Chapter 14
The village of Knottingly straggled along the river close by the manor compound.
Small, stone, but with a thatched roof, the simple church sat slightly back from the water between the two, surrounded by its graveyard.
The priest's cottage must be part of the village, Galeran saw, for there was no other building on the site.
Search as he might, the area appeared deserted, the only visible creatures being the sheep that cropped all over the area. The light was fading, though, and could conceal a great deal. Perhaps he should have brought Raoul of the excellent eyesight.
Raoul had tried to insist on coming along.
In fact, he'd wanted to lead the expedition while Galeran stayed in the manor house.
Galeran, however, was heartily sick of skulking in safety, and so he hadn't even told his father what was going on.
He'd left Raoul behind and brought just four men-at-arms, itching for a fight with Raymond of Lowick.
If Lowick was able to kill him, so be it.
Perhaps the best man would win.
Perhaps it would be God's will.
Perhaps Jehanne would prefer it....
He didn't really believe that, but the suspicion gnawed at him day and night.
When he'd turned up at the gates, Jehanne had had no real choice other than to stay and face him, for to flee with Lowick would make them both outcasts and fugitives.
Her staying didn't prove devotion. And Lowick was like Raoul, one of the tall, Godlike men whom women, even sensible women, went silly over.
As a young man at Heywood, Galeran had always felt insignificant beside Raymond of Lowick.
In time he'd put all that behind him. Or so he'd thought. After all, it didn't take long to realize that Lowick was not clever, and that his vanity handicapped him as he tried to make his way in the world. He was aware of no one's concerns but his own.
Galeran's sparring with Raoul had helped, too, convincing him that brawn didn't always win.
But perhaps deep down he'd never quite overcome his wish to be as big and broad as his brothers and Lowick. Perhaps that was why he could think for a moment that Jehanne might prefer—all things being equal—to be with Raymond of Lowick.
After all, look at Aline, who had seemed impervious to men all her life. A few encounters with Raoul, and she was a blushing ninny. Galeran wondered how she'd reacted to Lowick. She'd never mentioned him.
Impatiently, he focused on the problem at hand and made plans.
He was greatly tempted just to saunter up to the church and smash his fist into Lowick's even, white teeth. It would be impossible to approach the church in concealment, however, and he had too much to lose by such bravado.
So the first thing to do was to find out how likely it was that anyone be there. Galeran and two men stayed back in the trees while the other two skirted the church to go into the village. There, they were to ask about strangers nearby and find out who had brought the message up to the manor.
The sun continued to sink behind distant hills, turning the world to russet shot through with dangerous shadows. There was no sign of movement from the church, but Galeran made himself wait until the men appeared on the road near the village and signaled all was clear at that end.
If strangers had passed by the manor, the watchman would have noticed. If no strangers had passed through the village, it looked very much as if the note had been a hoax, or some other kind of circuitous plot.
All the same, Galeran and his men approached the church with drawn swords and ready shields, all with a clear memory of crossbows.
Still no movement or sound.
They dashed the last few yards to press back against the rough stone walls, safe from projectiles.
Then Galeran edged up to the oaken door, flung it open, and charged into the church.
It was empty except for the wooden altar and two prie-dieux for the lord and lady of the manor.
The stone walls, crudely painted with biblical pictures, contained one door close to the altar. Galeran opened it cautiously but found, as expected, the sacristy, empty except for a few locked chests for the priest's vestments and vessels.
He sheathed his sword and looked around again, wondering just what the point of all this was. With great care he peeped out of one of the small windows, wondering if the attack would come as they left. There was too much open space here, though, for any kind of sneaking approach.
Looking out over the river to the rising ground beyond, he saw only fields striped with crops and crowned by a coppice of trees. Someone could watch from there, and with good eyesight they'd see most of what went on.
Had this just been a joke?
No. If anything, it had been a test.
Perhaps Lowick was up there watching to see if Jehanne would obey his summons. If so, Galeran thought with satisfaction, he wouldn't like what he had seen.
One of his men called a warning from the other side, and he ran over. It was only his other two men jogging back from the village.
"No nobles have been this way, Lord, other than your party," one reported. "The message was brought by a lad from Bartletor, the village on the other side of the river. We could go by the ford and fetch him."
"No," said Galeran, leading the way out into the evening, still looking around for some sign of his enemy. He still thirsted to cross swords with Lowick. "The boy probably just received it from some other. We could follow that trail for days."
He shielded his eyes from the flaming ball of the sun and peered once more at the tree-topped hill. In this light not even Raoul could have spotted anything. "Let's return and eat."
As they walked back up to the manor, the sun dipped and dusk suddenly arrived. Crows settled noisily into their roosts and bats swooped out to feed.
It was a time of day to make any man uneasy and Galeran was. He had a hard time believing that Lowick would plan this sort of event as test or joke. His idea of amusement was to tie pigs' tails together, then watch them squeal.
No, this had the mark of Ranulph Flambard. But what had the bishop hoped to gain from it?
* * *
Flambard received his man in the prior's parlor at the priory of Hitchinborough, Prior Joseph having declared himself delighted to give up his quarters to his eminent guest. Even if the ingratiating smile hadn't reached his eyes.
"So?" he asked choosing a piece of roast duck with great care.
Lucas, a burly, competent man of middle years, stayed kneeling. "No woman came near the church, my lord bishop."
"Ah." Flambard popped the meat in his mouth and savored it. He was not a glutton, but what he ate he expected to be of highest quality. He dabbed his lips with the cloth. "Did anyone?"
"Aye, my lord. Three men approached the church and burst in. Two ordinary soldiers and a highborn man."
"Of what build?"
"Of average build, my lord."
Flambard used his silver spoon to sup some greens in sauce. "Burst in, you say. If there had been anyone there, do you think they would have done him harm?"
"Aye, my lord bishop."
"As I thought."
So Jehanne of Heywood had taken the note straight to her husband. That cast further doubt on Raymond of Lowick's tale of the woman's love for him.
Why were people so stupid? Look at Rufus. He'd warned him about Henry, that Henry would stop at nothing to gain England, but Rufus—arrogant Rufus—had not listened. Flambard hoped he was roasting in hell.
He turned his mind, however, to the future. "Thank you, Lucas. Make sure a careful watch is kept on the Heywood party and report their movements back to me."
The man rose and bowed himself backward toward the door. "Aye, my lord."
"And, Lucas..." The words halted the man as he turned to exit, swinging him back. "I'm afraid I might have given you a wrong impression." Flambard picked up a honey cake. "I would be distressed to hear that any harm had come to Lord Galeran on his journey."
Lucas stared at him. "You would, my lord?"
"It is so hard to explain away a crossbow. That, Lucas, was a mistake."
The man blanched. "I see, my lord. But..."
"But?"
"I thought you wanted the man dead, my lord."
Flambard took a bite of the sweet almond-filled pastry and savored it. "It is not for man to seek justice when the hand of God is available."
"I see, my lord," said Lucas, who clearly did not.
"I received a report from the manor of Knottingly, about a trial of arms between Lord Galeran and his large friend. The friend won."
"Perhaps to be expected, my lord."
"Quite. Raymond of Lowick hopes to fight a court battle with Lord Galeran on the matter of the Lady Jehanne. It would be unfortunate, I think, if anything were to prevent that request for divine judgment."
Lucas was not a stupid man, and a twitch of a grin marked his understanding. "Ah. It would indeed, my lord. No one could argue with the hand of God, could they?"
"Exactly." Flambard waved a hand and the man bowed out.
Much more elegant. Much less dangerous now that it was sure that Lowick would win.
The only lack in the plan was that the Lady Jehanne might not suffer enough for thwarting him.
Flambard resolved to try to do something about that.
It was his right, as a representative of the Church, to ordain punishment.
He had been laggardly in his progress to London, but tomorrow he would make better speed. He didn't want to miss the moment of triumph.
* * *
The next day the Brome party moved on south. After the ominous affair of the message, everyone wanted to make all possible speed to London. The weather was ideal for traveling—warm but not hot, and with a light breeze—but they were all on edge.
Jehanne was untypically nervous, and the baby still fretted, seeming to break only to catch breath before wailing again. The women passed Donata between them as they rode, but though each change seemed to soothe her for a little while, the peace didn't last.