Chapter 5
If he tried hard, a man could take a long time reviewing a two-year absence. What's more, the exercise could cram his mind so full of petty details there was no space for other things.
Like a dead child...
Like an unfaithful wife...
Galeran tried very hard.
Once his senior officers had been interviewed, he went, trailed by his dogs, to inspect all parts of the castle.
He knew that no matter what had happened, Jehanne would have run the estate perfectly, but he went over all the records and discussed matters with every person of any importance.
When he found himself discussing bluing with the head laundry woman, however, he knew he'd gone mad. He handled it well enough, until he saw the line of white baby-cloths hanging out to dry. Then he left the woman in mid-speech.
He couldn't escape it, though. Now reminders of babies seemed to be everywhere.
He came across the record of the cradle made for Gallot by the carpenter. He couldn't bring himself to ask whether the cuckoo was in that same lovingly crafted nest.
A small pony chewed hay in the stable, the animal bought by Jehanne within weeks of Gallot's birth to be trained ready for him. If he'd lived, he might have been ready to sit on its back.
In one ledger he saw the price of a small pair of shoes of soft leather, suitable for a child taking its first wavering steps.
These things almost broke through Galeran's control, but he pushed them away and concentrated on practical matters—new pens for the animals, supplies of arrows, last year's corn yield.
Not long after noon, Raoul, bearing bread, chicken, and wine, found him outside the walls near the pasture observing the mares in foal. "Your household is eating in the hall."
"I'm not hungry."
"Eat!" Raoul thrust a chicken leg into his hand. "Fainting won't solve any problems."
Without appetite, Galeran pulled meat from the bone with his teeth. "Are you my official nursemaid?" But he was feeling all the silliness of his impulse to escape.
"Just your friend."
Galeran turned to lean on the fence, watching the healthy horses. One of his best mares was in foal to his father's newest and finest war-horse, or so he'd been told. The product could be exciting, but excitement seemed beyond him. "As a friend, then, what would you do in my situation?"
Raoul gave a wry grin. "Go very slowly and keep out of the way of my wife. I think egg-laying must be fascinating."
Galeran surprised himself by laughing. He returned to the castle with Raoul and went to investigate the welfare of the poultry.
By evening he had achieved a certain balance. The sharp core of pain in his chest had not disappeared, but it had crusted over, possibly just because of the deadening effect of exhaustion.
As he'd expected, everything in Heywood was in order. Even Lowick's labors had been efficient, probably because he thought he was looking after his own property. He'd not been much liked, though, and the joy at Galeran's return seemed genuine. That helped.
Galeran had not asked anyone about Jehanne, but her presence had been unavoidable throughout the day, conveyed in casual but concerned comments. That told him the people here still cared about her, and he wanted that. He wanted her loved and cherished as she had always been.
He wanted her protected against himself.
He gained the impression that she had not been happy this past year, and welcomed that too. He could not have endured a picture of her glowing with radiance.
When the sun began to move toward the horizon, Galeran decided he could at last allow himself rest and headed for the keep. He stopped dead in the middle of the bailey when it occurred to him that a thorough bath was necessary if he wasn't to foul any bed he slept in.
Which brought the thought that Jehanne always bathed and shaved him.
Without trying to analyze his motives, he sent the order that she prepare to do so.
He then realized he was still in his mail. He must have looked ridiculous checking domestic matters in full mail, but he supposed he was going to look ridiculous no matter what he did. He went to the armory and had the smith help him out of the metal and quilted leather.
It felt remarkably good to be free of the weight.
When the hauberk was off and he was just in his filthy linen shirt and woolen braies, he stretched freely for the first time in days. "My skin is probably marked for life."
"Skin recovers, Lord," said the smith, "which is more than can be said of mail." He looked the armor over with a grimace. "I fear you'll need new."
"Probably. But cherish that. It's been to Jerusalem."
The man's disgusted expression gave way to one of reverence, and he handled the rusty mail tenderly. "Aye, Lord, I will." He looked up almost shyly. "Does it glow, Lord? The Holy City?"
Galeran sighed. "It's just a city, Cuthbert, with houses, inns, markets, and whores. It reminds us all that God came to earth and lived as a man, just like other men. I was in Bethlehem too, and it's just a village, not much different from Hey Hamlet."
It was clear that Cuthbert didn't believe him, and even had doubts that Galeran had been to the Holy Land at all.
People's beliefs were chancy things and hard to change.
Some people believed Jehanne had killed her baby....
Galeran took a deep breath and headed back toward the keep. He met Raoul at the base of the steps, and noticed his friend had clearly already availed himself of a bath.
"Took your mail off at last, I see," Raoul remarked.
"Believe it or not, nursemaid, I'd have taken it off hours ago if someone had suggested it. It had become like a second skin."
"I assumed you were doing penance."
"Why would I need to do penance?"
"I never said you needed to. Your father ordered me to make sure you didn't murder your wife, and then went back to spend the night in his tent. Do you fancy a game of chess?"
"No. I'm going to have a bath."
Raoul wrinkled his nose. "You certainly need one."
"And my wife is going to bathe me."
"Oh-ho!"
Galeran gave him a look, and Raoul assumed an innocent expression. "In that case, do I have your word you won't drown her?"
"Yes. Go explore the maids here. I'm sure one will be to your taste. But don't interfere with Jehanne's women."
"Sets strict standards, does she?" Then Raoul immediately threw up his hands. "Don't gut me. I apologize."
"Jehanne is my wife and will be treated with respect. Complete respect."
Raoul grimaced. "Galeran, at risk of my head, I have to say you can't just ignore what's happened. Even the people here, who seem to admire her all in all, expect her to suffer some retribution."
"By the Cross and Nails, what do they want? That I tie her to a post in the bailey and flog her?"
Raoul shrugged. "A good beating might clear the air. Then if you get rid of the bastard—"
Galeran just walked by him and climbed the steps.
God knows, but there was a part of him that thirsted for that beating just as much as the castle people and his brothers did. Probably most of Northumbria was waiting to hear Jehanne scream.
But he couldn't do it.
He could never do it.
Nor could he imagine snatching Jehanne's child from her arms.
As he reached the door to the hall, he suddenly realized that he didn't know whether it was a boy or a girl.
He entered the large chamber and found it just as it had been most evenings of his life.
Two of Jehanne's women sat in the window-light spinning and gossiping.
They flashed him a look and spoke more quietly.
Servants busied themselves putting up trestle tables for the evening meal, and a couple of men-at-arms sat at one dicing.
Each person slid him a look, then concentrated on their own business.
Each person expected violence.
They'd be disappointed.
He hoped.
Would Jehanne have obeyed him and be prepared to bathe him? He thought she would. It was her duty, after all.
Raoul's plans for the evening prompted other thoughts, thoughts of sex with Jehanne. Galeran searched his mind, wondering if that was his intent.
Despite exhaustion, he was thinking of having sex with someone, or his body was. Approaching Heywood the previous day, he'd begun to release the tight control he'd kept on his desire, and like a stream undammed, it didn't seem possible to reverse the process.
He realized that his body had been smoldering in desire all day, and the flames were now licking higher and hotter. A plump, saucy maid slid him a sly glance, and seeing she had his attention, rolled her hips in subtle invitation, wetting her lips with her tongue.
Surely his vow no longer bound him. If one party broke a contract, the contract was void.
But he did not burn for a woman.
He burned for Jehanne.
He turned away from the wench and crossed the hall toward the solar. Jehanne was his wife and still had a duty to serve his needs. More to the point, he had never truly desired any other woman and still didn't.
He stopped dead when he saw the guard at the door to the solar. That could mean only that Jehanne was there and that his orders to guard her were being taken literally. But, he suddenly realized, he was going to present himself to her in a state of rampant erection.
A moment's effort convinced him that willpower could not change anything, so he went to a nearby garde-robe and changed things physically. With images of Jehanne burning in his mind, and her but a few steps away, it was both satisfying and bitterly frustrating.
He was, however, able to appear quite calm when he entered the solar.
It was all painfully familiar.
The large oak tub lined with thick linen cloths was half full of steaming, herb-scented water. Additional jugs of water, both hot and cold, stood ready. Drying cloths hung pristine white on a nearby rack, close enough to the brazier to be pleasantly warm when used.
In other words, everything was perfectly in order, just as it always had been with Jehanne in command.