honour. He’s a Montbryce.”
Sybilla saw the older woman nod and wipe away a tear. “You are Lady Wilona?”
Wilona nodded again and struggled to her feet, choking with a deep rasping cough. She looked somewhat incongruous in a novice’s habit.
“I’m relieved you’re not alone here, Devona,” Sybilla said.
“I’m never alone, Sybilla. Hugh is with me always.”
A rap at the door indicated their interview must be terminated. The women embraced. Sybilla tapped back, the door was opened and she stepped out into the cold air of the corridor. The waiting nun escorted her to her own chamber in silence.
Sybilla walked over to where her son was sleeping, picked him up and cradled him to her breast, weeping silent tears. Hope and dread warred within her.
***
“You should be with your bride tonight,” Hugh chided Antoine. There was barely enough room for the three brothers in Hugh’s cell. They sat on the wooden stools, their legs bent, knees touching. They nursed the last of the ale brought from the festivities, knowing they would not be offered more.
Antoine shrugged. “It’s but a brief time since the birth of her son. I have to wait, to be patient.”
“Sybilla needs more from you than just a bedding,” Ram retorted. “You love the woman, but I’d wager you haven’t confessed that to her. Reminds me of another idiot I know. Why is it so hard for a man to tell a woman he loves her?”
Antoine’s mouth fell open. “You still haven’t told Mabelle?”
Ram looked sheepish. “She knows I love her,” he protested.
Hugh snorted. “Here we are, the brave and courageous Montbryce brothers, and we are such cowards when it comes to professing our love for a woman.”
Antoine took a swig of his ale, then wiped his hand across his mouth. “When you know the woman doesn’t love you in return—”
Hugh guffawed. “What are you talking about? Watching you and Sybilla today, I’d venture to say your wife burns for you.”
Antoine looked at him in surprise, his heart thudding, and noticed Ram was nodding. “What makes you say that?”
Hugh looked exasperated. “By all that’s holy! Here you are, Antoine de Montbryce, the great expert on women, and yet you can’t see love when it hits you in the face. You chided Ram at Hastings and you are guilty of the same idiocy you accused him of.”
Ram laughed. “Feels good not be on the receiving end this time.”
Hugh bristled. “You’re just as bad, Ram. Why haven’t you told Mabelle you love her?”
Ram looked at his feet. “Perhaps she doesn’t love me?”
Hugh jumped up and the flimsy stool fell backwards. “You are both the biggest idiots. Of course Mabelle loves you. It’s written all over her lovely face whenever she looks at you.”
Antoine righted the stool, thinking about what his brothers had said. Then another thought struck him. “But Sybilla loved her husband. I killed him.”
Hugh picked up his stool and held it over Antoine’s head. “I feel like hammering some sense into you with this.”
Antoine flinched. “What have I said now?”
Hugh rolled his eyes, lowered the stool and sat down. “How old is Sybilla?”
Antoine shrugged. “A score, give or take—”
“And Denis de Sancerre?”
“Maybe three score.” As soon as he uttered the words, Antoine recognized the truth. “An old man,” he whispered.
“Exactement!” Hugh gloated and Ram laughed.
Antoine scratched his head. “But she wept—she whispered in his ear—she—”
“What did you expect, Antoine? That she rush to tell you she didn’t love her husband as he lay dead at your feet? Sybilla is a proud woman, conscious of her honour above all. She’s a woman who has been brought up to hate Normans. Her own feelings must confuse her, but can you honestly see a young woman like Sybilla falling in love with an old man? More likely her father sold her to Sancerre.”
The three men were silent for long minutes before Ram spoke. “I cannot imagine, in the worst circumstances, setting fire to my own castle knowing it would doom Mabelle to die a horrible death. A man who would do that is not a man who loves his wife.”
Hugh winked at Antoine and elbowed Ram. “You know what this means, don’t you, brother?”
“Non, but I’m sure you’ll tell me,” Antoine replied.
“It means Sybilla has never known the touch of a man who loves her.”
Antoine hardened at the thought. He glanced up at Hugh.
“Oui, mon frère. I can see you are imagining it. Do you think she longs to be touched with love—” Hugh’s voice cracked, choked with emotion, “—as my Devona did.”
Another silence followed and Antoine sensed all three of them were envisioning making love to the women they adored. Ram was longing to be with his wife and their newborn son, Baudoin.
“I miss Mabelle,” Ram said out loud. “And my boys.”
“The Saxons have a good word for times like these, eh Hugh?” Antoine quipped.
Hugh grinned and nodded and together the two of them shouted as loudly as they could, “Godemite!” then burst into a fit of laughter as they realized they had probably awakened a few monks.
“You two!” Ram scolded. “You’re like a pair of—” Then he too burst out laughing. “We’ll be getting thrown out of a monastery next.”
Hugh sobered and said with mock seriousness, “It’s the curse of the Montbryces.”
“What is?” Antoine asked.
“To be that most unusual of things—noblemen in love with their wives.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Two days later, King William’s curia regis began its proceedings, dealing initially with trivial matters—disagreements over land and title, debts owed, grievances aired. But all in attendance were aware of the greater matter to come—the trial of a member of the Montbryce family for kidnapping and adultery. By the third day the atmosphere was charged with the expectancy of a guilty verdict and a burning or two.
Ram insisted successfully that Hugh be allowed to dress in his own clothes, rather than a monks’ habit, but his insistence could not prevail in Devona’s case and she was brought before the court in the novice’s habit, expected to be penitent.
It was the first time Hugh had seen Devona for weeks, and the bile rose in his throat when he saw how pale and drawn she was. The injustice of it. A beautiful woman abused by a Norman beast and condemned because of her wish to escape him. His fury intensified when Renouf de Maubadon strutted into the hall and shot him a disparaging glare, then sneered at Devona before sitting in the seat reserved for the plaintiff.
Unexpectedly, an excited murmur spread through the assembly. Men-at-arms bearing the Duke of Normandie’s devise streamed into the chamber, and the Bishop of Caen, who had occupied the Chair of Judgement for the initial proceedings, abruptly vacated that seat. Everyone came to their feet as King William strode into the chamber. Hugh saw Devona gasp and sway. Even Ram, who was to speak on Hugh’s behalf, looked surprised. William sat down heavily in the massive Chair and motioned everyone to be seated.
Out of the corner of his eye, Hugh saw Antoine enter with Sybilla. He exhaled and gave Dev
ona a reassuring nod. One thing was going right. They had the means to prove Renouf a traitor. He smirked when he saw the brute’s eye twitch when he espied Sybilla.
“Call the court to order, my lord Bishop.” William’s voice was flat and gave away nothing.
The Bishop of Caen nodded and called everyone to order. “This day, we will hear evidence in the matter brought before the court by Sir Renouf de Maubadon. It’s alleged that milord Hugh de Montbryce did kidnap and commit adultery with the legally wed wife of Sir Renouf de Maubadon, master of Melton Manor in Sussex.”
The cleric droned on about jurisdiction in the matter, but Hugh was more intent on watching Devona, willing her to be strong. They could prove Renouf a traitor, but that would not free her from the charge of adultery.
“Milord Rambaud, Comte de Montbryce and Earl of Ellesmere, will speak for the defendant.”
Hugh was only too aware that Ram wouldn’t be allowed to speak for Devona—she was a woman, and a Saxon—without rights. He was relieved Ram was the one representing him. His older brother showed no signs of agitation. Antoine sat holding Sybilla’s hand. She was obviously nervous.
The Bishop called first on Renouf de Maubadon, who explained his grievance in detail, disparaging his wife and her family, almost weeping when he told of the death of Torod, and then unleashing his anger on the Montbryces, explaining his suspicions. He ended by pointing at Devona and exclaiming, “My wife is an adulteress who has betrayed me. She must die.”
Then Melton will be wholly yours.
It was all Hugh could do not to vault over the guardrail and strangle the beast. Yet, throughout Renouf’s testimony, Ram stood, never moving a muscle.
“Milord Earl. Do you have questions for the complainant on behalf of your brother?” the Bishop asked.
One of the barons on the curia rose to his feet and hissed, “It’s plain Montbryce is guilty.”
King William leaned forward in his chair. “Mon seigneur Giroux, you will honour the courtesy of this court, or you will leave.”
Giroux clenched his jaw, bowed to the King and sat down.
Ram strolled over to Renouf. “How do you know your Capitaine Torod is dead?”
Renouf squirmed. “He cannot be found. He must be dead.”
Ram attacked again. “Did you fight at Hastings, Sir Renouf?” Before Renouf could open his mouth to reply, Ram warned, “Before you reply, remember that I am the man who compiled the muster roll.”
Renouf glowered at Ram, glanced at the King then shook his head. “Non.”
“Did you see action in any of the battles that secured the English throne for his Majesty?”
Renouf hesitated then replied, “Non.”
Ram waited, then, “Yet you claimed Melton Manor as though you were entitled to it. What did you do to earn it, Sir Renouf?”
“Your Excellency,” François de Giroux wheedled to the Bishop. “I fail to see—”
“Giroux.” The King’s voice was ice cold. “Be seated.”
Again, the nobleman nodded and sat.
Hugh breathed a sigh of relief. Ram knew what he was about, and it seemed the King was willing to listen.
“I’m a Norman,” Renouf whined. “That’s my entitlement.”
The King shifted his weight in his seat and squared his shoulders. He looked annoyed.
Ram’s next question seemed to confuse Renouf. “Are you, Sir Renouf de Maubadon?”
The bully’s face reddened. “Am I what?”
“A loyal Norman.”
Shock rippled through the assembly.
“Silence,” William roared.
“Of course—I’m a loyal—Norman,” Renouf spluttered, glancing nervously at Sybilla. The assembly murmured its agreement with Renouf’s assessment.
“Can you explain then why you have been a frequent visitor to the fortress at Grandegué in Le Maine? And why you have taken money there?”
“Your Majesty, I must protest,” François de Giroux shouted.
“Sit down. I would hear the reply,” William said coldly.
Hugh noticed Renouf had started to sweat.
How does it feel, animal? To be trapped?
“I’ve never been to Grandegué,” Renouf spluttered.
Ram paused. “Your Majesty, may I ask that Lady Sybilla de Montbryce be allowed to speak?”
A curious murmur arose from the crowd. William arched his brows then grunted his approval.
Ram approached Sybilla. “Will you stand, Lady Sybilla, and tell the curia who you are and what connection you have in this matter.”
Sybilla stood. “I am Lady Sybilla de Montbryce. Before marrying my husband I was the wife of Denis de Sancerre, the late seigneur of Grandegué.”
Another murmur surged though the chamber.
Ram glanced over at Renouf and then continued his questions of Sybilla. “You were the wife of the Seigneur of Grandegué when it fell to our army?”
Sybilla’s voice did not falter. “I was.”
“While you were mistress of Grandegué, did you ever see Renouf de Maubadon?”
“He came to visit my husband three or four times a year.”
The murmurs of surprised indignation were becoming louder.
“Was he a friend of your husband?”
“I didn’t think so, and my maidservant has confirmed to me that in fact Renouf de Maubadon was a confederate of my husband.”
“A confederate?”
Sybilla took a deep breath. “He brought money—to finance the defenses.”
The chamber filled with expressions of outraged disbelief.
Ram waited until they had quietened. “You would swear to this?”
“I trust in the veracity of what my maidservant told me. She has served me since I was a child. The only thing I would add is that when Sir Renouf came to Grandegué he was known as Renouf de Malbadon.”
“But he is the same man?”
“He is.”
By now the assembly was in near uproar, and again King William demanded silence.
“She’s an Angevin,” Giroux shouted. “They cannot be trusted.”
The king glared at him and he sat.
When all was again quiet Ram continued. “And where is Malbadon, Lady Sybilla?”
“It’s in Anjou,” she murmured in reply.
Anjou echoed around the chamber.
Ram turned to look at Renouf. “Can you deny that you are an Angevin and that you have bled a Sussex manor, a manor under the lawful jurisdiction of His Majesty, to support the war effort against our King?”
Renouf was almost in tears.
“Can you deny it?” Ram shouted.
“Non,” Renouf whispered. “But that doesn’t change the fact that she is an adulteress and he is the man who led her into adultery. She must be punished.”
The anger on the King’s face as he spoke was evident. “Renouf de Maubadon, or Malbadon, whoever you are. This court finds you are a traitor to Normandie and to England. For this crime we impose the penalty of death. If any of the barons and clergy gathered here is in disagreement, speak now.”
Silence reigned for several minutes, and everyone nodded in agreement. Renouf had gone strangely quiet.
The King turned to Ram. “What says your brother about the charge of adultery?”
Ram and Hugh both looked over to Devona. Would she prefer death to dishonour? Hugh ached to tell the court the truth of the horrors Renouf had perpetrated on her. He shook his head in disbelief when he saw that Devona was indicating that they say nothing.
They will sentence us both to die, Devona. Speak.
Ram began his argument. “Your Majesty, in the matter of the marriage of Renouf and Lady Devona—”
“Do not waste the court’s time on frivolous delays, Rambaud de Montbryce,” King William hissed. “If they are guilty they will be condemned.”
Ram opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a commotion at the door. The guards were trying to prevent a man from entering. A man with
one arm.
Hugh felt his knees buckle and had to suppress an urge to shout out his relief when he saw Jubert. He motioned to Ram to insist they allow the man entry.
“Majesty,” Ram asserted. “This man has important evidence. I beg you to allow him entry.”
Hugh hoped fervently Jubert did indeed have good news.
King William nodded and Jubert was allowed to enter. Hugh indicated he should speak to Ram, and the rat catcher walked over to the Earl and whispered into his ear. Ram’s eyes went wide and he coughed. He looked over at Hugh and smiled.
Hugh’s heart leapt. What had Jubert discovered?
***
Devona was glad her mother had been too ill to be dragged before the court. Although she could speak Norman French, she was having a difficult time in her exhausted state understanding all that was said and done. Her mother would not have understood a word.
The only thing that kept her from swooning was Hugh’s presence and Ram’s calm demeanour. Seeing Renouf proven a traitor and condemned filled her with a strange sort of relief. But unless she revealed the depravities Renouf had visited upon her person, she and Hugh would be unable to prove they had not committed adultery. If she spoke up, as a Saxon woman she would probably not be believed.
She had entered a sort of trance, resigned to a sentence of death. For herself, it was of no matter—but Hugh, oh God, gentle Hugh—to die an ignominious death, burned at the stake, punished for his chivalry, his capacity to love, his humanity. No! She would have to speak, to tell all, to decry the monster for what he was. As she opened her mouth, a commotion disturbed the court and a one armed man was ushered in.
She watched in fascination as the man whispered to Ram and she saw Ram smile at Hugh.
“Isembart Jubert?”
All eyes turned to the king who rose from his chair and beckoned to the new arrival. Jubert walked to the king and the two men clasped hands. “Barons and bishops,” the King proclaimed, “Here you see a man who has sacrificed much for Normandie and for its Duke. What is your role in these proceedings, Isembart?”
The rat catcher confided something to the King, who frowned and scowled at Renouf. Then he put his hand on Jubert’s shoulder. “This hero will give his testimony,” he declared.
If Love Dares Enough (The Montbryce Legacy Medieval Romance) Page 18
