by Ling, Maria
"I'll have a word with the county justice," Henry said. "Keep it in my own court. Might pay a few shillings to the families. What were they after her for?"
"It's obvious."
"Only to you. Don't you have a single man who speaks English?"
"What would I need one for?"
Henry heaved a sigh. "I'll talk to her."
***
CHAPTER 2
Leofe froze at the sound of footsteps. Her guard stood aside to let a man into the room -- two men, her captor and the one he'd spoken to within the gatehouse. She was past being frightened now, she felt only exhausted. As far as plans went, the best she'd come up with was to grab one of the stools and brain the men as they came for her. Which wouldn't do much good, she realised that, she couldn't get out of this place, no one would allow her to pass. But she wouldn't lie quietly and let them do as they pleased either, she had pride enough to fight them while her strength lasted. After that... She hoped they'd be quick.
"So." The other man, the one in a sleek blue tunic belted at the waist, sat down on the table and rested one neatly shod foot on a stool. "Who are you, why are you here, who wants you and for what crime?"
He spoke English -- not well, but recognisably. Relief bubbled up inside her, she thought it would gush from her mouth. Then she met his cold stare and wilted again. No friend of hers, this man, less even than the brute who'd captured her, who stood to one side now, frowning to himself as if attempting to identify some irritating sound.
"Leofe," she replied, "from the village of Nenton. He brought me -- " she nodded to the Norman, who looked momentarily bewildered -- "and I've committed no crime, but my brothers want to hang me because my father says I'm a whore. Which is not true." She raised her chin and waited for derision to follow.
"Why would he say it, then?" the man asked.
"Because a neighbour attacked me and tried to -- " But she couldn't say that, not in front of these two, though only one would understand her. "Tried to force me," she amended. "I cut him with my knife and ran home. He rounded up men from the village and came to our house and said I'd seduced him and I was a witch and should hang. And then -- " She had to stop and breathe hard, she felt dizzy and sick at the memory.
The man pushed the stool across with his foot. Leofe caught it and slumped down on it. She felt weary beyond reckoning now, and close to tears.
"I told my father what happened," she managed, "I told him and he -- and he -- "
"Punched you in the mouth and called you a whore," the man said. "I think I got that part."
Leofe nodded. She really would cry now, the tears burned within her face.
"So you ran," the man prompted. "Where to?"
"Just out," Leofe said. "But the men were there still. I had to go back inside. And my mother said -- she said -- "
"I can guess." The man threw a string of sounds at the Norman, who spat what must be an oath from bloodstained lips. "She sided with your father. Loyalty is a commendable thing. And then?"
"And then," Leofe said wearily, "my brothers came in. And said they'd hang me. And dragged me out in front of all the men of the village, and said that's what they'd do, and dragged me down to the copse. Got a rope from somewhere, I don't know, but they were all -- "
Laughing, they'd been, and cheering, and shoving her from man to man. She stumbled and fell, they kicked and she rolled aside, saw an opening. Shot to her feet faster than she'd thought possible, ran on blind panic, intent on nothing but to get away.
"I broke loose," she said. It was close enough to the truth. "Ran for the road, I don't know where I thought I was going. Got past the horses, but that man -- " She nodded to the Norman again.
"Caught you and brought you here," her interrogator said. "I got that part, too. The men who died, who were they?"
"I don't know." Some might have been her brothers, she wasn't sure, she'd been too swamped with fear and confusion.
"Doesn't much matter," the man said. "Good riddance, if you ask me. Well, I don't suppose you want to be sent back home. I can find a place for you somewhere if you wish." He swapped long strings of sound with the other man, who scowled at him and appeared to be arguing against. "Or you can stay here, since my brother's taken a fancy to you. Bear in mind I don't usually allow women in the castle, especially not dregs like you. But if you please him, you may stay while he does."
Leofe stared at each of them in turn.
"You mean," she said, "I'm not to be -- you won't -- "
"I don't touch your kind," the man said. "Can't answer for my men, some of them have odd tastes. But I doubt my brother would stand for that. What's his is his own. Rely on that, is my advice, and do whatever he wants."
He stood up and made to leave. Leofe stared at the Norman, who watched her with an intense gaze.
"What's his name?" she asked.
"Roland." The Norman started at that, and gave her a slight smile. Bloodstained still, but it didn't frighten her this time. "I'm Henry," the man added as an afterthought. "You are at Axford castle. If that means anything to you."
It didn't. "Thank you," Leofe said, because politeness might help. Already she swayed under the sudden onslaught of good luck. "And -- " Need overcame embarrassment. "Can I use a privy, or a bucket, or something?"
"Sacred mother of God," Henry said. "I use the squints myself." He glanced at the wall-slits, then at her. "We'll find something. I don't know." He gave her a look of utter disgust and stalked away.
"Roland," the Norman said as the door closed. He pointed at himself.
"Leofe," Leofe said, and mimicked him. Discovered, to her own surprise, that she'd almost smiled at him too.
He held out his hand. She took it, expected him to lead her to the bed, that was to be her salvation and she'd have to submit as best she could. But he just stood there, holding her hand, and then with a slow gesture reached out to pull a stool over for himself, and sat down next to her. Pointed, very carefully, to various objects and made Norman sounds. Went round again, and waited expectantly after each one, until she repeated what he'd said. Smiled a little -- not enough to show bloodied teeth this time -- and nodded encouragement.
She'd teach him English, then, if he wanted her to learn his own speech. So she pointed likewise, and said the name of each object, and choked back a laugh as he mangled the sounds of her own language.
A bucket arrived, and they both grinned briefly as they swapped names for it. He left her after that, made gestures to indicate eating and drinking, added a few more sounds, looked uncertain, drew an arc against the ceiling. That meant nothing to her, she repeated the sounds and the gestures without understanding. He made a small hopeless shrug, gave her that careful unbloodied smile again, and went.
She used the bucket, and washed her hands in the bowl of water he'd left and which no one had taken, then sat down to wait. And wait. Got bored, wandered around the confines of her prison, knelt down to peer out of the wall-slits. Squints, he'd called them, Henry -- she'd have to call him 'lord', she supposed, it hadn't occurred to her. She'd never had words with a Norman before, and now she'd spoken with two in one day.
A pang startled her then, a pang of grief and loss so severe that she thought her heart had burst. It hadn't, she was whole still, she understood as much when the pain eased. But she'd lost her family, all the home she'd ever known. And she worried, now, for the little sister she'd left behind, abandoned to the brutal whims of such men.
She would have to learn Norman speech, she decided. Prove herself worth keeping, please her captor enough that he'd be inclined to indulge her. And then beg him to capture -- to rescue -- her little sister too.
***
"God, what have you dragged into my house?" Henry muttered at high table. "I won't have English filth here at the best of times."
"She's pretty," Roland pointed out. "Works for me."
Henry cast a glance aside, to where his wife was busy explaining points of precedence to the steward. They didn't often have lan
dless guests of high rank to stay, and the steward was a meticulous man.
"I told her she'd have food and drink sent to her in a little while," Roland added. "Will you order it, or shall I?"
"Don't talk to anyone about her," Henry snapped. "I'll get her bread and water if you're set on it. Though I don't usually allow eating out of hall."
"I'll bring her here next time, then," Roland teased, more for pleasure of seeing his brother's face darken than as a genuine threat.
"Don't you dare," Henry said. "No one is to see her or hear of her. And she goes when you go. Which is when, exactly?"
"I thought I'd stay on for a few weeks," Roland said. "Nurse Guillaume's shoulder back to health." They both looked at the snarling man, who held his knife against one of Henry's young squires.
"Keep him on a leash," Henry said. "I won't have him hassling the youngsters. Or anyone else, for that matter."
Roland caught Geoffrey's eye. Geoffrey leaned over, tapped Guillaume on the forearm, and bore the growl that followed with equanimity. The squire paused only to direct a glance of worship at Geoffrey, then fled while Guillaume's attention remained diverted.
"Get him a good leech," Roland suggested. "He'll be all sunshine once it heals."
Henry muttered an obscenity.
"Keep your jester away from him, too," Roland advised, as the fool began to squirt verjuice at all and sundry. "Unless you're bored with his jokes, and want them terminated."
"I hear good things about Normandy," Henry said. "Clement weather. Decent wine. Which I'll admit we can't get here." He frowned at his own cup of grit and vinegar. "You sure you don't want to leave just yet?"
"Give us a week or two," Roland said.
"I'll want my archive back before then."
"Stop fussing," Roland said. "I'll fuck her so quietly the clerks won't even notice we're there."
Henry threw a half-chewed sinew at him. Roland caught it and dropped it on the floor, where one of the dogs snaffled it.
"Why I ever said you could come," Henry said, "I do not know. Don't you have tourneys to attend?"
"Next one's in a month," Roland said. "Or would have been, except for Guillaume's shoulder. Now I doubt we'll make it -- and even if we did, I doubt he could fight. He's sore over that, as well."
"I'd trust him to kill, shoulder or not," Henry said.
"So would I," Roland agreed. "But he lost heavily at the last one. Doesn't want to part with the one horse he's got left."
"And in the meantime, we're stuck with him." Henry flinched, and wiped verjuice from his eyes. "Talk him into going. Maybe some other knight will have a stroke of luck, and send him off to Paradise on behalf of us all."
"I don't know," Roland said with a grin. "We're pretty comfortable here."
"Fuck you," Henry said, and ordered the next course.
***
Leofe braced herself as the door opened. But it was food this time, bread and a cupful of fresh water, even a sliver of meat. Her knife, too, she scooped it up with gratitude. She was hungry, she realised with a start, she hadn't eaten since early this morning. It was almost noon now, the light had shifted. It fell through the window instead of the squint, drew the shadow of a table onto the floor.
She soaked the bread to soften it, ate as best she could with her battered mouth. Tried not to wish for beer, she ought to be grateful that she was fed at all. Once done, she paced the room, hands fidgeting with no work to do. At home she'd be clearing up in the kitchen around now, scrubbing bowls and table and floor, putting flour to soak for porridge. Except that she wouldn't, not today, because her brothers would have hanged her. She'd be dead.
At last the door opened again, men cleared away her dishes without a glance at her, and the Norman entered. Her Norman, her heart quickened at sight of him. So soon she'd turned from fear to trust. Though she didn't know him, she reminded herself, didn't know what he was capable of, though she could guess. Right now he stood her friend, because he wanted something from her, and she could only be thankful that he'd chosen her rather than some other woman equally well fitted to provide it. But if she failed to please him -- no, she didn't want to pursue that thought.
And the worst of it was, she had only the haziest notion of what she was supposed to do. The essentials, yes, she understood those well enough. But what made a man favour one woman rather than another, that she did not understand. Couldn't ask him, either, because while they'd shared the names of tables and stools and fingers and buckets, their powers of conversation did not stretch into a bed.
No doubt he'd show her. That frightened her, too.
But he was in a good mood at the moment, she could see that from his jaunty step and the light in his eyes. Nothing to do with her, he scarcely gave her a glance, just smirked to himself as if in remembrance of a good joke. Rinsed his hands and mouth, spat water into the towel and dropped that on the floor, so like her brothers that she winced. Oh, he'd have women to do all the cleaning up after him, sure enough, just like they did. Beat them, too, if they did it too slowly, or not well enough for his liking, or just because it amused him, she didn't doubt.
Vile creatures, men. Selfish and brutish and vicious. The earth would be well rid of them all. But then God was a man, and had made them in His image, like the petty tyrant that He was.
But she mustn't let such thoughts show in her face, she realised that as the Norman -- Roland -- swung towards her, started, lost the smile. She might have spat in his eye, so clearly did he flinch. A mistake, she could only pray it wouldn't cost her skin.
He raised his hands slightly, he'd done that before, when they were first alone together in this room. Palms towards her, empty. As if to show he meant no harm. But then he needed no weapon to hurt her, fists were enough.
She wished she could talk to him, well enough to make him understand. Plead with him. Save my sister and I'll do anything at all. But he'd expect that anyway, she'd have to prove it first, and then hope that he'd be in a mood to show indulgence. Though she wouldn't be able to talk to him then, either. She'd have to ask for his brother to come and translate, and that would be worse, even more acutely embarrassing than before. But for her sister --
She could ask now, she thought. At least ask, and try. Then go on as long as she needed to, later, when she'd already established her own willingness to submit. At least he'd have some idea of what she was begging him for.
"Henry," she said.
Roland shook his head with an expression of weary patience. "Roland," he said, and pointed to himself.
Yes, she knew that. It wasn't what she'd been trying to say. God, this was frustrating.
"Roland," she said, and pointed to him. Then pointed to the empty space next to him and said, distinctly: "Henry."
"Frere," he said, which startled her. He pointed to himself, to the space, back and forth rapidly.
Friend? Or...they did look alike. Brother?
Leofe gasped She might -- just -- be able to communicate with him after all.
"Frere," she said. Then pointed to herself, and to an empty space next to her, back and forth.
"Frere?"
"No." She shook her head, pointed to herself, insistently. Then to the side again.
Roland's face lit with sudden understanding. "Soeur."
"Little soeur." Leofe held out her hand to show the height of a child. Exaggerated, because she needed him to grasp her meaning clearly. Then put her hands around her own throat and mimicked strangling.
He moved so fast she yelped, was at the door before she had time to feel a moment's fear, began to issue orders -- no mistaking that tone of voice. Then swung back towards her, sought for words, threw his hand out with a snarl of impatience. Glanced at the squint and the window, at the shadow of the table on the floor. Stepped forward to grasp her hand, made it point to each source of light, made it describe an arc against the ceiling.
Poor fool, he was trying to talk to her about time. How long? She didn't know. Not now, not this instant -- that
wasn't what she'd meant. But he was moving now, with an urgency that caught and shook her. Maybe the danger was more sudden and more real than she'd imagined. She held up thumb and finger to show a small space, a short time. Roland gave her a grim nod and pulled her with him out of the door.
She wasn't supposed to be here, she'd gathered that much from his exchanges with the lord of the castle. But she didn't have words to shape her objection, and in any case she knew that grip of his, it was useless for her to attempt to resist. So she was to be dragged back now, and she didn't know why. Fear shook her. He wouldn't trade her for a younger sister, wouldn't hand her back in return for one more ignorant of men than herself -- would he?
A man's voice, sharp with irritation, cut through her as Roland dragged her out into the courtyard, where horses were being readied. Henry, cross as always, giving her a glare that sent her scurrying into Roland's shadow as far as his grip on her wrist allowed.
The brothers swapped rapid curses, at least that's what their tone suggested to Leofe, in their own tongue. Then Henry turned towards her with a thundery glare.
"You are responsible for this?"
"I don't know," Leofe said. She realised how pitiful she sounded, and strove for a braver tone. "He doesn't speak English. I can't tell what's happening."
"You'd best learn French. He's taking his two fellow knights and the full retinue to rescue your sister from hanging. He says -- " Henry broke off under the onslaught of more incomprehensible speech from Roland, heaved a sigh, attempted the semblance of a smile. "Very well. He says he'd appreciate it if I stopped barking at you. Also some comments about my parentage which he certainly knows to be false. He says you'll go with them and identify your sister and if they've already killed her he'll -- " Henry broke off again, shook his head, launched into remonstrations. "God," he sighed at last. "Apparently I'm coming along as well. With a dozen knights. Because yes, it's not as if I have anything for them to do around here. Very apt. He wants to know how much time we've got."
