Chapter 12 #3
She went out to take up her work as mistress of Baddersley manor and lady of Aimery de Gaillard. There was solace to be found in work; Madeleine threw herself into it with a vengeance.
With supplies likely to be scarce, it was crucial that they be well kept and guarded.
She organized the cleaning of the storage rooms and set boys to catch the rats.
Then she studied the soundness of the structures and found them wanting.
She would again have to argue with a man about the relative urgencies of defense and domestic concerns.
She began to look for him, but her nerve failed her.
If she sought him out, she’d have to face that coldness again, accept that he hated her.
Perhaps in a day or two his mood would thaw.
If it did, it wasn’t obvious. He was punctiliously courteous, but cold.
Madeleine strove to be as cold in return, but as she went about her work she was burningly aware of him—on the earthwork, in the keep, training the men in their exercise area.
She noticed everything he did, including, one day, a messenger he sent out. To whom?
The fact that he was Golden Hart returned like a blow.
Had he enchanted her that she’d forgotten?
She’d give her soul to Satan before she’d allow him to continue his treasonous activities from Baddersley.
But what was she to do about it? Even now, she couldn’t imagine handing him over to the king’s justice.
She’d watch and wait. If she uncovered proof of his continued wickedness, she promised herself shakily, she would inform the king. She stopped by the chapel to beg Sweet Jesus’ mother to turn Aimery’s heart from treason before Madeleine was faced with such a task.
Now she had even more reason to watch his every move.
She noticed how often he stopped for a word or two with the village people, and how often the village person was Aldreda.
Madeleine’s reaction was an unpleasant mix of loyal fear and blind jealousy.
It had been through Aldreda that he had summoned Madeleine to the hut that day.
Was she a go-between for Golden Hart again?
Or was their talk of a more personal nature? Which was worse?
When Madeleine checked on the work of her needlewomen, did she imagine the disdainful smirk on Aldreda’s face?
Madeleine had to admit that, now that food was more plentiful, Aldreda was filling out handsomely.
She could only be a couple of years older than Aimery.
The nuns had warned Madeleine that men’s sexual appetites were insatiable.
As Aimery wasn’t satisfying them in the marriage bed, he could well be doing so elsewhere.
Madeleine developed a sinful hatred for Aldreda, and prayed hard against it.
Five days after the wedding the watchcorn blew a warning, and Madeleine hurried out from the hall to see two carts and a line of packhorses rolling up toward the gate. For a moment she thought it was the king again, but there was no royal standard.
Aimery was in the training square with the guards. He climbed nimbly up onto the half-built parapet around the palisade and signaled for the train to be admitted.
Madeleine realized these must be his possessions.
Aimery was in mail and glistened with sweat in the heat, but his step was light and his smile broad as he raised his hand to one of the horsemen who was just dismounting. “Welcome, Hugh! You are sorely needed.”
Two hounds in the first cart strained at the ropes that tied them and were loosed. They gamboled over to fawn on their master. There were also two hawks, and Madeleine fancied their hooded heads turned, seeking his voice.
The horseman pushed back his own mail hood to reveal silvered brown hair above a square, rugged face. “So I see,” he said with a twinkle of amusement. “Sweating? After a little light sword work?”
Aimery laughed and gave the man a buffet that would have felled most but merely swayed him.
“There’s ten lazy tubs of lard need whipping into shape, and this place to be put into some kind of order for defense.
There’s few available workers, and the food lacks variety and quantity.
You’ll soon be in a sweat, too. Down,” he said crisply to the hounds, and they sat.
But Madeleine could see the longing to dance around him twitching in their sleek muscles.
Their bright eyes watched him adoringly.
Hugh’s eyes moved past Aimery to Madeleine, and Aimery brought the man over. The hounds stayed yearningly still. “Madeleine, I make known to you Hugh de Fer. He’s been my Master at Arms at Rolleston and has come here to take that position at Baddersley. With your approval of course.”
A trifle belated, thought Madeleine, but she smiled at Hugh, who looked able and solid. “You are welcome, Lord Hugh.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Matters are improving here, and with God’s help, will continue to do so. We hope not to starve.”
“With God’s help and my money,” said Aimery dryly. Then he asked Hugh, “Have you ever come across Paul de Pouissey?”
The man grimaced. “Aye.”
“Then no further explanation is needed. Come, let me show you the place.” Aimery moved away, then turned back to Madeleine. “See to the unloading. There will be clothes and books, but there should also be food, wine, and spices for you to do with as you wish.”
Madeleine felt gratitude to be in order, and she did feel it, but his tone was so curt that she could not find the right words. Before she did, he walked off, a casual snap of his fingers bringing the hounds to dance at his heel.
If he were to snap his fingers, she’d doubtless dance at his heel, too.
She wished she could hate him, but apart from his coldness to her, everything conspired to illuminate his virtues.
He was consistently fair, kind, efficient, and hard-working.
His rule after Paul de Pouissey was like sunshine after a storm. No, she couldn’t hate him. . .
Madeleine sighed and turned to obey his order.
She called for servants and supervised the unloading.
Her heart lightened as she saw what he had provided.
A tun of wine was rolled off to the cool stone cellar; five lime-washed hams were hung in the pantry; sacks of barley, wheat, and oats were taken to her newly cleaned granary. There was a whole basket of live eels.
Gratitude swelled inside her. Later, she would thank him as she should have immediately. Gratitude flowered into hope. Surely a man so generous could not stay cold forever.
She ordered the bound chests to be taken to the solar. There she and Dorothy surveyed them.
“Should we open them, do you think?” Madeleine asked.
“How else are we to put stuff away?” was Dorothy’s practical reply.
Two small chests were locked, and Madeleine guessed they would contain the precious spices and Aimery’s treasure. The others opened to reveal a range of clothing, arms, and ten books in two boxes.
Madeleine placed the two boxes on the table and could not resist exploring.
Most of the books were in English, but some were Latin and French.
There was a life of the great English king, Alfred, and another of Charlemagne; an account of a pilgrimage to Jerusalem—the Abbaye had owned a copy of that—and another of a merchant’s travels to Russia; there was also an English herbal she itched to study.
With great self-discipline, she closed the boxes.
Time enough for reading when the work was done, and if Aimery would permit it.
By the time he came in, most of his possessions were carefully put away in the larger chests, layered with herbs against moths.
He had taken off his armor—Geoffrey was following with it on its hanger—and sluiced off by the well. His hair was still wet and his linen shirt and braies clung to him. He carried his sword and belt in his hand and set them down in a corner.
“Did you find the spices?” he asked.
Madeleine indicated the box. “But it’s locked.”
He took a key from his pouch and went to unlock the larger chest, which she supposed to hold his treasure. He took out a key and gave it to her.
“Thank you.”
He turned back and dug in his chest to produce a heavy pouch. “I never gave you a morning gift,” he said, and passed it to her.
His tone was impersonal, but it was a gift.
“You gave me Baddersley,” Madeleine said.
“That was already yours.”
She considered him. “As you pointed out, you’ve given money to maintain it.”
He smiled slightly. “That rankled, did it? You can pay me back when the estate is prospering.”
That wasn’t quite what Madeleine had intended.
She loosened the strings and opened the pouch to take out a pair of bracelets similar to his flared one but sized for a woman’s arms. On each was a fanciful bird shaped of gold and inlayed with precious stones.
Geld? Such a gift, uniting them in a sense, could be of great importance, and yet she could not be sure it meant anything at all.
“They’re beautiful,” she said. “I’ve never seen such exquisite work.”
“They belonged to my grandmother, Godgifu of Mercia.”
“Thank you.”
They stood there awkwardly. In a normal marriage a kiss might be in order, but not in this one.
Madeleine turned and put the bracelets away in her own treasure chest. Then she opened the spice box and checked the contents. Some she moved to her medicine chest, others she left where they were. A small amount she took out to give to the cook.
By that time Aimery had gone.