by Robyn Carr
The women fell silent as Perrine entered, carrying the boy. Perrine did not glance their way, but went straight to the fur-covered pallet to lay the sleepy baby down. His arms were tight about Perrine’s neck and he resisted the separation with a tired whimper. But Perrine’s gentle cooing and slow stroking of the child’s back won over any protests and Derek laid down his head, obediently closing his eyes. Faon frowned, noting that the boy responded very well to Perrine.
Perrine did not so much as turn her head once to regard Faon and Nima. Instead she knelt on the floor beside her young ward’s pallet and hummed softly as he slept.
Faon came slowly to stand behind Perrine, a smile curving her lips. Her eyes glittered as she looked down at the older woman. “I can see that my son benefits from your care,” Faon said softly. Perrine looked up at the young mistress, confusion in her eyes. “It was Thea’s chore before you, but she is not as talented in keeping him happy as you are. Poor Thea, I think she is jealous of you and has little to occupy her. Perhaps I shall let Lady Aurélie have her.”
Perrine frowned, but said nothing. In one month of caring for Derek she had learned a few things, though she had never asked a single question. She found that the only person in Faon’s company to cherish the boy was the old woman, but Nima was too withered and aged to care for a youngster of Derek’s energy. The other maidservants, Thea and Aisla, played more the part of ladies-in-waiting to Faon rather than actual servants. And Thea was not even slightly jealous that Derek had taken immediately to Perrine. To the contrary, she seemed relieved and had more time to dally. It was hard to know whether Faon had found two wenches of the same selfish temperament as herself, or whether these girls had once been hardworking, good lasses who had followed their mistress’s example of behaving in a haughty, superior, and lazy manner. Whichever was the case, more and more of Faon’s household chores fell to Perrine.
Another thing that became clear to Perrine was that Faon was uninterested in motherhood and had not been softened by the velvety skin, large trusting eyes, sweet disposition, and dependent arms of her child. Perrine learned that Faon had not even nursed the child herself and seemed bored and petulant whenever she was with Derek. She was an impatient, intolerant mother; one would think she did not love her son. Yet Faon was aware of her precarious position, and rarely approached Hyatt without the boy in her arms.
Perrine had seen the knight’s dark eyes grow wistful with longing when his son was near. It had not been her duty to take the boy to his father, for Faon was very protective of that right. But Perrine went in tow, for if the boy had some need, certainly Faon did not wish to be bothered. Too, Perrine suspected that Hyatt struggled to keep this devotion to himself. He forgot himself sometimes and hugged the little boy close, his eyes closing and his implacable expression softening with emotion, making him appear, for only a moment, like a protective young father with a gentle heart. Hyatt’s appearance could be, in those brief seconds, like the face of an angel. The faint glow of giving, caring, and needing appeared like an aura about his strong features. It was the look, seldom seen, rarely shared, that a young bride might catch in a flash of early dawn on her husband’s face; the coupling of fierce, powerful strength, and naked, urgent need. It was what happens to a warrior’s face when he is beset by deep love.
Perrine recognized these particulars about Hyatt and Faon because she had loved and married a man who could equal her devotion with his own, and they had raised four sons together. Most interesting to her was how Faon would use her son’s presence to wiggle closer to Hyatt, only to be effortlessly rebuffed. Hyatt was not even slightly intrigued by her any longer.
“The boy is sleepy, Hyatt,” she would say.
Reluctantly, Hyatt would prepare to end the visit, yielding Derek to his mother.
“Perrine can take him to bed,” she would attempt. “I can …”
It never went farther than that. Hyatt’s expression would turn completely indifferent again. “Go ahead, Faon. See about the child.” Hyatt did not unbend even slightly in the presence of his past mistress. It was a fact that his desire for her was long since past. It was also a fact that Faon was not nearly ready to give him up.
Perrine slowly turned her head away from Faon without responding in any way to the suggestion that Thea serve Aurélie. She resumed her humming and stroking of the child. Behind her, Faon paced about the room, mumbling. “That is what I shall do. Hyatt will think that very kind of me; I will ask Thea to go to Aurélie.” She chuckled conspiratorially. “How good for her. Just as she deserves.”
* * *
The call came from the donjon and was echoed across the wall. A few men fled from the hall and mounted hurriedly saddled war horses. Aurélie sensed a rising panic, but could not name it, for the men seemed to prepare for war. Yet all that was called out was “A troop approaches.”
She rushed down three steep stretches of stairs and out to the inner bailey, following running knights toward the gate and bridge of the outer wall. She passed Verel, who stood in the doorway of the stable with a shovel in his hand, but she took no notice of his frown. By the time she reached the gate there were already twenty horsed men there, and an equal number lined the wall.
“What is it?” she asked. “Who comes?”
The young knight whom she questioned showed confusion of his own. “It appears to be peasants, my lady. Injured peasants.”
“Do you require arms to let a few peasants enter?”
“It could be a trap.” He shrugged. “There could be knights hiding amidst the …”
The man stopped suddenly as a shudder seemed to run through the crowd of men and horses. The knight with whom Aurélie had been speaking grabbed her shoulder suddenly to pull her back as Girvin’s horse pounded through the bailey. As she looked up she was struck by a tremor of harsh memory; Girvin was fully armored as he had been on that day that De la Noye was taken.
He looked down at her for a moment, his gray eyes glittering through the narrow slit in his helm. A knight held her arms back, though only for safety, but in Girvin’s eyes there was a sparkle of recognition. He winced slightly before his rumbling voice was heard. “Stay within the wall, milady, until I have looked over this approaching troop. For your safety, madame.”
A few men who seemed to know without benefit of any command that they were the selected ones followed Girvin across the bridge. Aurélie’s view was blocked until ten horses had cleared the gate and bridge and were stopped before the peasants. It was then that she saw approximately ten tattered people, one being pulled on a rude litter. She could not see their faces clearly because of the distance, but the whitehaired, bearded man who stood before them had a rag tied to his staff. He met Girvin.
Villagers who were not busy in the fields had begun to drift from their chores toward the outer bailey to witness the source of such commotion. The gate was being pulled closed behind the knights when the old man pulled out the banner he had tied to his staff to be displayed for Girvin. It was Hyatt’s banner.
She gasped and covered her mouth, a cold dread consuming her. “Wait,” she cried, rushing to the huge gate and trying to get out. Two men instantly ceased their labor in closing the doors to restrain her. “Hyatt,” she cried, straining against them. “The man carries Hyatt’s banner.”
She did not even think of the hysteria that gripped her until Girvin turned to look back at her. The panicked tremor in her voice had been loud enough for him to hear, though he was on the other side of the moat. She stopped her struggle instantly, wondering if he knew that she feared it was Hyatt these peasants dragged on a litter.
Girvin dismounted and removed his helm. “Let the lady come,” he barked.
The men released her and she ran to the group, rushing past the old man to look at the face of one who lay on the litter. It was not Hyatt, but Aurélie was not completely relieved. She went back to the old man and faced him, an almost furious expression on her face. “Where is Hyatt? How do you come to carry his colors?”
“Our village was destroyed, my lady, and he sent us here. He gave us the blazon to help convince the gatekeeper we were invited. We were better fixed when he left us.” The old man had a gash over his eye that had swollen and festered and he leaned heavily on his staff. “We were attacked by looters, and the two horses and food that Sir Hyatt gave us were stolen.”
“Who attacked you?” she asked. “When?”
“Thieves. They were not knights, nor ever were, since they had no shields nor mail, and only shared four horses among twenty men. They were French.” He turned and looked toward the litter. “My son, Stephane, tried to fight them. I am Percival.”
“Sir Hyatt? He sent you? He was not injured?”
“Sir Hyatt found us, questioned us, and gave up the horses and food and told us the way to De la Noye. He said we would be admitted if we could work for our keeping. He was gone, following Edward’s army north, when we were attacked by the thieves.” Percival tried to smile. “You are his lady?”
She looked around a bit uncomfortably, knowing full well how much she had betrayed. “Aye,” she said softly.
“He was fit … then.”
She gave a sigh of relief and turned to Girvin. “Do you let them come in?”
“Aye, it was what Hyatt desired. It appears that they need food and tending.”
Girvin began to turn away, choosing to lead his destrier across the bridge rather than remount. Aurélie followed, also ahead of the tattered group, when a stifled gasp and a motion just barely behind her caused her to turn. Percival swayed slightly and clung to his staff, but he went down in a swoon. An old woman behind him rushed forward and knelt to the ground. She cradled Percival’s head in her arms and looked up at Aurélie with tear-filled eyes.
“He has not eaten in days, my lady,” she tearfully admitted. “There was so little, and the way through the forest was so long.”
She had not seen Girvin pass his reins to a page or squire, but she saw the shadow he cast on the group as he strode toward them again. Girvin tossed his helm carelessly to the ground, and a lad scurried from the keep to retrieve it. The monstrous knight stooped and lifted Percival into his arms as if he weighed nothing at all, taking long strides to carry him across the bridge into the bailey. The old man was beginning to stir slightly. “I … I …”
“Save your breath, old man. Hyatt sent you here to work. This is a place of plentiful food and work.”
Aurélie struggled to keep up with Girvin, whose long footsteps kept anyone who tried to follow galloping in his path.
“Now that my family has found De la Noye, I can die happily,” Percival muttered.
“No one here admires happy death,” Girvin said brusquely. He stopped at the first hovel inside the gate, not far from the stable. He kicked open the door with one foot, sending a woman and two small children scurrying to a corner in fright. “We have wounded who need shelter,” Girvin said to the woman. “Either make them welcome or find another abode.”
Girvin placed Percival on a pallet in the middle of the room. “My lady,” he called over his shoulder. “Who can best see to these poor wretches? Someone must care for this man if I am to get the others inside.”
Aurélie stood in the doorframe and cast a concerned look in the direction of Milliva, the young farmer’s wife, who quaked in fright at the intrusion of the huge warrior. She tried to smile in reassurance. “Be at ease, Milliva. Sir Girvin would do you no harm.” Looking back to Girvin, she sought to reassure him. “You have perchance chosen the best place for them, Girvin. Milliva will help me tend to their wounds. She is a very talented woman, but will need food brought from the hall, though, for I am sure her means are slim.”
“It will be done,” he replied, stepping through the door. “Can you see to them now?” She nodded and he was stopped for a moment by her eyes. He looked down at her and kept his voice low. “He must keep you to your liking, if you worry for him so.”
She lifted her chin proudly. “Perhaps it is more my fear of my next master.”
Girvin smiled, showing that wide gap where a tooth was once rooted. “Wise as well as tenderhearted. You may fool the knight, but not I. I think he is as smitten with you.”
“Why would you think so?” she asked impetuously, blurting out the question before she even considered it.
To her amazement, Girvin’s features darkened as if he blushed. “I have never known Hyatt to make any oath to a woman, much less a marriage oath.”
“But Faon … he has made promises to her.”
“I think you misunderstand, madame. It seems that Mistress Faon clings to the fringes of some promises made to Hyatt’s son.” He leaned closer and whispered a secret. “Do not be afraid for Hyatt. He is well.”
She nodded, a grateful smile tempting at the corners of her mouth. Girvin looked quickly away and hurried out of the hut.
Within a short time and with a little urging from Aurélie, five peasant huts were opened to the newcomers and the women and children were busily making room. Servants from the hall were quickly sent into the village with baskets of food to provide for those whom Hyatt had sent. Aurélie knelt beside Percival, whose wound was already cleaned and bandaged by Milliva.
“It will take some time, Percival, but there are enough hands here to build a home for you and your family. Until then, we’ll have to make do with this.”
He chuckled lightly. “My lady, a fortnight past, we did not dare hope for so much. Your husband is generous. And … your Gascon tongue is more perfect than his. One would think you had lived here all your life.”
She lowered her eyes and looked down at her hands. “I have lived here for a dozen years, sir. I was the wife of the Sire de Pourvre, whom the English army slew.”
Percival was quiet for a long moment, studying her closely. “And he wed you?” he asked in a near whisper.
“He means to secure this land.”
“Above the whims of kings,” the old man said.
She looked at him and saw his sympathetic smile. She tilted her head slightly in question, peering at him. He reached a withered hand into her lap and squeezed her hand.
“So,” Percival began, his voice weak, “do you think yourself hit hard by the English, milady? Do you wonder where your true loyalty should lie?” He shook his head almost sadly. “Your wall still stands, but beyond it there are whole towns reduced to ash. Be wise. Take this offered peace and live well.”
Aurélie stiffened slightly, indignant at this uncalled-for advice from a stranger. “You do not even know how many we lost.”
“Nay,” Percival said, “but it is easy to see how many lived.”
* * *
The commotion in the outer bailey and town brought even Faon from her high tower. She looked out of place in the streets crowded by soldiers, peasants, and servants. She wore a rich mauve gown embroidered in silver and a sheer veil that was held on her head by a sparkling collection of gems.
She lifted her gown to her ankles as she picked her way toward the outer bailey. She was almost there when a wayward flock of noisy chickens cackled in a rapid flight right in front of her, bringing her up short with a gasp. An ear-splitting squeal followed and a piglet, recently escaped from his pen, rumbled into the narrow street in confusion. The chickens scrambled in many directions to avoid the piglet, and one hit Faon squarely in the shins. Her foot was quick as she kicked the bird, sending it flying and dazed across the street. “Clumsy oaf,” she muttered.
The sound of laughter caused her to look around. A handsome young man leaned in the doorway of the stable a bit down the road. He had a shovel in his hand and although he wore peasant rags, she could see that his hard-muscled chest and arms strained at the thin linen of his shirt. His face was tanned from working and his golden hair shone in the sunlight.
“If you do any real damage, surely my plate will go empty and not yours, my lady. Pray be gentle with the fowl.”
She lowered her eyelids slightly as she smiled. “If you’r
e worried about the chickens, you could collect them.”
“Nay, I am bidden to the stables.” He lifted his shovel slightly. “It is horse dung that I will be collecting this day.”
She walked a bit closer to him. “Are you one of the de Pourvre knights?”
“No more, madame. De Pourvre is dead. I am the keeper of the dung heap. A slight but noble chore.”
She could not help but laugh, and it was easy, as she found him to be quite handsome.
“I heard a commotion; some said there was a troop approaching.”
“It was hardly a troop. A group of beggars were sent here by Hyatt. As if he does not have enough beggars to feed.”
“You do not like the new lord, sir?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.
“Who am I to like or to …” His voice trailed off as a uniformed knight, bold in his red gambeson, black hose, and flowing black mantle, stopped short as he passed to stare at the twosome. “Pardon, my lady,” the stableboy said quietly, giving her a slight bow and turning to go.
“Wait a moment,” she said. She reached out, pinching a piece of his shirtsleeve to draw him back.
He looked warily at the guard and turned pleading eyes to Faon. “Please, my lady, I would not chance a beating—”
“You will not be beaten. He will leave you alone if you’re talking to me.” She threw a glance over her shoulder at the guard and after a long and scrutinizing look, the soldier walked on.
“You must be of some special influence here,” he observed.
“Oh, perhaps. I am of Hyatt’s house and I can detain any serf of my liking. What is your name?”
“Verel. Once a knight of De la Noye.”
“Ah. And a good one?”
“I was the captain of a half-troop.”
“Hah! You are too young to have been a captain.”
He smiled and raised a brow. “Age has little to do with it. I am old enough. I was knighted on a field of battle six years ago.”
“I suppose you wish to fight again? Do you seek a position from Hyatt?”
