Epic Historial Collection (328 page)

Gwenda felt sickened. She did not much like cats—she preferred dogs—but it was unpleasant to see any helpless creature tormented. She supposed that boys had to do this sort of thing to prepare them for maiming and killing human beings in war. Did it have to be that way?

She moved on without speaking to her son. Perspiring, she crossed the second bridge and climbed the steps to the keep. The great hall was mercifully cool.

She was glad Sam had not seen her. She was hoping to avoid him as long as possible. She did not want him to suspect that anything was wrong. He was not notably sensitive, but he might detect his mother's distress.

She told the marshal of the hall why she was here, and he promised to let the earl know. “Is Lady Philippa in residence?” Gwenda asked hopefully. Perhaps Ralph would be inhibited by the presence of his wife.

But the marshal shook his head. “She's at Monmouth, with her daughter.”

Gwenda nodded grimly and settled down to wait. She could not help thinking about her encounter with Ralph at the hunting lodge. When she looked at the unadorned gray wall of the great hall she saw him, staring at her as she undressed, his mouth slightly open in anticipation. As much as the intimacy of sex was a joy with the man she loved, so much was it loathsome with one she hated.

The first time Ralph had coerced her, more than twenty years ago, her body had betrayed her, and she had felt a physical pleasure, even while experiencing a spiritual revulsion. The same thing had happened with Alwyn the outlaw in the forest. But it had not occurred this time with Ralph in the hunting lodge. She attributed the change to age. When she had been a young girl, full of desire, the physical act had triggered an automatic response—something she could not help, although it had made her even more ashamed. Now in her maturity her body was not so vulnerable, the reflex not so ready. She could at least be grateful for that.

The stairs at the far end of the hall led to the earl's chamber. Men were going up and down constantly: knights, servants, tenants, bailiffs. After an hour, the marshal told her to go up.

She was afraid Ralph would want sex there and then, but she was relieved to find that he was having a business day. With him were Sir Alan and two priest-clerks sitting at a table with writing materials. One of the clerks handed her a small vellum scroll.

She did not look at it. She could not read.

“There,” said Ralph. “Now your son is a free tenant. Isn't that what you always wanted?”

She had wanted freedom for herself, as Ralph knew. She had never achieved it—but Ralph was right, Davey had. That meant that her life had not been completely without purpose. Her grandchildren would be free and independent, growing what crops they chose, paying their rent and keeping for themselves everything else they earned. They would never know the miserable existence of poverty and hunger that Gwenda had been born to.

Was that worth all she had been through? She did not know.

She took the scroll and went to the door.

Alan came after her and spoke in a low voice as she was going out. “Stay here tonight, in the hall,” he said. The great hall was where most of the castle's residents slept. “Tomorrow, be at the hunting lodge two hours after midday.”

She tried to leave without replying.

Alan barred her way with his arm. “Understand?” he said.

“Yes,” she said in a low voice. “I will be there in the afternoon.”

He let her go.

 

She did not speak to Sam until late in the evening. The squires spent the whole afternoon at various violent games. She was glad to have the time to herself. She sat in the cool hall alone with her thoughts. She tried to tell herself that it was nothing for her to have sexual congress with Ralph. She was no virgin, after all. She had been married for twenty years. She had had sex thousands of times. It would all be over in a few minutes, and it would leave no scars. She would do it and forget it.

Until the next time.

That was the worst of it. He could go on coercing her indefinitely. His threat to reveal the secret of Sam's paternity would terrify her as long as Wulfric was alive.

Surely Ralph would tire of her soon, and go back to the firm young bodies of his tavern wenches?

“What's the matter with you?” Sam said when at dusk the squires came in for supper.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Davey's bought me a milking cow.”

Sam looked a bit envious. He was enjoying life, but squires were not paid. They had little need of money—they were provided with food, drink, accommodation, and clothing—but, all the same, a young man liked to have a few pennies in his wallet.

They talked about Davey's forthcoming wedding. “You and Annet are going to be grandmothers together,” Sam said. “You'll have to make your peace with her.”

“Don't be stupid,” Gwenda snapped. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

Ralph and Alan emerged from the chamber when supper was served. All the residents and visitors assembled in the hall. The kitchen staff brought in three large pike baked with herbs. Gwenda sat near the foot of the table, well away from Ralph, and he took no notice of her.

After dinner she lay down to sleep in the straw on the floor beside Sam. It was a comfort to her to lie next to him, as she had when he was little. She remembered listening to his childish breathing, soft and contented, in the silence of the night. Drifting off, she thought about how children grew up to defy their parents' expectations. Her own father had wanted to treat her like a commodity to be traded, but she had angrily refused to be used that way. Now each of her sons was taking his own road through life, and in both cases it was not the one she had planned. Sam would be a knight, and Davey was going to marry Annet's daughter. If we knew how they would turn out, she thought, would we be so eager to have them?

She dreamed that she went to Ralph's hunting lodge and found that he was not there, but there was a cat on his bed. She knew she had to kill the cat, but she had her hands tied behind her back, so she butted it with her head until it died.

When she woke up she wondered if she could kill Ralph at the lodge.

She had killed Alwyn, all those years ago, sticking his own knife into his throat and pushing it up into his head until its point had come out through his eye. She had killed Sim Chapman, too, holding his head under the water while he wriggled and thrashed, keeping him there until he breathed the river into his lungs and died. If Ralph went to the hunting lodge alone, she might be able to kill him, if she chose her moment well.

But he would not be on his own. Earls never went anywhere alone. He would have Alan with him, as he had before. It was unusual for him to travel with only one companion. It was unlikely he would have none.

Could she kill them both? No one else knew she was going to meet them there. If she killed them and simply walked on home she would not even be suspected. No one knew of her motive—it was a secret, that was the whole point. Someone might realize she had been near the lodge at the time, but they would only ask her whether she had seen any suspicious-looking men in the vicinity—it would not occur to them that big strong Ralph might have been murdered by a small middle-aged woman.

But could she do it? She thought about it, but she knew in her heart it was hopeless. They were experienced men of violence. They had been at war, off and on, for twenty years, most recently in the campaign of the winter before last. They had quick reflexes and their reactions were deadly. Many French knights had wanted to kill them, and had died trying.

She might have killed one, using guile and surprise, but not two.

She was going to have to submit to Ralph.

Grimly she went outside and washed her face and hands. When she came back into the great hall, the kitchen staff were putting out rye bread and weak ale for breakfast. Sam was dipping the stale bread into his ale to soften it. “You've got that look again,” he said. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said. She drew her knife and cut a slab of the bread. “I've got a long walk ahead of me.”

“Is that what you're worried about? You shouldn't really go on your own. Most women don't like to travel alone.”

“I'm tougher than most women.” She was pleased that he showed concern for her. It was something his real father, Ralph, would never have done. Wulfric had had some influence over the boy, after all. But she was embarrassed that he had read her expression and divined her state of mind. “You don't need to worry about me.”

“I could come with you,” he offered. “I'm sure the earl would let me. He doesn't need any squires today—he's going off somewhere with Alan Fernhill.”

That was the last thing she wanted. If she failed to keep her rendezvous, Ralph would let out the secret. She could readily imagine the pleasure Ralph would take in that. He would not need much provocation. “No,” she said firmly. “Stay here. You never know when your earl will call for you.”

“He won't call for me. I should come with you.”

“I absolutely forbid it.” Gwenda swallowed a mouthful of her bread and stuffed the rest into her wallet. “You're a good boy to worry about me, but it's not necessary.” She kissed his cheek. “Take care of yourself. Don't run unnecessary risks. If you want to do something for me, stay alive.”

She walked away. At the door, she turned. He was watching her thoughtfully. She forced herself to give what she hoped was a carefree smile. Then she went out.

 

On the road, Gwenda began to worry that someone might find out about her liaison with Ralph. Such things had a way of getting out. She had met him once, she was about to do so a second time, and she feared there might be more such occasions. How long would it be before someone saw her leaving the road and heading into the woods at a certain point in her journey, and wondered why? What if someone should stumble by accident into the hunting lodge at the wrong moment? How many people would notice that Ralph went off with Alan whenever Gwenda was traveling from Earlscastle to Wigleigh?

She stopped at a tavern just before noon and had some ale and cheese. Travelers generally left such places in a group, for safety, but she made sure to wait behind so that she would be alone on the road. When she came to the point where she had to turn into the woods, she looked ahead and behind, to make sure there was no one watching. She thought she saw a movement in the trees a quarter of a mile back, and she peered into the hazy distance, trying to make out more clearly what she had seen; but no one was there. She was just getting jumpy.

She thought again about killing Ralph as she waded through the summer undergrowth. If by some lucky chance Alan was not here, might she find an opportunity? But Alan was the one person in the world who knew she was meeting Ralph here. If Ralph were killed, Alan would know who had done it. She would have to kill him, too. And that seemed impossible.

There were two horses outside the lodge. Ralph and Alan were inside, sitting at the little table, with the remains of a meal in front of them: half a loaf, a ham bone, the rind of a cheese, and a wine flask. Gwenda closed the door behind her.

“Here she is, as promised,” Alan said with a satisfied air. Clearly he had been given the job of getting her to come to the rendezvous, and he was relieved she had obeyed orders. “Just perfect for your dessert,” he said. “Like a raisin, wrinkled but sweet.”

Gwenda said to Ralph: “Why don't you get him out of here?”

Alan stood up. “Always the insolent remark,” he said. “Will you never learn?” But he left the room, going into the kitchen and slamming the door behind him.

Ralph smiled at her. “Come here,” he said. She moved obediently closer to him. “I'll tell Alan not to be so rude, if you like.”

“Please don't!” she said, horrified. “If he starts being nice to me, people will wonder why.”

“As you please.” He took her hand and tried to draw her closer. “Sit on my lap.”

“Couldn't we just fuck and get it over with?”

He laughed. “That's what I like about you—you're honest.” He stood up, held her shoulders, and looked into her eyes; then he bent his head and kissed her.

It was the first time he had done this. They had had sex twice without ever kissing. Now Gwenda was revolted. As his lips pressed against hers she felt more violated than when he had thrust his penis into her. He opened his mouth, and she tasted his cheesy breath. She pulled away, disgusted. “No,” she said.

“Remember what you stand to lose.”

“Please don't do this.”

He started to become angry. “I will have you!” he said loudly. “Get that dress off.”

“Please let me go,” she said. He started to say something, but she raised her voice to speak over him. The walls were thin, and she knew that Alan in the kitchen could hear her pleading, but she did not care. “Don't force me, I beg you!”

“I don't care what you say!” he shouted. “Get on that bed!”

“Please don't make me!”

The front door flew open.