A Tapestry of Dreams (2 page)

“Come! Come!” Audris cried, waving them toward the chair on the other side of the fire.

They brought him to the chair and fled, as if there were something to fear in the bright, quiet room. Bruno hesitated, knowing it was not fitting for him to sit in Audris’s chair, but she laughed and pushed him with one finger, and his numb knees buckled so that he would have sat hard enough to jar him had not a bright, embroidered cushion softened his collapse. Then she clapped her hands, and from behind him came a maid, who laid the robe she was carrying across the back of the chair and knelt to remove his shoes.

Audris came to his side and began to struggle with the buckle that held the ventail of his mail hood. It was plain she had never undone one before.

“Let me,” Bruno said, but his fingers were swollen and awkward, and in the end, seeing what he was trying to do, Audris unhooked it.

He would not allow her to continue undressing him, however, and when she saw that he was truly being made uncomfortable by her presence, she went away to fetch salve for his chilblained hands and feet and left him to the maid. When she returned, he was wrapped in the warm robe, dozing in the chair. Audris was as gentle as possible in applying the salve, but when she looked up from her task, he was watching her.

“I am sorry if I hurt you,” she said softly.

Bruno lifted a hand as if to touch her cheek but did not, just shook his head, smiled, and said, “Your fingers are as light as feathers. It was your gentleness that woke me.”

“You are ill cared for in your service.” Audris sighed as she shifted her position from kneeling to sitting on the cushion she had used while she was salving Bruno’s hands. “Bruno, will you not come home?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I will help fight off the Scots if they come, but then I will go.”

Audris’s bright eyes examined his face for a moment and then dropped. Under Bruno’s calm, she sensed a deep uneasiness and uncertainty. She lifted her eyes again. “If I asked Uncle Oliver—”

“No!” he exclaimed, cutting her off, and then, seeing how shocked she was, he went on hastily, “Audris, you must not think Sir Oliver put me out. He is not a cruel or unjust man. Had he wished to be rid of me, he could have driven me away when I was a child—or had me killed. Instead, he trained me carefully, found honorable service for me, and even gave me as much as many men give their younger sons—good arms and armor and a good horse.”

“Of course Uncle Oliver is not cruel or unjust,” Audris agreed. “Who knows better than I? A babe a few months old left heiress to a rich property—how many men and women, who were the next heirs, could have resisted allowing that babe to take a chill or be carried away by some other sad illness or accident? I owe Uncle Oliver and Aunt Eadyth my life. I understand that it was right for you to be in service with some other household, but now, when Uncle Oliver is growing older—”

“Audris, you are foolish. Your well-being and your right to Jernaeve have always been first in Sir Oliver’s mind. That is why I had to leave and must not return.”

She stared at him for a moment, then slowly shook her head. “You cannot mean that my uncle feared you would harm me or take Jernaeve from me.”

He shrugged. “I hope not, although I fear he has not the same trust in me that you have,” Bruno said. “Audris, you said yourself that I resemble Sir Oliver—and if he and his brother were much alike, then I resemble your father—”

“I am sure you do, brother.”

“Do not call me brother! Cannot you see there is a danger for you there? I would not take Jernaeve from you, but others might prefer me to a woman.”

“Well, and so what if you ruled Jernaeve?” Audris asked with a shrug. “Would you drive me out? Would you not allow me to live quietly as I do now with my loom and my garden and my hawks? I am not unhappy, and if I had you for my companion, I would be happier still.”

“It is not right!” Bruno exclaimed. “You should be married. Your husband is the one who must take Jernaeve into his hands when Sir Oliver is too old. Why have you no husband?”

“I have not seen any man I favor,” Audris replied lightly, “and my uncle is too kind to force a man on me.”

Bruno frowned. “Kind” was not the most appropriate word for Sir Oliver. He was a hard man, although honest and honorable. He did what he felt was right, whether or not he liked the doing, and made others do the same. Bruno doubted that Audris’s preference would count for much if Sir Oliver wanted her to marry.

“You are in the direct line,” he said, avoiding any remark that might seem critical or suspicious of Sir Oliver, “and it is right that your son should be Fermain of Jernaeve. If you choose a strong man who will be kind to you, what more favor need you feel?”

Audris lowered her eyes. “I do not know, but… Do you remember, Bruno, when Father Anselm told us the story of Jacob, and how he labored seven years for Rachel and was given Leah, and though Leah was all that any wife could be, he so desired Rachel that he bound himself for another seven years?”

“Merciful Mary,” Bruno groaned wryly, “Father Anselm was a very holy man, but not overly wise. He filled your head with the
most
unsuitable things.”

“And not yours, Bruno?” Audris asked mischievously. “Besides,” she went on, smiling up at him and not waiting for an answer, “if your hands and feet feel more easy, it is owing to Father Anselm’s unsuitable teachings.”

“I never said herb lore was unsuitable,” Bruno replied, then sighed. “And do not think you can lead me so easily away from what is needful to be said. It is time for you to marry.”

“Perhaps soon,” Audris temporized, climbing to her feet and beckoning to Bruno to get up too. “But it is time for me to get back to my weaving, and long past time when you should have been abed and asleep. I am a fool to have kept you talking.”

Without waiting for an answer, Audris called her maid, who hurried from some work she was about behind the loom to open the bed curtains and lift the covers invitingly, while Audris turned to her weaving. Bruno glanced at her, knowing he had been put off, but he was too tired to argue and was asleep as he tumbled into the bed.

Audris heard the curtain rings rattle back across the rod with relief. She did not want to discuss the subject of marriage further because she knew Bruno would be horrified to learn she had decided never to marry—at least not while her uncle was alive—unless Oliver himself pressed her to do so. How blind Bruno was not to see that her husband would be a greater danger to her uncle than Bruno’s own presence could ever be to her. Perhaps had she married very young, a boy equally young, her husband would have come to accept her uncle’s role as master. It was too late now. If she married a man strong enough to be the Iron Hand in the Iron Fist, he would not wish to be second in authority.

It would be her husband’s right to be first, yet her uncle, she knew, was not the kind of man who could bear to take orders from one younger and less experienced than he. There could be only one solution to such a situation: Oliver would leave Jernaeve. But Audris felt that would be unbearable. Her uncle had spent most of his life protecting her and her lands. How could she allow him to be driven out in his old age? And where could he go? His own small keep was held by his elder son, and Oliver and Alain were birds of a feather. Alain would not take kindly to his father’s seizing command of the property he had ruled alone for many years.

Nor, Audris thought, was she as simple as Bruno thought her. Right or wrong, it would have suited her very well if her half brother had been willing to rule Jernaeve after her uncle was dead, for she loved Bruno dearly and knew he loved her and would always be kind to her. She could be content to continue to live as she now did, free to watch the birds and beasts, to examine what grew and how it grew, and to weave the stories the animals and plants told her into her tapestries. Audris sighed. Bruno would never consent. He was, she realized, as obsessed with her right to Jernaeve as was her uncle. No, Bruno was worse because he was more selfless. In his desire to do what was best for her, if given the chance he would probably force her to marry.

At least Uncle Oliver had never urged her to marry; he knew as well as she that his role as Fermain of Jernaeve would end when she chose a man. Possibly he hoped she never would find one to suit her and that his son would rule Jernaeve in her name after him. Yet she had not lied to Bruno when he asked why she had not married. It was true that she had not yet seen any man to whom she was willing to entrust her life and lands. Her uncle dutifully brought to her each proposal made to him for her hand. But those who had asked for her had mostly done so before they ever saw her. And when she had been introduced, the suitors barely glanced at her in their eagerness to learn the extent of her property.

While these thoughts ran through her mind, Audris had reached blindly for a spindle of yarn. A rainbow assortment, strictly ordered by color and intensity, lay in racks ready to her right hand. As necessary, these were refilled and replaced, but the location in which each spindle lay was never changed, and by the habit of many years’ use, Audris did not need to look to choose the proper shade or depth of color. Her fingers ran over her work, found the spot where the color belonged, and fastened the thread of woof in its proper place. Then her left hand lifted the warp threads while her right pushed the spindle through.

As she pulled the spindle out, her fingers were already seeking the next portion of the pattern in that color and lifting alternate warp threads again. The spindle followed unerringly, her wrist twisting to release the necessary amount of thread from it each time it came free. At the end of the warp, she changed hands, taking the spindle in her left. Still without glancing at the work, her right hand changed the order of raised and depressed warp threads and her left shot the spindle back. She did two more rows, then broke the thread and reached for the ivory comb that fit between the threads of the warp to pack down the woof.

Her mind still busy, Audris continued to stare at the closed bed-curtains as she replaced that spindle and chose another. Often she enjoyed “watching” the growth of the pattern she wove, although she could not really see it, because she faced the wrong side of the weaving. Just as often, however, her mind roamed free, and her hands, seemingly with a life of their own, wove a picture at which Audris herself would express surprise.

***

The next day a knight bearing the banner of David, king of Scotland, appeared before the great north wall with a small troop. The men were armed but clearly had neither the capacity to attack nor the intention of doing so. Jernaeve was too strong a place, and the knight was not even riding his destrier but was astride a strong palfrey. Sir Oliver had come from the keep to the outer wall as soon as the troop had been sighted in the distance, and he called down to ask the business and identity of the arrivals.

“Do you have a guest who arrived last night riding a fine chestnut destrier with a saddle bound and bossed in silver and a richly embroidered saddlecloth? Or has such a man been seen, if he did not stay or is already gone?”

“No,” Oliver replied, in a voice replete with surprise, although what he was thinking was that Bruno had been right. This troop was hunting someone. Oliver wondered who could merit so intense a search as he went on, “Certainly I have no such guest, and if such a man has been seen, it was not reported to me. If that is your purpose here and your only purpose, you are welcome to enter and question my men yourself.”

There was a noticeable hesitation, as if some inner struggle were taking place in the knight, but at last he shook his head. “That is a small matter,” he said, although his voice was choked with anger. “The loss of a mare’s son to a son of a bitch must be put aside. I am William de Summerville, liege man to King David. In his name and that of the Empress Matilda, rightful queen of England, I bid you join us in rejecting the usurper, Stephen of Blois, who has seized the royal rights and by lies had himself crowned king.”

Briefly Sir Oliver clenched his teeth. When he had been asked about what seemed to be a thief, he had had a spurt of hope that Jernaeve would not be challenged to declare loyalty for either Matilda or Stephen. That hope was now dead. Oliver had known when King Henry forced his barons to swear to accept his daughter Matilda as queen that the device would not work. While the king was alive, the hold he had on his men could bend them to obedience. As soon as Henry was dead, however, few regarded their forced swearing as binding—particularly since no one could abide Matilda, who was as arrogant as she was foolish. Scotland’s King David was Matilda’s uncle and might be expected to support her—of course, David was also the uncle of Stephen’s wife, Maud—but whichever way David eventually leaned, Oliver felt no doubt that the Northumbrian castles now taken in Matilda’s name would remain in King David’s possession as the price of that support.

As for himself and Jernaeve, Oliver thought, they were caught between the kettle and the coals. No matter what he did, either one side or both would call him traitor and claim Jernaeve forfeit. Furthermore, if the Scots remained involved in the struggle between Matilda and Stephen for England’s crown, the war would roll back and forth over Jernaeve’s lands. All Oliver could do was try to maintain a careful balancing act, hoping that neither side would attack him as long as they believed they could induce him to join them, and pray the war of succession would be settled quickly.

Thus, Oliver kept his voice as bland as it could be when he had to shout to make himself heard, and his answer was mild. “It is not for me to decide such high matters as who shall rule in England. When Stephen of Blois and Henry’s daughter Matilda and the great lords among them have decided who shall hold the royal dignity, I will be glad to accept their verdict.”

“King David told me you would say some such thing,” Summerville called back. “He bade me tell you that this time it would not be sufficient. If you will not stand with us, he will account you an enemy.”

“I am sorry for that,” Oliver replied politely, although he tried to make clear that the threat left him unmoved. “I admire and respect the king of the Scots and would wish always to be on good terms with him. With all courtesy, Sir William, tell him from me that in spite of these harsh words, I will think of him as a friend until he does me harm.”