His threat followed Beatrice into the hall and rang in her ears all the way up the stairs. Did he mean to kill Edmund’s sister? Realising she was biting her nails to the quick, she pulled her hand from her mouth.
This day had given her a formidable enemy. But had she also gained an ally? She twisted her neck and got a glimpse of Morcar. The Saxon giant was back by the fire, tuning his harp. For all that she reckoned him an expert, he’d taken a long time over the task. He looked as though his thoughts were miles away. She willed him to look in her direction, but before she could catch his eye, a rude hand hit the small of her back and she was booted into the bedchamber.
***
The two girls were kept isolated in the upper chamber until mid-afternoon. Both were grateful for the respite.
Beatrice occupied herself repairing the damaged altar cloth, conscious of Hilda’s speculative gaze resting on her from time to time. At first the Saxon girl looked away when Beatrice attempted conversation, but by the end of the afternoon Beatrice had managed to establish some degree of rapport with Edmund’s young sister.
Although Beatrice had not deliberately set out to win the girl’s confidence by mending the torn fabric, she had been glad of her impulsive decision to repair it. Who would have thought that a few careful stitches set into a Saxon embroidery would be instrumental in nurturing the fragile blossom of friendship? Hilda remained wary, but Beatrice knew she was winning through.
While she sewed, Beatrice tried to calm her disordered thoughts. The numb misery that she’d felt on discovering Edmund’s disappearance still gnawed at her. Hilda’s presence in the chamber, and sympathy for his half-sister’s plight, helped take her mind off her confusion. But it was not enough to remove the hollow feeling from the pit of her stomach.
For her part, Hilda had been relieved when the pretty Norman woman had walked in to share her imprisonment.
In happier times the chamber had belonged to her elder brother, Aiden. Being incarcerated here under Norman guard, brought home to the Saxon child how much her life had changed. The chamber was the same, yet somehow different. The two Norman ladies’ clothes were strewn about, their travelling chests took up almost all of the space. Hilda couldn’t see anything that had belonged to her dead brother. She felt lost and very much alone.
She seated herself on her late brother’s bed. Next to the foreign woman. She glanced furtively at Beatrice from under her lashes. She could not make her mind up about the auburn-haired woman sewing placidly at her side. She seemed kind and sympathetic, and had undoubtedly helped Edmund. But she was a Norman. So Hilda held a part of her aloof, and reserved her judgement.
Quiet fell over them. Shadows lengthened.
Heavy steps sounded outside the chamber and two heads swivelled towards the door-curtain.
It was the baron. He was rubbing his hands together, an ugly, gloating smile spread across his face. Thank God, Beatrice thought, relaxing, his black mood has gone.
‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ he bowed with studied courtesy. Anne entered. She did not look so happy. Her eyes darted from Hilda to the baron and back again to Hilda, and they were brimful of misery.
Beatrice braced herself for some new horror. What had that fiend devised now?
‘Lady Hilda, I have given much thought to the unfortunate situation you now find yourself in,’ de Brionne began, in Latin.
Hilda sniffed.
‘I am not wholly unsympathetic to your cause,’ he continued smoothly. ‘You are concerned for your people, and your brother, are you not?’
‘You murdered my brother! Treacherous swine!’ Hilda spat, starting up from the bed.
Beatrice laid a restraining hand on the girl’s arm. She knew de Brionne was at his most dangerous in this apparently cool mood. He was acting in a civilised manner, but Beatrice was not deceived.
‘Nay, lady, I refer to your concern about your half-brother, Edmund,’ the baron continued blandly, ignoring Hilda’s angry response. ‘You do not wish your people to be harmed, or reduced to beggary, do you, Lady Hilda?’
His softly spoken threat hit its target. Hilda subsided.
‘I have thought of a way whereby we can unite our two causes and forge a new race, an Anglo-Norman one,’ he announced, eyes watchful.
Beatrice erupted. ‘My lord, you can’t! Hilda is but a child. It would not be fitting!’
‘Mistress, stay out of this,’ the Norman warned. ‘I have had enough of your interference. The King has commanded me to achieve some sort of alliance with these vanquished Saxons. Mark this. It matters little to me how I carry out his commands, but carry them out I will. I shall not be crossed. I cannot afford to lose the King’s favour.’
‘Perhaps you should have considered that before you slaughtered Lady Hilda’s people!’ Beatrice said.
Hilda edged nearer to Beatrice. ‘Please, explain. I don’t understand what you’re talking about,’ she said.
‘Stupid Saxon.’ Anne’s face was distorted with misery. ‘He intends to marry you.’
Hilda went white as whey.
‘It’s one way of ensuring good behaviour from that rabble of yours,’ de Brionne smirked. ‘Your Saxons will not rebel if they know that Aiden of Lindsey’s legitimate heir is installed as wife to the new Norman overlord.’
Hilda shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered, and backed till her shoulders hit the wall by the window. She looked desperately young. ‘You...you have it wrong. I’m not necessarily Aiden’s heir. I think the Council will support Edmund as thane. He’s more suitable than I. I...I...was...’
The baron waved her objections aside. ‘I think you will come to realise the advantages of our union, Lady Hilda, and will change your mind. Your people will be safe, no longer inclined to rebel, and the position of thane will be filled satisfactorily by...’ de Brionne paused ‘...myself. Then everyone can get on with learning to live again. Why, I may even pardon that rebel brother of yours. Naturally, his illegitimacy bars him from advancement–’
‘Why?’ Beatrice demanded. ‘Our King is illegitimate, and that has been no bar to his advancement.’
‘Mistress,’ the baron warned silkily, ‘your insolence will yet be your death.’ His cold gaze returned to the quivering Saxon. ‘But I will be merciful, Lady Hilda. If you wed me, I will have your brother exiled. His life would be my wedding gift to you.’
Beatrice subsided, speechless at his gall. Only that morning he had proposed a different marriage in the cause of unity. And now he was putting himself forward as the husband of this child, when all the time he and Anne...
She almost choked. Poor Anne.
Anne was twisting and untwisting the ends of her girdle round her hands with jerky, uneven movements. She wouldn’t look at Beatrice.
‘You...you would allow Edmund to live?’ Hilda asked faintly.
Beatrice could hear the hope in Hilda’s voice. The child was weakening. She believed de Brionne’s easy lies.
‘Hilda, no!’ Beatrice cried, revolted by the baron’s plan. ‘You’re too young. You cannot marry de Brionne.’
Anne’s lover placed himself a few inches in front of his prospective bride.
‘She’ll grow up quickly enough. I can already see signs of coming beauty,’ he declared, smiling into Hilda’s rigid face.
Anne let out a strangled sob.
De Brionne’s face darkened. ‘I won’t stand any more arguments from you women. You are none of you in any position to argue. You’ll do your duty. I’m dispatching an envoy to the King, and if he agrees my proposal is sound, I shall marry the Lady Hilda. Nothing any of you can say will alter my decision.’
Brushing past Anne on his way to the door, he chucked her under the chin. ‘Don’t scowl, my lady. It will put lines on your beautiful face and mar you. I won’t take a lined hag as my mistress,’ he finished cruelly and strode from the room.
‘How could he use you so, Anne? He’s a monster, a beast!’ Beatrice cried.
‘Nay, Beatrice,’ Anne said tonel
essly. ‘He’s just a man. An ambitious man. And one who wants to gain favour with his King.’
‘No man, that – he’s the Devil incarnate! He has no right to treat you so! I thought he loved you.’
A sad smile hovered on Anne’s lips. ‘He loves me as well as he is able. It’s very strange, Beatrice, but when I was to marry Aiden I did not mind so much. Nor did I mind when Philip put forward a marriage to Edmund as a solution. He did suggest that, but as you know, Edmund didn’t want me.’ The heart-wrenching smile twisted. ‘I’ve either been married, or been a widow, ever since I’ve known Philip. It didn’t seem to present a problem. But when he suggested he was going to marry Hilda...that did...hurt. I think I trust the strength of my own feelings for Philip more than the strength of his for me.
‘I must be jealous. How very vulgar!’ Anne made a brave attempt at a laugh, but it sounded more like a sob.
‘You love that murdering swine?’ Hilda asked, temporarily forgetting her hatred for all Normans in her incredulity that anyone could love the worst of them all.
Anne nodded ruefully.
‘If it helps you, Lady Anne, I do not wish to marry him. But it seems it is not up to me,’ Hilda told her with commendable calm.
‘This wedding must not take place,’ Beatrice announced decisively. ‘And we must stop it.’
The two girls stared.
‘But...but what can we do? You heard the baron,’ Anne said.
‘There must be a way open to us. There has to be. It’s just that we have not seen it.’ Beatrice wasn’t going to give up.
For a moment no one spoke. A wintry gust of air blew in through the window, carrying with it the noise of soldiers drilling in the yard. There was so much noise, every last Norman must be present. Beatrice moved to the window. They were a formidable sight. They were finishing, breaking ranks. De Brionne was talking to a mounted man. The envoy? The man saluted, and de Brionne sped him on his way with a hard slap on the horse’s rump.
‘The messenger to King William has left,’ Beatrice murmured.
‘There is the Saxon treasure hoard,’ Anne said thoughtfully.
‘What?’ Hilda went very still.
Anne looked sharply at her. ‘You must know about it. It’s your inheritance.’
Hilda tossed her head, and sealed her lips.
Anne took Beatrice’s arm. ‘Apparently there’s treasure which belonged to the old thane, Hereward of Lindsey. It was mentioned in the prayer book. Philip noticed that someone had written in the margin a reference to the ‘treasure beyond price’ that lay hidden in the chapel.’
‘There could be a more spiritual explanation. It could be a reference to the peace of mind, the spiritual solace people find in a chapel,’ Beatrice suggested.
‘I thought you might come up with some pious nonsense,’ Anne said scornfully.
‘She’s right,’ Hilda cut in. ‘That is what it means.’
Beatrice struggled to keep her eyes from shifting to her travelling chest. A shiver ran down her spine. Edmund’s casket! She flashed a guilty look at Anne, but Anne had not noticed.
‘Nay, Hilda.’ Anne would not have it. ‘You know full well there is treasure. As soon as Philip told me about the hidden recess under the altar, and the silver penny he had found, I knew there was a hoard. It must have been secreted there. How else do you explain Edmund’s presence in the chapel? It was a strange hiding place for a wounded man to pick when it cut off his retreat. Or perhaps you’d have me believe he went there to pray?’ She hooted derisively. ‘A warrior at prayer when his people were battling for their lives? No, not that one. It’s most likely he was hiding Saxon coin.’
‘Where is it, Hilda? Where’s the treasure?’ Anne demanded.
‘I’ve no idea.’ Hilda flounced on to the bed.
‘Haven’t you?’ Anne set her mouth. ‘What a pity. If you did know its whereabouts we might be able to persuade Philip to give up this idea of marrying you. We could give him the treasure, and in exchange he’d let you go.’
‘Not he,’ Beatrice disagreed bluntly. ‘He’d still want Hilda. Hilda is the key to any power he may hope to have.’
‘Do you think he might change his mind if we found the hoard?’ Hilda pleaded, fixing hopeful eyes on Anne.
‘Do you know where it is?’ Anne parried.
Hilda’s face dropped. ‘I do not.’
I know where it is, Beatrice thought, keeping a tight rein on her expression. Her mind raced. If she gave Hilda the casket, it might save the child, though she doubted it. Edmund’s enemy would end up holding both the treasure and his sister. If Beatrice said nothing, she was condemning Hilda to a lifetime of hell with de Brionne. She rubbed her face. Whatever she chose to do she risked damaging Edmund’s cause. There must be another answer.
‘I have an idea,’ she announced, slowly. ‘We must help Hilda escape.’
Hilda snorted. ‘Mistress Beatrice, you’re mad! You’ve seen the guards de Brionne has posted outside this chamber. The place is bristling with them. What about the sentries, and the lookout? What will we do with them? Weave a magic spell and have them spirited away?’
‘Knowing Beatrice, she’d probably pray,’ Anne said dryly.
‘Anne, do think,’ Beatrice pleaded. ‘There must be something...’
‘I could distract the men in the hall,’ Anne began doubtfully.
‘Aye!’ Hilda’s eyes were lit with a desperate, eager hope.
‘And Beatrice could work on the lookout by the gate.’
Beatrice felt a pang of doubt. ‘And how, pray, do I work on the lookout?’
‘You’re a woman, aren’t you?’ Anne smiled suggestively.
‘Anne!’
Her cousin laughed. ‘No time for your convent scruples now, Beatrice. If you want to help Hilda escape, you’ll have to play your part. We have to make absolutely certain that the guards don’t suspect what we’re up to.’
‘Mistress Beatrice, please help,’ Hilda clasped her hands together. ‘I cannot marry that soulless swine. My apologies, Lady Anne, but I cannot like him.’
‘You can be as rude as you like,’ Anne told her, ‘as long as you don’t marry him. Come on, Beatrice, let’s do it! I’ll ask Walter to saddle up Betony, and if he is asked, we can say he must exercise her for you.’
Beatrice had to be sure they had a chance. She took the sceptic’s part. ‘Walter will bring Betony into the yard. He will wait for Hilda and me to appear. I must distract the guards. Hilda will leap nimbly on to Betony and make her escape. Easy. Nothing could possibly go wrong.’
‘Aye, it will be simple. A fool could do it,’ Anne said.
‘Only a fool would try it,’ Beatrice frowned. So much could go wrong...
‘I’m willing. My position could hardly be worse than it is now,’ Hilda smiled, her hostility quite gone. ‘Besides, can you think of a better plan, Mistress Beatrice?’
‘No,’ Beatrice admitted.
Anne grinned. ‘Then it’s settled! Beatrice, give her my cloak.’ She rummaged in her purse. ‘And you had better take this money, Hilda, you might need it. I’ll go to Walter. Give me a couple of minutes, and then come out. Agreed?’
Anne vanished before Beatrice had time to nod her consent.
‘The cloak?’ Hilda said urgently.
Beatrice pulled her scattered wits together, and deliberately closed her mind to the retribution the baron would take on them for their part in this escapade. He would probably kill them all...
‘Here!’ She threw Anne’s cloak at Hilda. ‘I’m afraid your own clothes were destroyed after the fight the other day.’
‘If it was simply a matter of clothes, I’d have no worries,’ Hilda said bitterly, and hunched a shoulder on Beatrice. Beatrice heard her suppress a sob.
‘I’m truly sorry, Hilda.’
Hilda wiped her face with her sleeve. ‘It is not of your doing. Shall we go?’ she asked, eyes over-bright.
Beatrice stayed her with a gesture. ‘One moment. I think you
had better take this with you.’ She drew out her key. When she lifted out the casket, she knew by Hilda’s gasp that the child had recognised it at once. She put in Hilda’s hands.
‘You had it all along! Why didn’t you say something?’
‘I don’t think Anne should know. Much as I love her, her loyalties are with de Brionne. She’d be bound to try and get it for him. But if you take it with you, Lady Hilda, you can give it into Edmund’s care. Hide it under your cloak.’ Beatrice hesitated. ‘And...and please tell him I did not betray its whereabouts to any but you.’
‘Bless you, bless you,’ Hilda breathed, clutching the casket to her breast.
‘Don’t thank me, we’ve yet to get you away.’
A low, sensual laugh floated through the doorway. Anne was already fulfilling her part in the scheme.
Beatrice lifted the tapestry hanging aside. She heard another seductive gurgle and a man’s eager response. It was time to go.
Halfway across the hall, a slurred voice challenged them. ‘Where are you bound, ladies?’
It was the groom with the scratched face. He was very much the worse for several jugs of ale. He lurched aggressively towards them.
Beatrice dug her nails into her palms and summoned her loftiest manner. ‘I have permission to escort Lady Hilda to the yard,’ she said. ‘We are going to walk. People need exercise as much as horses.’ She glared down her nose at the groom and he wavered, rubbed his sore cheek, and crumpled clumsily on to a nearby stool. Gesturing Hilda through the doorway, Beatrice sailed out into the dusk.
Her nerves were stretched as tight as a bowstring. Their mission seemed doomed before they’d even begun. ‘This way, Hilda,’ she whispered urgently. ‘That drunkard may yet recall his duty. We must hurry. I pray Walter manages to get Betony to the gate in time. I’ll distract the sentry, and the rest is up to you. Ride like the wind. Do you understand?’
Hilda nodded.
‘So far, so good,’ Beatrice murmured on reaching the gate. Out of the tail of her eye she glimpsed Walter with Betony. He still had a few yards to cover.
Beatrice eyed the guard boldly. His helmet and nose-guard hid most of his face, but what she could see was blue with cold. He looked disgruntled. He was in need of a shave. ‘Good evening,’ she smiled, wondering wildly how on earth one flirted with a man whose expression was lost behind a metal visor.
Sapphire in the Snow - Award-Winning Medieval Historical Romance Page 13
