The Conquest

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  Among the rejected horses, Julitta came across a cream-coloured mare with a filly nuzzling at her heels. The mare was nothing to look upon, although the journey she had travelled whilst carrying and then bearing the foal was a testament to her endurance. The colour of her coat was unusual, exactly mirroring the thick, yellow cream that was skimmed off the milk in the dairy each summer evening. Still, Julitta would have passed her over with only a minor second glance, were it not for the foal.

  Her colouring was even more striking than her mother's, for instead of being a dappled grey, she was a dappled gold, or would be when her baby fuzz had grown into true, glossy horsehide. She had the sharp, pricked ears, the intelligent eye and the fluid lines that suggested her father at least must have come from Andaluz stock. An aristocrat, lost among the peasants, so small an aristocrat, that Mauger had overlooked her.

  Julitta was not so naive as to call Mauger over and make a fuss about purchasing mother and daughter. If they were fortunate, they could obtain both for a bargain price. She sauntered back to the men. 'Are you going to buy any?' she asked Mauger.

  He eyed her suspiciously. 'Why?'

  Julitta pointed at a jet-black yearling which she knew Mauger had discarded as being too weak in the chest and spindly of leg. 'He's nice,' she said to the coper. 'Can you trot him up and down again?'

  The coper agreed with alacrity, scarcely able to believe his luck. Mauger, full of his own disbelief, faced Julitta. 'What do you think you are doing?' he hissed furiously. 'That animal's not worth a bag of beans!'

  'I know,' Julitta said calmly.

  Mauger glared. 'Then why did you…'

  'Oh, be quiet and listen! I asked to look at the yearling to distract the trader so that I could talk to you about that mare and foal over there without him suspecting. The mare's ordinary, but look at the foal, look at the breeding in her.'

  'I've already looked,' Mauger said coldly.

  'And you were not impressed?'

  His eyes flickered to the trader who was trotting the black up and down. 'I won't waste your father's coin for your foolish whim,' he growled.

  'It's not a whim, it is sound sense!' Julitta's eyes flashed angrily. 'There's Spanish blood in her. Do you think I cannot recognise quality when I see it?'

  'You are saying that you know more after one year than I do after nine and twenty?' Mauger's nostrils flared.

  'I am saying that you overlooked the foal because the mother is not what you want.'

  'I overlooked nothing,' Mauger said through his teeth, clinging grimly to control. 'Even if the sire is pure-bred Andaluz, the mother's blood will bring it down. Your father entrusts me with the management of his horses, not some flighty wench who should be at her distaff.'

  Julitta recoiled as if she had been punched. Mauger might have more knowledge than her, but he did not possess the vital spark of intuition. To be slapped down when she knew she was right was a blow that left her first speechless, and then hot with indignation. 'Then he entrusts a jackass!' she spat, and turning her back on him, faced the trader who had given up all pretence of showing the black's paces and was staring at the two of them in astonishment.

  'How much do you want for the cream mare and her foal?' Julitta demanded, all subterfuge flown.

  The coper drew breath.

  'You bargain with me, or not at all,' Mauger snarled furiously. 'I am responsible for my lord's bloodstock. The girl has no authority, and furthermore no coin. And I wish to buy neither mare nor foal.'

  Julitta whirled round and glared at Mauger, loathing him.

  'Scowl all you want, your tantrums will not change my mind,' Mauger said brutally.

  She wanted to kick him, she wanted to scream abuse in his face, but she saw that the deeper she wallowed in fury, the more he gained. Gathering the tatters of her dignity around her like a threadbare cloak, she swept out of the bailey, and only when she was out of sight did she stoop to pick up a stone and hurl it as far and as hard as she could, to the accompaniment of language purloined from Dame Agatha's bathhouse.

  For the rest of the day she kept to the bower, twirling raw wool on her distaff with a vengeance while she wondered how many other opportunities Mauger had let slip through his fingers during the twenty-nine years of experience he claimed to his advantage.

  In the late afternoon just as the candles were being lit, a servant hurried into the bower to inform Arlette that Benedict de Remy and the Lady Gisele had ridden in.

  Arlette's face shone so brightly that they scarcely required the candles, and she leaped to her feet. So did Julitta, her heart bumping against her ribs, her stomach queasy with anticipation. She had tried to banish Benedict from her thoughts since his marriage at Michaelmas, but she had no control over her dreams. Time and again he would invade them and torment her with his smile.

  Full of anticipation, fall of dread, she followed Arlette out to the bailey. Gisele had been travelling by litter, she had never been keen on riding, and as the contraption was set down, she drew aside the curtains, stepped out and flung herself into her mother's arms. Weeping, the two women embraced. Julitta stopped dead, her gaze held not so much by the sight of Benedict, lithe and strong with a new maturity to his features, as by the cream mare and golden-dapple foal attached by a leading rein to Cylu's saddle.

  She stared and stared. Arriving to greet the visitors, so did Mauger, his complexion growing dusky and his grey eyes brightening with rage.

  'How did you do this?' he hissed furiously at Julitta.

  'I didn't do anything!' she retorted. 'I've been "minding my distaff' as you suggested.'

  Glowering, Mauger shouldered forward to confront Benedict. The young man drew breath to speak, but Mauger stole his space.

  'Where did you get this mare and foal?' he demanded. 'Did she put you up to it?' An aggressive forefinger stabbed at the staring Julitta.

  Benedict looked astounded. He glanced briefly at Julitta, then back to his fuming accuser. 'Put me up to what?' He shrugged. 'I've only just arrived, and this is the first time I've set eyes on Mistress Julitta since Martinmas. 'I met a horse-trader driving his animals towards Honfleur and I stopped to look over what he had.'

  'Surely you must have known that he had been here first, and that I had rejected his stock as unfit for Brize?' Mauger said huskily.

  'Of course I knew. I guessed even before he told me. And since you had rejected them,' Benedict added silkily, 'I judged myself perfectly within my bounds to buy the mare and foal for Ulverton. The mare's ordinary, I grant you, but the foal shows promise, and if she carries the stallion's line so well, she will probably make an excellent brood mare. The trader was disappointed at having sold you nothing, so he made himself feel better by letting me have these two at a very attractive price.' Benedict tilted his head. 'What's wrong, Mauger? To look at you, anyone would have thought I had squandered a hundred marks on a broken-winded ass.'

  Mauger clenched and unclenched his fists as if contemplating using them on Benedict. He brought himself under control, and making a sound of pure disgust, turned on his heel and stormed off. Benedict stared at his retreating back, and then at Julitta, seeking an answer.

  'I asked him to buy the mare and foal, but he turned stubborn on me and refused. We had a furious argument right in front of the horse-trader. Mauger thought he had won.' She said all of this in a neutral voice, but then her eyes began to sparkle and her mouth to curve. 'I could not believe it when I saw them on leading reins!' She approached the mare and foal, her hand outstretched. 'Perhaps prayers are answered after all.' She threw Benedict a dazzling smile.

  He caught his breath at her beauty. She was so spontaneous, so different to Gisele who carefully weighed every action, each word and gesture, tempering them all to what was correct. 'Not Mauger's,' he said with an answering grin. It felt strange to smile. There had been little humour in his life these past few months. Sometimes he thought there would be more joy in becoming a monk.

  Arlette appeared at his side and greeted
him with a cool peck on each cheek. 'Welcome, son,' she said formally. 'Will you come inside?'

  Benedict returned her stilted embrace. He and Arlette were never going to be more than tepid with each other. She resented the rights he had over her daughter, rights that enabled him to take Gisele far away from Brize if he so desired, and for his part, Benedict resented the hold Arlette had over Gisele, that made of his young wife nothing but a pretty, hollow shell without a mind of her own.

  'In a moment, Mother,' he said. 'I want to see the mare and foal safely bedded down first.'

  'I'll come with you,' Julitta ventured quickly, gambling that Arlette would not refuse. Usually she would have done, but with Gisele home at Brize after an absence of five months, Julitta was certain that mother and daughter would want to talk in private without the constraint of other ears.

  Arlette gave her a hard look, obviously torn between her desire to be alone with Gisele and the inadvisability of letting Julitta out of her sight. The former won, but only just. 'Do not be too long,' she said sternly and waggled a smooth, white forefinger to emphasise the point.

  'No, Madame,' Julitta said meekly, barely able to conceal her fierce delight.

  Benedict watched the small, golden-dappled foal curl up on the straw of the stall and immediately fall asleep. Her mother dozed too, replete with the feed of oats she had been given.

  'She's a little beauty,' Benedict said, admiring his purchase.

  'I could have killed Mauger.' Julitta watched the foal too. 'I sometimes wonder how he finds his face to shave!'

  Benedict laughed, but felt forced to speak up in Mauger's defence. 'Anyone can make a mistake. And it doesn't do a man's pride any good to admit to a girl of fifteen that she is right and he is wrong.'

  'Well he didn't do much for my resolution to be of a sweeter nature in the future,' Julitta answered ruefully.

  'You? Sweet natured?' Benedict snorted as if he thought such a notion preposterous, and Julitta swiped at him.

  'I suppose,' she said wistfully, 'that you'll take her back to Ulverton when you return?'

  'You don't think I'm leaving her here with Mauger, do you?'

  Silently she shook her head and looked longingly at the foal.

  Benedict pursed his lips, considering. 'I tell you what,' he said, 'I'll keep her for you at Ulverton. When your father returns, I'll tell him that the horse is yours. He'll understand when he sees young Freya here.'

  'Freya?'

  'One of your father's Norse Gods, or should I say Goddesses.' He smiled.

  'And you are saying she is mine?' Julitta's eyes began to shine.

  Benedict nodded. 'I bought her for Ulverton, but if not for Mauger's foolishness, she would have been yours first.'

  Julitta gave a small, joyous cry and flung herself into his arms. 'Ben, thank you!' she cried, hugging him enthusiastically. He hugged her in return. His nostrils were filled with the scent of her, his hands with the feel of her soft, supple body, and his breathing quickened. For an instant his grip tightened as if to hold her, but then he changed direction and pushed her gently away.

  A groom entered the stables and Benedict released her completely. 'As I say,' he repeated, clearing his throat, 'I'll tell your father about the arrangement.' He drew a deep breath, and as the dangerous moment receded, his tone lightened and his manner became more natural. 'Besides, I have advanced the prestige of Ulverton tremendously this winter season. Your father cannot help but be delighted.' A note of pride entered his voice.

  Julitta watched him, fascinated by every movement, every facet: the shine of light on his heavy black hair and the planes of his face, the cadence of his voice, his lips shaping the words. The place between her legs, the place that Arlette said was forbidden and sinful to think about, was leaden with heat. 'What have you done?' she heard herself prompt.

  Benedict moved towards the door and the safety of the open bailey. 'The King's sons came to Ulverton to look at our horses. Robert and Rufus and Henry on my threshold, I could not believe it. Their father has always come to yours for his mounts, but this is the first time that his sons have shown an interest of their own. They wanted to see your father, but of course he is in Paris, so they had to deal with me. Actually, I think it sat better with them to talk to a younger man than with one of their father's years. They bought several animals and promised to return in the summer — and I think they will. Robert was particularly interested in my desire to import Iberian horses for breeding. He is a great believer in their qualities.'

  Julitta followed him into the bailey, her eyes upon his spine, his rangy body. Sometimes she thought she would go mad cooped up at Brize and made to live the life of a gently bred Norman young lady. She was none of these things. Her blood was fierce and nomad, and just now, provoked by Benedict, it was fizzing in her veins.

  'I know Robert of Normandy,' she remarked. 'He's handsome and very generous.'

  Benedict turned and looked at her with surprise. 'You know Robert of Normandy?' he repeated.

  Julitta smiled at the look on his face. She enjoyed being the centre of attention and she had certainly grabbed Benedict's. 'Oh not well, although he spoke to me kindly, and to my mother too. He used to visit Dame Agatha's bathhouse when he was in London — he had taken a great fancy to Merielle, one of the girls there. He gave me a silver penny to buy ribbons for my hair, and chucked me beneath the chin. I thought he was nice, but I also thought that he had no more depth than a puddle in sunshine.'

  Benedict shook his head in bemusement. She did not belong here, he thought. She was like a caged animal. 'Robert is always surrounded by beautiful women,' he said. 'Already he has one son to his name.'

  Julitta put her hands behind her back and gently swayed her body. 'If I had stayed at the bathhouse, who knows, I might have become his mistress too,' she said provocatively.

  Benedict muttered something beneath his breath which she did not ask to have repeated, but the heat at her core pulsed gently in response. 'I wonder what he would think if he could see me now,' she murmured. 'I do not think he would remember me… but sometimes I think I would go with him if he asked.' She glanced at Benedict for his reaction, but his expression was carefully controlled.

  'You are fortunate,' he said dryly, adding what at first seemed like a non sequitur, 'his brother Rufus prefers men.'

  'Why am I for… ?' She broke off, unable to continue. It would probably be tactless to ask him if Rufus had made advances when he came with his brothers to look at Ulverton's bloodstock. It was not given to every young woman to know about the preferences some men had for other men, but her upbringing had shown her facets of life that would have horrified Arlette and Gisele. King William's own son, the heir to the throne. 'Oh,' she said.

  Benedict smiled without humour. 'Gisele could not understand his interest, but I see that you do.'

  'Did you yield to him?'

  The smile became a short laugh. 'I spent my time with Robert – and you know all about his particular lusts. I took them to a place I know on the Winchester road, where they cater to all tastes. Gisele thinks that we went to a monastery to discuss an endowment. In a way we did. The place is commonly known as "The Convent".' Benedict's expression changed, becoming a trifle perplexed. 'I feel I can tell you anything, Julitta, and you won't leap to condemn me. It's like having a confessor and not having to do the penance. If I told Gisele any of this, she would run to the nearest priest in horror and go down on her knees for my soul.'

  Julitta gazed across the bailey. Mauger was approaching them, leading two mares by halter ropes. 'Who else is there to shield Gisele from life but her mother and God?' she murmured. 'I have neither.'

  She and Benedict had to step aside to let Mauger pass. His features were set in a heavy scowl but nothing was said, making his hostility all the more tangible.

  In the darkness, half-asleep, Benedict rolled over and threw his arm across Gisele's sleeping form. She was wearing her linen undershift, and had covered her hair with a net cap, signallin
g that tonight, like so many other nights, her body was out of bounds. He sighed and nuzzled his lips into her soft nape anyway. Her breast was beneath his fingers, the curve of her buttocks a cushion to the growing pressure in his loins.

  Gisele woke up. 'Stop it,' she whispered fiercely. 'Do you want to wake my mother? Have you no sense of decency?'

  'I only wanted some comfort,' he hissed back.

  'Aye, and I know what sort. You're always at me!'

  'And you always turn away.'

  'You expect me to yield to your lust in the very same room where my mother is sleeping?' Her spine was rigid. She shrugged him off, punched the bolster and rammed her head down into it. The covers were dragged over her ears.

  Benedict turned on his back. From the great bed there was silence, but he knew it was not the silence of sleep. Arlette was listening. He thought about inviting her with sarcasm to join their argument. She was the reason behind most of their problems as it was. My mother wouldn't approve, had become the bane of his life. He had thought that the months away from Arlette in England would give Gisele time to develop a mind of her own, but instead she had pined, complaining all the time about how much she hated England, the people, the weather, he food. He had tried being patient, he had tried being the tern husband, neither to any avail. In the end, defeated, he had brought her back to Brize, to her mother. That decision had its dangers, not the least of them Gisele's half-sister with her mowing innocence. He sat up.

  'Where are you going?' Gisele whispered.

  'To the hall,' he answered, not bothering to lower his voice. There is no point in staying here.'