by Maura Seger
Nothing could ever lessen the shadow of grief for those who were lost But there was still room in their hearts for gladness as they took their places in the hall bright with torchlight and boisterous with the din of reassuringly male voices.
Nor were the men immune to the sudden appearance of women whose serene graciousness made the events of the last few months seem no more than a terrible dream. For a brief time, it was possible to throw off the weight of despair and luxuriate in the well-remembered but hitherto lost pleasures of congenial company, excellent food, and feminine admiration.
The shortage of furniture in the keep made it necessary for everyone to sit together. The ladies were quickly surrounded by appreciative gentlemen vying for their attention. Roanna could not help but smile as she watched Alaric maneuver to keep Lady Margaret at his side. But her smile faded when she glanced wistfully at Colin, only to find his eyes shuttered and his expression blank.
Though they sat side by side throughout the meal, they said hardly a word to each other. Roanna forced herself to pretend interest in the conversations going on around her. But try though she did, his nearness remained a constant distraction.
Seated as close together as they were, she could feel the warmth of his body through her thin silk tunic and surcoat. Several times as they passed platters between them their fingers brushed. The contact robbed her of what little appetite she had. The food might have been tasteless for all the attention she was able to give it, and the wine she sipped seemed sour.
Acutely aware of how strange their behavior must appear, she was grateful for their guests' absorption in each other. Only Lady Margaret showed any sign of noticing that something was wrong. Her quizzical glance fell first on Roanna, then on Colin. For just a moment there was a glimmer of understanding in her bright blue eyes before simple courtesy compelled her to look away.
As the meal wore on, Roanna sensed a change. Soothed by ample food and drink, reassured by their familiar surroundings, and perhaps innocently provoked by the presence of the women, the men were slowly moving from nostalgic talk of the time before Hastings to tentative consideration of what had happened since then.
It was the battle itself that became the focal point of an increasingly spirited discussion. All the men had fought on that blood-drenched plain, and each had his own ideas about what had gone wrong.
"It was the forced march from London," one asserted. "By the time we found William the army was exhausted. A few days rest would have made all the difference."
"The reinforcements we were expecting from Northumbria would have turned the tide," claimed another. "But they never arrived."
A red-bearded lord shook his head vehemently. "We still had the Normans outnumbered and we were winning, until that false retreat they staged tricked us into giving up the high ground."
There were reluctant nods around the table. "King Harold, may he rest in peace, tried to stop that," Alaric remembered. "But the army wasn't sufficiently disciplined. Once the ranks broke, there was no calling it back."
"The Normans didn't have that problem. Whatever else they may be, they know how to fight as one."
"Still, if Harold hadn't been killed, it might have been different"
"Aye, it was when he fell that the battle was lost"
"What army can be expected to fight without its leader?"
"If William had died, the Normans would have been the ones to lose."
"It was just the luck of the draw that Harold was cut down."
"Who could have figured a Norman archer would be skilled enough to hit him from that distance?"
"No one could have prevented it"
"That's right, no one."
Instinctively, the men glanced toward Colin. He had remained silent throughout the discussion, but they presumed he would agree with them. Instead, he shook his head firmly.
"The battle was lost before Harold fell. With the Normans fighting from horseback and us on foot, our only chance was to hold the high ground and make them come to us."
His silvery eyes clouded over as he recalled the scene. "The rain that had fallen over the last few days made the going slick. The horses wouldn't have been able to keep their balance. It would have been a matter of picking them off man by man. But instead some of us gave up the advantage to follow the feigned retreat. That lack of discipline and the failure to obey even the King's direct orders destroyed us."
So softly that the men had to lean forward to hear him, he added, "Don't look to chance for the cause of our defeat It lies in ourselves. We were a loose coalition fighting under a leader some of us did not want The Normans were completely unified and unshakably disciplined. Moreover, we clung to the old methods of warfare that had always worked for us while the Normans made great advances."
"It's easy to find fault after the fact," the red-bearded lord protested, "but you sound as though you think we deserved to lose."
"To the degree that we were unprepared to protect ourselves, our families, and our lands, that is true."
His somber judgment settled slowly over the table. The women glanced at each other anxiously, unsure how the men would react. But they need not have worried. Having achieved his aim in puncturing the cloud of rationalization and excuse, Colin moved quickly to bolster the shaken company.
"None of which is to say it is too late for us to learn from our mistakes. Certainly we have lost much. But if we conduct ourselves property, we also stand to gain."
"How so?" Alaric asked softly. He had never before heard his lord speak so ruthlessly and could only wonder where it would all lead.
Leaning back in his chair, Colin twirled the wine cup between his fingers absently before he said, "William's position is precarious. He has sufficient men to keep us at bay, but not enough to take over the country completely and remake it in the image of Normandy. Without our cooperation, he will have to spend the rest of his life fighting to hold on to what he won at Hastings, and in the end he will be defeated anyway because he will never have the rime to implement policies and truly rule."
"Are you seriously suggesting," growled Red-beard, "that we should help William?"
"Why not? We share the same quandary. If we continue to resist him, we condemn ourselves and our families to a life of perpetual fighting. But if we accept him and work with him, we will have the chance to create our own future instead of merely having it imposed on us."
Gently, he concluded, "What it comes down to is whether we are to be the conquered victims of a bloodthirsty tyrant or the loyal subjects of a just sovereign."
"Just! What makes you think William is prepared to treat us fairly?"
"Are you so foolish as to trust him?"
"Why would he ever see us as anything but enemies?"
"Because," Colin explained calmly, "William believes above all that it is his destiny to be King of England. To achieve that, he risked the considerable wealth and power he held as Duke of Normandy, as well as his very life. But without our loyalty, his victory is empty. Therefore, I believe he will go to considerable lengths to effect an accord with us."
Long moments stretched by as the lords considered this. Some clearly wanted to believe Colin was right Others fought against relinquishing the dream of continued resistance and an eventual return to the old ways. It was left to red-beard to express what seemed to be the consensus.
"Then God be with you, if you intend to act on that belief. For if you are wrong, the suffering of the past months will seem as nothing compared to what you will have to endure."
Roanna clasped her hands tightly in her lap where their trembling could not be seen. Red-beard's hope seemed more in keeping with a curse.
If Colin shared her thought, he did not show it His manner betrayed no doubt as he said quietly, "But if I am right, all those who choose to follow me will share the benefits."
It was clearly an invitation that held intrinsic attractions to the sorrow-ridden men around the table. They could have no hope of a better future without a l
eader to guide them to it. Colin possessed all the requirements of strength, intelligence, and most importantly, the vision of what might be. Moreover, they sensed he was an honorable man who would not simply use them to achieve his own aims.
No such decision could be taken without due consideration, but already there were signs of how the men might respond. Their earlier vehemence gave way to thoughtfulness. The meal ended quietly, each going off to consider his own position.
Roanna watched them leave with mixed feelings. Part of her resented the burdens she did not doubt they would shortly place on Colin. But the other, wiser part accepted the inevitable. She could not pick and choose from among his attributes. It was the whole man she loved, and he was clearly called to the service of his people in their time of need.
But it was her own needs that occupied her thoughts as she made her way upstairs. Having sent her maids to their beds long before, Roanna was alone as she slipped out of her tunic and surcoat and laid them neatly away. With the night so warm, she left the few sleeping robes she had brought in the chest and selected only a thin wrap to wear as she combed out her hair.
The polished metal mirror perched on a table reflected back a vision of loveliness. A radiant tumult of golden silk framed the slender line of her throat and delicate shoulders. Her thick lashes cast shadows on the high cheekbones brushed by a faint touch of rose. The amber eyes they shielded were turned inward upon the landscape of her own thoughts. The ripe curve of her mouth was even softer than usual, giving her a poignant air of vulnerability.
Her slender body but lightly covered by the robe was unconsciously tensed. Each sound from the corridor reverberated through her. Long moments passed, but still Colin did not come.
Plaiting her hair in two loose braids, Roanna rose with a sigh. She blew out the candles and climbed into bed disconsolately, shivering at the wide expanse of empty mattress. The long, arduous day had left her exhausted. Her limbs and back ached, but it was the pain deep inside her that kept sleep away.
Lying on her side away from the door, she stared into the darkness. Images of Colin rose to torment her. They had such a brief time together before the attack on the stronghold, yet every moment of it stood out in sharp detail
She did not even have to close her eyes to recall the look, sound, touch of him on the right they first made love when his tender passion and consummate skill brought her to blinding recognition of her full womanhood. Nor had she forgotten an instant of the blissful time they spent together before their marriage as all the world faded to insignificance before the sheer, overwhelming joy they found in being together.
Their wedding and the incandescent hours that followed remained as clearly etched in her mind as though they had just occurred. But after that there was only darkness.
Her terror during the attack and her revulsion at DeBourgnon's brutal handling of her had long since faded to only a faint echo of what they had been. It was Colin's behavior since then that tormented her with each breath she drew.
No woman could have asked for a kinder, more considerate husband. He had cared for her himself, washing the soot and grime from her body and rubbing a soothing salve into the bruises left by the near-rape. It was his hands that wrapped her in a warm blanket and his arms that held her as she drifted into healing sleep. But through it all, she had sensed a remoteness about him, as though he was forcibly restraining himself from giving vent to his true feelings.
And now, after the long days of their journey to London and especially since their brief encounter before supper, she greatly feared that they might never recapture their earlier happiness with each other.
A single, glistening tear slid down her cheek. Ro-anna brushed it away impatiently. She was not one to give in to self-pity. Refusing to indulge her melancholy thoughts any further, she was about to light the brace of candles beside the bed and fetch something useful to do when the sound of footsteps in the corridor stopped her.
Colin entered the room quietly, apparently expecting her to be asleep. After the relative brightness of the torchlit corridor, it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. When they did, he was startled to find his wife sitting up in bed regarding him with steady eyes that betrayed nothing of her thoughts.
"You must be very tired," he murmured. "Why aren't you asleep?"
"I was waiting for you." This was the truth, although she had only just realized it Instinctively, she had not wanted to let another night pass without learning whether or not her fears were justified.
Colin did not seem pleased by this announcement He frowned slightly as he sat down on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots. "That wasn't necessary. I know you need to rest"
"There are other things I need more." She had not expected to state the case so bluntly, but now that the words were out she was glad.
Colin, however, heard her through the filter of his own concerns. He thought she was referring to the present uncertainty of their lives, to the dangers that would face them if William refused to acknowledge his suzerainty of his own lands. Certainly it was the right of women to expect a secure home.
His eyes were bleak as he said, "I am sorry. If I had suspected what was going to happen, our marriage would not have taken place."
Roanna swallowed painfully. His words seemed to confirm her deepest fears. Colin regretted their marriage, wished it had never happened How was she to blame him when every time he looked at her he must be reminded of the suffering others of her race had brought down upon his people? If her love alone was not enough to overcome his abhorrence of all she represented, there was nothing more she could do.
Wordlessly she turned from him, burying her head in the pillows. Her tears fell soundlessly into darkness that held not a glimmer of light or hope.
Chapter 12
"I'm not sure how long we will be, Alaric, so why don't you escort Lady Margaret to the market and then see her safely home?" Colin smiled as he made the suggestion, well aware of how eagerly his housecarl would accept it.
"Well, if you think that's best ...." The older man hesitated, but only for a moment He was a bit embarrassed at having his desires so plainly known, yet nothing could detract from the pleasure of spending a day alone with the lady who made him feel like a young and eager boy on the verge of first love.
They went off together happily, not seeing how swiftly Colin's smile faded the moment their backs were turned.
Roanna stood beside him silently. Much as she enjoyed Lady Margaret's company, she was glad he had sent the pair away. The strain of hiding her feelings from such astute eyes was becoming intolerable. At least inside the court she would be surrounded by people who were far too occupied with their own concerns to notice hers.
Leaving the rest of their escort with instructions to wait, they proceeded through the gate set in the high wooden wall guarding the new royal residence. At first glance, William's headquarters were singularly unimposing. A rough-hewn round tower on top of a hastily erected mound commanded a view of the murky Thames and the southeastern portion of the city. It was large enough to house only William and his closest retainers. The rest of the Conqueror's court made do with tents scattered about the bailey, or when that proved too crowded sought shelter in the nearby taverns and inns.
Off in the distance about half a mile upriver stood what had been the royal home in the time of Edward and, very briefly, Harold. It was a far larger and more gracious structure, but lacked the security William considered essential.
Until he could construct the great White Tower for which his architects were already drawing up plans, he would make do with shelter that was, if not elegant, at least easily protected.
Roanna did not consider his caution misplaced. The citizens of London were notorious for their willingness to rise up and make trouble on the slightest pretext And they were only the most visible danger in a country finely balanced on a knife's edge between war and peace. If hotter heads than Colin's prevailed among the remaining Anglo-Saxon lords, Wil
liam would need every bit of his military advantage to keep his newly won kingdom.
Still she couldn't help but wish that he had spared a moment's thought for those who had to make their way through the crude bailey to reach him. Dust stirred up by countless feet and hooves clogged the air. The stench of uncollected garbage and overloaded latrines made her nose wrinkle. She had to step carefully to avoid the piles of manure which in a well-run household would have been gathered for fertilizer almost before they hit the ground.
Shaking her head, she wondered what the Duchess —or was it now Queen?—Matilda would say if she could see such squalor. William's ducal manor in Normandy, presided over by his wife, was a model of cleanliness and comfort. But no such feminine influence yet existed in his new domains. The few Norman women who had so far arrived were not of sufficient rank to dare to advise him. As for the others of her sex, Roanna glimpsed around the stronghold, they were clearly bent on providing services that had nothing to do with cozy domestic concerns.
Turning a blind eye to the prostitutes who were, after all, an expected feature of such an encampment, she followed Colin up the steep wooden stairs to the tower. The entrance to the great hall was unguarded, but not because of any carelessness. No guard was needed when everyone inside was armed to the hilt and ready to pounce at the slightest sign of trouble.
Roanna's back stiffened as she saw the instant belligerence Colin's presence provoked. Several of the knights nearest them actually reached for their swords, while others were content merely to step forward threateningly.
Only her husband's firm hand on her arm kept her moving forward. Glancing up, she was relieved that he seemed unaffected by the hostile display. His slate gray eyes revealed only confident assurance. The hard planes and angles of his face were set impassively. But for the gleaming chain mail stretched across his powerful torso and arms, and the war sword buckled to his side, he might have been in his own keep.
