'Cylu,' she said softly and approached the grey.
Immediately he turned his head, and with ears pricked, nickered to her. Julitta's stomach plummeted. She had expected the horse not to respond, or to turn a different face towards her, but there was no mistaking the small coronet of hair on Cylu's forehead that grew against the grain, nor the pink splash on his otherwise dark grey muzzle.
She compressed her lips, feeling sick. Pierre's groom gave her an anxious look. 'My lady?' he questioned. 'There is something wrong?'
'That grey horse, where did your master buy him?'
The groom shrugged. 'Master Pierre bought him and the mare from a Basque trader last week. Do you like him?' He smiled and patted Cylu's smooth dappled neck. 'A fine riding horse, and still young.'
Julitta would not have called ten years old still young, but the groom's small lie was swamped by the greater tide rising in her mind. She flung away from him and marched up to the horse-trader, who was in the middle of expounding the virtues of the young bay to Mauger. 'Master Pierre,' she interrupted, her voice and expression full of urgency, 'I want to ask you about the grey gelding and the chestnut mare over there.'
The man stared at her as if she had spoken in a different language. He was not accustomed to having his deals interrupted by women, and this one looked as if she was about to turn into a blazing termagant.
Mauger's lips tightened and he frowned at Julitta. 'Can you not see that we are busy,' he growled. 'Where is your modesty?'
'It flew out of the window the moment that I saw Cylu and Gisele's chestnut mare,' Julitta hotly retorted and pointed towards Pierre's other horses. 'Look for yourself.'
Mauger opened his mouth, shut it again with a snap, and glowered his way over to the line of animals. He walked around the grey gelding, while the bewildered groom looked on, and Pierre stood frowning, his hands on his hips and his moist lower lip thrust out.
'The same age,' Julitta declared. 'The same forehead mark and pink star on his muzzle. The groom told me that he and the mare were bought from a Basque trader.'
Mauger studied the chestnut mare too, and rubbed his aching forehead. 'Perhaps Benedict sold them,' he said to Julitta.
'Ben would never sell Cylu!' she declared with certainty. 'They have been together too long!'
'You cannot know Benedict's every thought,' he snapped irritably and turned to the trader who was watching them with wary eyes. 'We know these horses. They belong to my wife's sister and her husband.'
'They do not belong now,' Pierre said sharply. 'I bought them in Arachon from another trader who gathers his horses from far and wide.' He spread his hands in a choppy, aggressive gesture. 'Even if these horses did once belong to your kin, they do not any more. If you desire them, you will have to buy them the same as any other beast at this fair.'
'How much do you want?' Julitta demanded, her own tone easily matching Pierre's belligerence.
Pierre's complexion grew ruddy and his jaw made chewing motions. 'I do not deal with women,' he growled.
'And I do not deal with the…"
'How much do you want?' Mauger's voice cut across Julitta's final word. He seized her by the arm and twisted it so that she could not break free without snapping a bone. The pain made her writhe, but it also silenced her.
Mauger purchased Cylu and the mare, abandoned all intention of buying any other horses from Pierre, and in grim mood, drew Julitta away.
'You shame me!' he retorted. 'I will become a laughing stock.' He shook her arm upon which he still retained a savage grip.
Julitta gasped at the pain. 'Is that all your care?' she retorted in a choked voice. 'Does it not worry you to find Benedict's and Gisele's horses in the care of a trader?'
'Of course it does,' he snapped. 'But I hope I have more sense than to antagonise that trader by calling him a thief. You heard him. He bought Cylu and the mare in Arachon.'
'Something is wrong, Mauger, you know it is!'
He rolled his eyes. T have come to buy horses for the Duke of Normandy, not to pursue a niggling doubt hither and yon.' He gestured brusquely. 'Knowing Benedict, whatever has caused him to part with those two, he has landed on his feet. Not even a cat could better him at that game.'
'So you are going to do nothing?'
Mauger drew her on through the throng of people and horses. 'You are quite right,' he said grimly. 'I am going to do nothing.'
'But…'
He swung her round to face him, his light eyes showing a red rim of temper. 'Enough, Julitta. Push me no further.'
People were turning to look. Amusement glinted at the sight of an argument between husband and wife. Mauger's eyes flickered. He tightened his lips and with sudden purpose, dragged Julitta out of the market place and away in the direction of the lodging house. 'I should never have brought you with me this morning,' he growled, shouldering his way through the traders. 'Until we leave, you can stay with Madame Clothilde, and mind your distaff. I will not tolerate any more of this.' He yanked on her arm and tears burned her eyes, but they were of rage and pain, not self-pity or remorse.
Mauger deposited her at the lodging house, gave strict instructions to one of his grooms that she was not to leave the premises, and strode back to the horse fair to conduct his business alone.
Clothilde looked at the young woman sitting on a stool near the neatly swept hearth. She was rubbing her arm and struggling not to cry.
Clucking like a mother hen, Clothilde approached to comfort her, thinking that she had just witnessed the end of a young couple's tiff. 'There now, there now,' she soothed, setting her arm across Julitta's shoulders. 'Don't you fret, he'll be back, and you'll soon mend things between you.'
Julitta drew a shuddering breath. She raised her head and looked at Clothilde with brimming, burning eyes. 'I don't want him to come back!' she spat.
'Oh, come now, you don't mean that!'
Julitta sprang to her feet, thrusting off the woman's embrace. 'If I never saw him again it would be too soon!'
Clothilde uttered a horrified gasp and pressed her hands to her mouth. Mauger's groom was tying Cylu and the chestnut mare to a bridle ring in the wall. Now and then he cast a dark look towards the house.
Julitta narrowed her eyes, her mind racing with the speed of her temper. She drew a deep breath to steady herself and stepping outside, approached the grey gelding and the mare.
The groom eyed her sidelong. 'Mistress, Lord Mauger said that you were to stay within,' he said doubtfully.
'Surely there is no harm in this?' She stroked Cylu's sleek, grey neck and half-contemplated making her escape across his dependable back, but she knew that she would be conspicuous in a crowd. Besides, he was not wearing a saddle so her seat would be precarious.
She made a fuss of the horse, scratching behind his ears, and then the tender spot at his withers. The groom's watchfulness eased and a half-smile played at his mouth corners. He made the mistake of turning his back to fetch a bucket of water. Immediately Julitta untied the two ropes and slapped both horses on their rumps, sending them clattering around the small courtyard. As the groom turned round from the well, his mouth open in surprise, Julitta fled out into the street.
She heard the groom's shout of alarm, and Clothilde's shrieks. The sound of footsteps in pursuit lent wings to her feet. She grasped her skirts in both hands and raised them to her knees the better to run. A narrow alleyway leading to another street presented itself on her left and she plunged down its dark throat. A mongrel dog ran out of a doorway and snapped at her. Two half-naked children ceased their game of knucklebones to stare after her. She splashed through a puddle, noisome with mud and trampled dung, and felt the cold seep into her shoe and splatter her leg.
From the alley she emerged into another thoroughfare, filled with merchants, hucksters and market-day crowds. It seemed as if the entire population of Gascony had converged upon Bordeaux. A street pedlar waved a bunch of scarlet hair ribbons beneath her nose. A woman tried to sell her a length of che
ap woven braid. She shook her head and ploughed grimly on through the throng, not daring to look back.
Finally, she stopped and leaned against a house wall to regain her breath. She did not know where she was or how far she had run. People were looking at her curiously. She gulped another breath and began to walk slowly, trying to blend with the crowd.
And then her arm was grabbed from behind, and at the same time, she heard the groom shout across the heads of the people in the street.
Generally, Mauger was slow and thorough in his purchase of horses. He took his time, and was prepared to reject a beast rather than take a risk. But his blood was up, his anger simmering, and it made him incautious. He swallowed convulsively, the lump in his throat so huge that he felt it would choke him. Julitta's contrariness drove him to distraction. Why couldn't she be a proper wife to him? Why did she always make him feel clumsy and inferior? Did she not realise that if only she ceased fighting him and accorded him the respect that was his due, he would give her the world? Perhaps he ought to tell her, but Mauger was wary of the gentler emotions, especially his own.
He watched a Spanish trader trot a bay colt up and down, and forced himself to concentrate upon the horse rather than imagining Julitta's lovely white throat beneath his hands. Even if he did tell her, she would probably toss her head and ignore him. He could see the expression on her face now.
'You like, my lord?' demanded the trader of Mauger's deep scowl.
'No, show me something else, something with more fire.' Robert of Normandy wanted a warhorse. Well and good, he would find Robert of Normandy such a beast. A savage glint in his eye, Mauger set himself to find a stallion that matched the state of his temper.
It was an hour and ten traders later that he came across the young, unbroken black colt which the Catalan dealer's lad was striving to calm. Sweat creamed its neck along the line of the bridle, and it fretted at the sharp bit, specks of blood mingling with the foam at its mouth corners. Its hide was a glossy jet-black, its mane and tail in contrast a dazzling silvery white. Usually Mauger would have kept his distance, but now he plunged into bargaining with a vengeance.
The merchant's wife escorted Benedict to the door of her handsome timber house, and stood with him on the threshold. She was thickly set, with a florid complexion and heavy-lidded brown eyes. Her gown was of the thickest, costliest wool to mark her rank, but the sweat stains encircling the armpits had ruined the fabric. In the room behind her was a family gathering of adult sons and daughters, and several noisy grandchildren. Benedict was not sorry to leave. Out of charity he had made enquiries and brought them the sad news of the death of the family's head on the road to Compostella.
There had been a suitable amount of dramatic wailing for effect, but no deep-seated grief as far as he could tell. The merchant had not been the kind to engender affection, even among those closest to him. Oh they would do all that was necessary to mourn him, exalt his position amongst Bordeaux's merchant fraternity by staging sumptuous masses and giving freely of alms, but it would all be for show.
'Thank you for bringing us the tidings,' the woman said formally.
Benedict bowed. 'It was my duty, Madame.' He did not say 'Christian' duty, since it was Christians who had murdered the pilgrims, and a Moor who had enabled him to be here to give the news.
The woman stepped into the street, gave him directions back to the main thoroughfare and wished him Godspeed. Benedict bowed again and set out. He was in no particular hurry and took his time, admiring the fine merchants' houses which a prospering wine trade had funded. There was a mixture of wooden shingles, thatch and tiles on the roofs. Many had fine first- or second-floor galleries. Women stood gossiping outside their doors, their fingers busy twirling raw wool into yarn on their distaffs. Young children played. Older ones were employed in household tasks. Various cooking smells wafted past his nostrils, and once the stink of burned pottage, where a wife had been so busy chattering that she had forgotten to add more water to her cooking pot.
Without conscious thought he strolled towards the wharf-side where the wine galleys bobbed at anchor. He could see the vessel in which he and Sancho had sailed from Corunna; a Byzantine horse transport, three-decked, sturdy and large. It had been Sancho's idea to commission her in Corunna and sail her up the coast, rather than face the dangerous trek over the mountains. She was specifically designed to carry livestock, with large holds in her port hull. Once he and Sancho completed their business in Bordeaux, they would take her on up the coast to Rouen and disembark the horses there.
He stepped back to admire her lines and thought about discussing with his father and Rolf the possibility of building one of these vessels for transporting stock between Iberia and Normandy. Ordinary trading vessels could carry horses over short distance, but they were no use for longer sea voyages.
Pondering the thought, he continued along the banks of the Garonne, passing other transports, Mediterranean round ships, northern narrowboats, and Flemish cogs. And then he saw theDraca, his father's wine galley, bobbing at anchor, its great mast and canvas sail lying along the deck, its oars neatly stacked across the rowing benches. There was no cargo in her mid-deck open hold and no members of crew on board guarding her. She was obviously at rest and waiting to be reloaded.
Benedict knew that it was unlikely his father was here in Bordeaux. Aubert seldom made the journey; he said that the sea was bad for his ague, but Beltran was almost certain to be in port somewhere, purchasing a cargo for the return trip to Normandy. Benedict's heart lightened, and for the first time in several days a smile came to his lips.
He walked on, intending to visit the horse sales and inform Sancho of his discovery, but he had scarcely changed his direction when he saw a young woman burst out of an alleyway like a hunted doe and join the main thoroughfare, her soft shoes scarcely making any sound as she ran. A veil of light silk covered the top of her head, but not the heavy, dark red braids which snaked from side to side with her motion.
'Julitta,' he said in astonishment. It was her, he would have recognised her anywhere. But what was she doing in Bordeaux? Obviously she must have sailed in on the Draca. But why?
A man was chasing her, shoving his way rudely through the crowd. Benedict recognised Austin, Mauger's chief groom, and in a regular rage to judge by the glower on his perspiring features. Shock had rooted Benedict to the spot, but now he regained the use of his limbs and set off in pursuit of Julitta, determined to reach her first and discover what she was doing and what was wrong.
He cut diagonally through the bustle, weaving and dodging, making breathless apologies. At first he thought that he would lose her, for despite being hampered by her gown, she was as swift as an arrow, and nimble too. But she had been running for longer than he, and gradually he gained on her. At last, she stopped for breath, leaning against a house wall, her hand pressed to her side, and he was able to catch her.
She flung round at the touch on her arm, her blue eyes immense with fear and fury. Her foot drew back to kick her assailant in the shin, and was arrested in mid-motion. 'Benedict?' she gasped, and then her eyes flooded with tears and instead of launching an attack, she threw herself into his arms and hugged him tight. 'You're safe! Oh thank God!'
Austin arrived then, his breath whistling in his throat, and his face the hue of an over-ripe raspberry. He was too exhausted to speak and could only glare at the two of them.
Julitta raised her head from Benedict's chest, tears brimming. She bit her lip. Her own breathing was still rapid and uneven. 'I quarrelled -with Mauger — about you as it happens, and he confined me to our lodging house with Austin as my guard. So… so I ran away.'
'Where is Mauger now?'
'At the horse market – I think. Either there, or in a drinking house.'
'And your quarrel was about me?'
'I thought you were in trouble. He said that you were like a cat — always landed on your feet, and that he did not have the time to seek you out just to discover that you wer
e all right.'
Benedict's lips twitched at her summary of Mauger's response, but there was pain in his smile too. 'Like a cat,' he repeated, and shook his head. 'He is right and he is wrong. I have landed on my feet, but not before being first beaten to my knees.'
By now, Austin had recovered enough to stand straight and his complexion was less congested. 'Mistress Julitta, you must return to the lodging house,' he panted.
'Mistress Julitta must do nothing unless it be her will,' Benedict said sharply to the groom.
The man clamped his jaw. His eyes were nervous. 'Lord Mauger will whip me.'
Julitta gripped Benedict's sleeve. 'It does not matter now that I've found you. I'll willingly return to our lodgings.' She smiled through her tears. 'I will even bow to my husband and admit that I was wrong to fear for your safety.'
'You weren't wrong,' he contradicted. 'If I am here now, it is because of a Moorish physician named Faisal ibn Mansour.' Abruptly he turned to the groom. 'I will escort Lady Julitta back to her lodgings. You can go and find Lord Mauger and tell him I am here and that I take full responsibility.'
Austin deliberated, saw that it was the best that could be salvaged from the situation, and departed in haste to find his master.
Together, Julitta and Benedict began to walk. 'Are you staying in the city?' she asked.
Benedict shook his head. 'No. We sailed up from Corunna on a horse transport galley, and we sleep there.'
His use of 'we' caused Julitta to make a wrong assumption. 'Is Gisele there now?'
'No,' he said quietly. 'Gisele is… is dead.' He lengthened his stride as if to outpace the thought and Julitta had almost to run to keep up.
'Dead? What happened?'
'Let it wait until Mauger comes. It's not something I want to relive more than I must.' He swallowed and glanced at her sidelong. 'It has been a hard road, Julitta.'
'I'm sorry.' It sounded inadequate, but she could think of nothing else to say.
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