Table of Contents
Cover
By the Same Author
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
By the same author
MURDER AT THE ALTAR
MURDER BY SUICIDE
MURDER OF INNOCENCE
MURDER BY ACCIDENT
MURDER IN THE GARDEN
MURDER BY COMMITTEE
MURDER BY BICYCLE
MURDER OF IDENTITY
MURDER IN HOUSE
MURDER BY MISTAKE
MURDER MY NEIGHBOUR
MURDER IN MIND
MURDER WITH MERCY
MURDER IN TIME
FALSE CHARITY
FALSE PICTURE
FALSE STEP
FALSE PRETENCES
FALSE MONEY
FALSE REPORT
FALSE ALARM
FALSE DIAMOND
LONGSWORD
THE TARRANT ROSE
MY LORD, THE HERMIT
THE SIEGE OF SALWARPE
Veronica Heley
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
This title first published in Great Britain in 1982 by
Robert Hale Ltd
Clerkenwell House
Clerkenwell Green
London, EC1R 0HT
Originally published under the pseudonym of Victoria Thorne.
eBook edition first published in 2014 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 1982 Victoria Thorne.
The right of Veronica Heley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0137-9 (ePub)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This eBook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.
CHAPTER ONE
The Lady Ursula de Thrave was being prepared for her betrothal. Her honey-coloured hair had been freed from its silken sheath and combed out till it fell beyond her hips and tangled with the buttons at the wrists of her long, tight sleeves. Her aunt placed a garland of yellow roses on Ursula’s head, and stood back to admire the effect.
‘Now don’t crush that silk, child. This is the most important day of your life and a creased gown will not help. And leave the talking to me. If only you could manage to weep, as other maidens do on these occasions … but you were always a stubborn fool, and will fail us, for sure.’
‘I will not fail you.’
Lady Editha adjusted her rings. She had become so thin of late that her rings were loose, and she was constantly checking on their presence.
‘You should never have been allowed to run wild. I told your grandfather it was not seemly, but no-one ever listens to me! Did your father listen to me, when I advised him not to wed a dowerless girl? Did he heed me when I told him not to go on the Crusade? And as for taking his bride along with him …’ She tugged her wimple awry. ‘I knew how it would be. I told your grandfather we would never see either of them again, and neither did we.’
Ursula put her arm round her aunt. ‘But you had me.’
‘More of a boy than a girl, climbing cliffs and riding bareback …’
‘Not for a long time now.’ Ursula kissed her aunt’s soft cheek. ‘Come now. Smile for me?’
‘How can I smile, when we are brought to such a pass? And how can you talk of smiling, when at this very minute your grandfather may be fighting his last battle?’
‘Aylmer will help us. Has he not promised to drive the wolf from our door?’
‘You make a jest of everything!’
‘I am not as careless as you seem to think. I know very well that we are in trouble, and that it is up to me to rally support for our cause. Our treasury is empty, the enemy sits outside our gates, and therefore I am to sell myself in marriage to the highest bidder.’
Lady Editha shrieked. ‘If my lord Aylmer should hear you!’
Ursula had the grace to blush. ‘Well, is that not the truth? Is grandfather not besieged in Salwarpe, and all our lands overrun by Hugo de Frett? If you and I do not find allies here, will not Salwarpe be lost to us, and we be turned adrift on the world without a penny?’
‘Salwarpe is strong and your grandfather has been a notable soldier in his day. Salwarpe will not fall, and you are yet its heiress.’
‘And luckily for us both, my lord Aylmer desires to make me his second wife. Heigho! Am I not a lucky girl?’
‘Ursula, you do not intend to slight him!’
‘No, aunt. I agree with everything you say about him. He is a big man, and I like a man who stands taller than I do. He is a rich man, and I am not averse to eating off gold plate. More, he is a kind man, and his servants obey him with a smile.’
‘You forget the most important thing in his favour; after his offer to help Salwarpe, that is. His first wife bore him no children, and therefore the children you bear him will inherit all this. …’ The Lady Editha indicated the richly furnished room in which they stood and, by implication, the wealth of castle and estates around it.
‘It is your good fortune that he is wealthy,’ said Ursula. ‘I do not marry him for that. I marry him because he can save Salwarpe and also—yes, I will agree that there is something about him which pleases me … an air of authority … a fine figure …’
‘It is a good thing you look older than you are. At eighteen you could pass for a woman in her early twenties. It will make the contrast between you less obvious.’
‘Why, my lord is a handsome man, and I am half in love with him already. What is more, I have no idea when he was born, and I beg of you not to tell me. I shall say to myself that he is in the prime of life and if that satisfies me, then who shall dare to remind me that he is forty-one, or two or three?’
‘Forty only, I believe. But no one thinks he looks his age.’
Someone was at the door. Aylmer had sent a distant kinswoman, who had been acting as châtelaine for him since his wife died, to escort his guests down the stairs and into the Great Hall. There in the late summer sunshine were signed such papers as confirmed the betrothal of the Lady Ursula de Thrave of Salwarpe, to Baron Aylmer de Rathe … the titles of whose estates took up no less than three lines of parchment on the deed. Aylmer took the quill from the hand of the clerk, and signed his name with deliberation. Then he handed the quill to Ursula, indicating where she should also sign … or …
‘A cross will do,’ he said, in a low voice. Few women knew how to read or write.
Ursula took the quill with a smile. She understoo
d that he had meant to spare her embarrassment, and she appreciated his kindliness. She felt a wave of gratitude to Providence for giving her to this man. How very much worse things might have been. …
She signed her name, and underlined it with a flourish. He should see that though she was bringing him a dowry encumbered by problems, yet she did have some gifts for him. His handclasp was warm as they stood together before the priest to exchange vows. This ceremony was almost as binding as marriage, even though she could not yet call herself his wife.
Aylmer stood with his feet apart and his head thrown back. He always stood like that. He was a big-boned man and well-made, with a fine head of corn-yellow hair and a well-trimmed beard to match. His hair was slightly darker in colour than Ursula’s, but there were only a few white hairs over his ears and some fine lines about his eyes to show that he was old enough to be her father.
There was nothing of the paternal in his attitude to her, though. His eyes were warm as he bent to kiss first her hand, and then her lips, at the conclusion of the ceremony.
For the first time Ursula felt ashamed of the bargain she was making. She was honest enough to want to give good value for what she was about to receive. She had thought he was marrying her because he needed an heir, and also because she was young, comely and of good family.
His fingers twisted in hers, and she looked up to see him smiling down at her with an expression of amused understanding. Did he really understand? He was no fool. He must have realised that she was selling herself to save her family.
If there was much that was untamed in Ursula, there was also much generosity. She lifted his hands to her lips, and bowed her head.
‘My lord, I am not worthy. …’
A murmur of approval rose from the company around them. How touching! How charming! The suppliant girl, and the man who would no doubt grant his bride anything she asked …
She had not meant to shed tears. She brushed them away, to see her aunt smiling and nodding to her. Her aunt would think she had cried on purpose, for effect, and yet it had not been so.
Let them think what they might! She, Ursula de Thrave of Salwarpe, would repay her husband by being a loving and loyal wife.
She put her hand on his arm and leaned against him. His people were coming up to them, one by one, to be introduced to her.
Grave faces passed before her, bowing over her hand, unsmiling. …
Four knights, tenants of Aylmer’s, owing him fealty; they had been summoned to his betrothal to hear from Ursula’s own lips of the danger in which her people lay. Without their support, Aylmer could not mount the sort of force needed to dislodge Hugo from the township under the walls of Salwarpe, and raise the siege.
They looked on Ursula and, while acknowledging her grace and beauty, they clearly reserved judgment as to the wisdom of fighting for her.
‘These are not all my knights,’ said Aylmer, drawing Ursula apart. ‘Two more are expected to arrive later today. You know one of them already, I believe?’ Aylmer looked self-conscious. ‘Ah, but young Reynold will be angry that I have stolen a march on him, will he not? We shall have to find him some other beautiful young heiress to marry.’
‘Reynold de Cressi?’ She had indeed met him earlier that year, at the same tournament which had brought her to Aylmer’s notice. Reynold was a young widower, tall and red-headed. He had made himself conspicuous in the lists by challenging one of the most experienced of the jousters, and been lucky enough to unseat his opponent at the third run with the lances. Subsequently Reynold had sent Ursula various tokens of his regard, to wit some verses and a garland of flowers, and she had smiled at him in return. But the affair had gone no further than that.
She slipped her hand within Aylmer’s arm. ‘A most reckless young man, is he not?’ It was possible that Aylmer might be jealous of Reynold, and so she spoke of him as she would of a wayward child.
She had taken the right line. The stern look on his face vanished.
She said, ‘I thought him most gallant. I have always admired tall men. One day he might even come to look like you.’
‘Clever Ursula.’ Had he really said that? She gave him a sharp look.
‘I meant it,’ she said. ‘It is true that I said that partly to please you, but I did mean it. I always say what I mean.’
‘Yes, I really think you do.’
‘There is something else I want to say. It is generally understood that I am marrying you to save Salwarpe. I want you to know that that is not true … or at least, only partly true. I do want to help my grandfather, of course. But I wish with all my heart that there had been no trouble at Salwarpe. I wish I could have come to you with a dowry which would cost you nothing. If you take me as I am, without dowry … if you take no action about Salwarpe, I want you to know that I will be just as true a wife to you.’
He put his hands on her shoulders, and said, ‘I am a lucky man, indeed!’
A page came tumbling into the room.
‘They come, my lord! They come!’
Aylmer laughed. He gathered Ursula within his arm and hustled her out of the room and along a covered passageway. Now they overlooked the courtyard. Below servants were preparing to receive the party which was even now clattering over the drawbridge.
First came a squire, bearing a pennant of green and silver stripes. …
‘Reynold de Cressi,’ said Aylmer.
A red-headed man in a brilliant green and silver striped surcoat over chain-mail came into sight. He was riding a mettlesome horse, but had it well under control. His chin was on his shoulder, looking back the way he had come.
Aylmer said, ‘He is watching out for Benedict, no doubt.’
‘Benedict?’
‘Benedict de Huste. They are enemies, Reynold and Benedict. And there lies my dilemma, Ursula. Those two men are the key to the relief of Salwarpe; Benedict is your man for a siege, and Reynold for fighting on horseback. If you can win them both to your side, then you will save Salwarpe. If not …’
‘I do not understand. Can you not command them to obey you?’
‘At harvest-time? Can I force them to take their men away from the fields at harvest-time? No. Can I force them to go into battle again, when they have already completed their service for me this year? Assuredly not. I cannot compel them to anything.’
Ursula bit her lip.
Aylmer nodded to where another pennant was being dipped to clear the portcullis. ‘Yet they come. They come to my command, and they will listen to what you have to say, and to what I have to say. Then they will decide what they will do. If words of mine can win them to your side, then those words will be spoken.’
‘But you think it will be more difficult to woo men from the harvest, than knights to battle?’ She bit her lip. ‘Well, I said it would make no difference to my vows, if Salwarpe were not to be regained. You have put me to the test sooner than I thought, but I will not fail you.’
‘Do not be so hasty, child. All is not yet lost. Benedict is a man of subtle mind. Win him to your side, and he may yet find a way for us to raise the siege.’
Reynold had reached the mounting-block and was sliding out of his saddle. A body-servant was unbuckling saddle-bags from a packhorse, while Reynold’s squire took charge of his master’s helmet and shield.
But, ‘Where is Benedict?’ said Aylmer.
A riderless horse appeared in the courtyard, led by an elderly servant in a livery of azure on black. Aylmer strode to where steps led down into the courtyard, and Ursula followed him.
‘My lord Aylmer …’ Reynold was bowing before them. He spoke to Aylmer, but his eyes were on Ursula.
‘Reynold, I thank thee for coming so soon. But where is Benedict?’
‘Making a fool of himself, as usual.’ Reynold’s eyes had not moved from Ursula’s face, and he smiled, showing pointed teeth. His eyes were a warm brown and expressed not only homage to her beauty, but also something which was not quite—but very nearly—impudence.
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��A child tumbled down the bank on the road outside. Some scullion’s imp, sent out to look for herbs. And what a wailing there was! Right under my horse’s hooves. And so, of course, Benedict had to interfere. He told me to go on, and make his apologies.’
‘And here I am!’
No-one had noticed Benedict’s entry into the courtyard. He had walked in bearing a small child in his arms. Two or three more children hung about him, at once helping and hindering him in his errand of mercy.
Unlike Reynold, Benedict was dark. He was not a tall man, but he had wide shoulders and gave the impression of being at once awkward and immensely strong. He had taken off his surcoat to wrap about the injured child, and there were streaks of blood and dust on his tousled hair and swarthy cheek. Like Reynold, he had worn chain-mail in which to travel, but, unlike Reynold, his armour looked as if it had seen much wear.
He seemed not to notice Ursula, but ducked his head at Aylmer.
‘My lord, forgive me if I take the child away, and reassure his mother. He is more frightened than hurt, but there was a lot of blood. …’
‘Give him to one of the servants,’ drawled Reynold. ‘This is not the time to …’
Benedict turned his back on them and spoke over his shoulder. ‘You will excuse me, then.’
Aylmer was at Benedict’s side, turning him so that he might see the child for himself. ‘Why, it is the washer-woman’s son … that’s right, lad! You are in good hands. Benedict, I am glad to see you.’
‘And I to see you,’ said Benedict, his dark face transformed in a sudden smile. ‘Aylmer, I cannot say how pleased I am to hear you intend to marry again …’
‘And this is the lady,’ said Aylmer, discovering Ursula close at his side.
‘Will you not allow me to help?’ said Ursula, smiling at Benedict.
‘No, no.’ Benedict’s smile vanished, and he brought up his shoulder, as if to protect the child from her. ‘We will do well enough.’
His manner was so abrupt as to be insulting. Ursula was hurt. She looked at Aylmer for support, but he was shaking his head at her, and pushing her towards the stairs.
‘I will go with Benedict,’ he said. ‘Reynold will escort you back to the others, and I will join you there anon.’
The Siege of Salwarpe Page 1
