Chapter 6 #4
The man slipped into the stables one day as Aimery was tending a new bay gelding, a gift from the king.
“Nice horse,” said Gyrth. “What’s his name?”
“I’m tempted to name him Bastard,” said Aimery sourly. “This beast and I have yet to reach an understanding. News?”
“Not from Rolleston. Baddersley.”
Aimery glanced around and moved into open ground where no one could sneak up to listen. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, the little bitch’s life has become a misery.”
“What’s happening?” asked Aimery sharply. “They haven’t touched her, have they? They’ll have the king down on them like the wolves of winter.”
“Oh no, they haven’t touched her,” said Gyrth angelically. “It’s the aunt. Gone mad, she has.” He scratched his nose. “With a little bit of help . . .”
Aimery looked at him. “What have you done?”
“Everyone knows the aunt’s easily goaded.
I got talking to Aldreda, and we came up with this plan, see.
If the girl could be made to look guilty of this and that, she’d be punished, and no blame attached to the village.
With a bit of luck the bitch would be really hurt, and de Pouissey and his wife’d feel the king’s wrath.
He’d hang ’em from the walls, and we’d be rid of the lot of ’em. ”
Aimery was surprised at the immediate outrage he felt. It was a clever plan. “So, what’s happening?” he asked.
Gyrth grinned wickedly. “You’d be amazed at the things a young woman can get up to.
Let’s see. She put salt in the cream and sawdust in the flour.
She threw the Dame’s best brooch in the fire and shaved a strip off her nasty little dog.
If the girl’s eaten anything other than bread and water for weeks I’d be surprised, and her aunt went after her with a carding brush one time and skinned her arm.
The best was when she slashed a tunic the aunt was making for dear, sweet Odo.
Went after her with a log and broke her ribs. ”
Aimery felt sick. She deserves this and more, he told himself, but he wanted to rush to her side to protect her. “You must be mad. She’s the king’s ward. Put a stop to it.”
“She deserves every blow! And I don’t know that I can stop it. The people of Baddersley have been ground into the dust so they’re barely human anymore. They’ve a focus for their hate, and they’re loving every minute of it.”
Aimery turned on him and gripped his arm down to the bone. “If the girl ends up dead or crippled, the king’s rage will spill over the whole area. Put a stop to it.”
Gyrth scowled. “You trying to break my arm? Why so tender-hearted? I thought you’d kicked her out of your system.” At the look in Aimery’s eyes he grew cautious. “I’ll do what I can. They likely need Golden Hart to tell them, though.”
Aimery didn’t slacken his grip. “And why would that be?”
Gyrth winced and looked shifty. “Well . . . he’s who set them on to it, or so they think.”
“Golden Hart is dead,” Aimery said. “As you are dead to me if you use that name again for any purpose.” Gyrth’s features tightened under the threat.
Aimery let him go. “Go undo your own mischief. I’m not going to Baddersley again.
When you’ve settled things, you stay away from the place, too.
The king seems in a matrimonial mood, and he’ll doubtless settle the heiress’ marriage soon.
It could well be to an Englishman. Morcar, perhaps.
Things should sort themselves out. Just, for God’s sake, make sure the girl’s in one piece when the king rides up. ”
Aimery tried not to think about Madeleine de la Haute Vironge, but the vision of her persecuted, imprisoned, and beaten would not let him rest. Had that bold spirit been crushed? Did those fine dark eyes shift and falter?
She deserved it, he told himself. She deserved to suffer as she had made others suffer. But he longed to ride to Baddersley and protect her.
Even if he were so weak-willed, it would be impossible.
The king was keeping everyone under his eye and playing politics.
William was feeding the ancient feud between Gospatric of Northumbria and Waltheof, whose father and grandfather had been earl.
He was listening courteously to messengers from the kings of Scotland and Denmark, and building Edwin of Mercia’s self-importance.
The interesting point, however, was that Waltheof was now betrothed to Judith while Edwin’s match with Agatha was unsettled.
Dangerous anger was building in the Mercian camp over this, not least because Edwin and Agatha appeared to have developed a genuine fondness for each other. In fact Aimery thought it sickening the way they hovered about each other.
The atmosphere at court was beginning to grow heavy, yet William continued to be jovial and to promise all things to all people.
There had been no further mention of Aimery’s reward, and he was beginning to think he could request permission to leave when the king drew him apart.
“I’ve watched you, Aimery, and it eases my mind.”
“Sire?”
The king looked out over the crowded hall, noting who was talking to whom, who was smiling and who frowning. “These are hard times, my boy,” he said, “and this situation is not of my making. I seek only the good of my English subjects.”
“I know that, my liege.”
William nodded and looked directly at Aimery. “You will always act for my good, will you not?”
“It is always my intent, sire.”
William grinned and took a grip on Aimery’s arm. “I am giving you the Baddersley heiress.”
Aimery froze, unable to make the appropriate response.
The king removed his hand. “Do I gather,” he said coldly, “you are not delighted?”
Aimery collected his wits. “I am overwhelmed, sire. But I have Rolleston to run.”
“Rolleston, according to you, is running on greased wheels. I hear Baddersley is in a poor way. Are you afraid of work?”
With relief Aimery saw the king was not angry, merely intrigued. “You know the place, don’t you?” asked William. “It belonged to that scourge, Hereward, along with Rolleston. Is it not a desirable manor?”
“It is in a strong location, sire, and the manor holds rich land, well drained.”
“Tell me then straight out why you alone of all the young men are not slobbering over the prize.”
Because it’s to sign my death warrant. There’s a traitor in Baddersley village who’ll betray me for a few pieces of silver, and if I escape him, the heiress will recognize me and report it to you .
. . Aimery found an explanation which contained an element of truth.
“Rumor has it the heiress is ugly in body and mind. I was raised in a happy home full of love and graciousness. Even for a fair estate I do not want to marry such a woman.”
The king moved forward and gripped Aimery’s shoulders strongly. Aimery saw tears in his eyes. “Well said! I, too, know the value of a gracious wife. You are wise beyond your years.” But then he gave his godson a shake. “But what if rumor lies and she is fair in all respects? What then, eh?”
The humor in the king’s eyes told Aimery that William knew the heiress was comely. “Then I am a fool,” he said, “and have thrown your generosity in your face, sire.”
The king released him and paced backward and forward, deep in thought. “Very well,” he said at last. “We shall throw it in the lap of fate. Follow the wyrd, as our Viking ancestors would have it.”
There was almost a hint of mischief in the king which made Aimery very wary.
“The queen will rest here for a while,” William said, “but I have a mind to see some of the new castles. We will visit Baddersley and the heiress. Does rumor tell you the lady is to choose her husband?”
“No, sire.” Aimery was assessing all the angles of this disaster, seeking an escape route.
“ ’Tis truth. So, I will take care to have only married nobles with me other than you, Stephen de Faix, and Odo de Pouissey.
De Faix is a man who easily finds favor with women, and de Pouissey is known to the demoiselle.
I believe she was fond of him as a child.
All three of you are worthy, and the lady will have her choice.
” He looked sharply at Aimery. “Do you regret your decision now?”
“No, sire. I will abide by God’s and the demoiselle’s wish.” Aimery was dismissed and could find peace to consider it all. What a hell-made situation.
It would only be a matter of time before the heiress recognized him as Edwald and screeched it to the king. From there to Golden Hart and d’Oilly’s giant was a small step.
Even if that didn’t happen, he had no wish to marry a woman who could beg to have innocent people flogged.
But she’d surely never choose de Pouissey after that attack, which left only de Faix between him and a life of misery. He thanked Christ that de Faix was the sort of man young women found very pleasing, even as he tasted gall at the thought of her in any other man’s arms.
Madness. Witchcraft.
Then he remembered Gyrth’s tale, which posed another problem.
If they arrived at Baddersley to find the heiress a beaten wretch, someone would pay, and he feared in the end, as usual, it would be the ordinary English people.