By Right of Arms (20 page)

“Nay, I am bidden to the stables.” He lifted his shovel slightly. “It is horse dung that I will be collecting this day.”

She walked a bit closer to him. “Are you one of the de Pourvre knights?”

“No more, madame. De Pourvre is dead. I am the keeper of the dung heap. A slight but noble chore.”

She could not help but laugh, and it was easy, as she found him to be quite handsome.

“I heard a commotion; some said there was a troop approaching.”

“It was hardly a troop. A group of beggars were sent here by Hyatt. As if he does not have enough beggars to feed.”

“You do not like the new lord, sir?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.

“Who am I to like or to …” His voice trailed off as a uniformed knight, bold in his red gambeson, black hose, and flowing black mantle, stopped short as he passed to stare at the twosome. “Pardon, my lady,” the stableboy said quietly, giving her a slight bow and turning to go.

“Wait a moment,” she said. She reached out, pinching a piece of his shirtsleeve to draw him back.

He looked warily at the guard and turned pleading eyes to Faon. “Please, my lady, I would not chance a beating—”

“You will not be beaten. He will leave you alone if you’re talking to me.” She threw a glance over her shoulder at the guard and after a long and scrutinizing look, the soldier walked on.

“You must be of some special influence here,” he observed.

“Oh, perhaps. I am of Hyatt’s house and I can detain any serf of my liking. What is your name?”

“Verel. Once a knight of De la Noye.”

“Ah. And a good one?”

“I was the captain of a half-troop.”

“Hah! You are too young to have been a captain.”

He smiled and raised a brow. “Age has little to do with it. I am old enough. I was knighted on a field of battle six years ago.”

“I suppose you wish to fight again? Do you seek a position from Hyatt?”

His jaw tensed and his blue eyes glittered. The hand that was wrapped around the shovel tightened, causing his muscles to stand taut. “I have a position, my lady.”

Faon leaned against the stable wall, oblivious to the contradicting pose she created in the street. She was the only woman dressed in finery, the only one not carrying something or rushing to do some chore. But she was enjoying this young man, whom she judged to be in his mid-twenties. “Surely this does not suit you. You were telling me how you view this new lord.”

Verel’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at her more boldly. “Until this morning, my lady, I regarded him as the devil, landed with his black angels. But I had not seen you.”

She threw back her head with a lusty laugh, her green eyes twinkling in delight. “You are a brazen lout, speaking to me in such a manner. How do you know I won’t have you flogged for insolence?”

“I trust you would not detain me for so long, if you meant only harm. Tell me, my lady, how do you see the new lord? You must have traveled here with his people.”

“I did. He is a good leader of men, but if he has overlooked your talents, he is not a good judge of strength. ’Tis obvious you are strong and able.”

Verel looked at her closely, his eyes dipping to her swelling bosom and narrow waist. “I am able,” he said softly.

“Are you chained at night?” she whispered.

“Nay, but I share a stable tackroom with seven other serfs; all were knights once.”

“Are you guarded?”

He smiled. “Nay. The gate and wall are kept tight and we have no weapons.”

She gave her head a toss. “Mayhap I will wander to the stable when the moon is set …”

He lightly grasped her elbow. “If you tell me when you will come, I will wait for you beneath the loft. These men who were de Pourvre’s know how to look the other way.”

“Do you seduce me?”

Verel chuckled. “I thought ’twas much the other way around. But if it pleases you, yea, I beg your favors.”

“Then …” Her voice trailed off as she noticed that Verel’s gaze was drawn away from her. She turned to see where he looked, for his blue eyes had clouded with anger and pain. Aurélie was backing out of a peasant’s hut, a basket hanging from her arm. She seemed to be consoling the woman there, or giving instruction. She did not look about the streets, but was much engrossed in some mission.

Faon felt a moment of indecision and confusion. Aurélie’s gown was less fine than her own. In fact, the lady’s habit was conservative, roughly sewn of brownish wool. Her wimple covered her hair and the hem of her apron was frayed. It was typical that Aurélie did not adorn herself much, except on those rare occasions when she attempted to beautify herself for the evening meal or for mass on the Sabbath. Yet frequently the knights looked longingly in her direction. Faon thought her looks plain and ordinary, although when Aurélie wore finery and let her hair fall freely down her back, she was comely, but in a quiet way. What was her allure? Faon wondered.

She looked back at Verel. The handsome young man’s eyes were misty with passion. But the object of his desire did not expose her bosom, swing her hips, or let her hair trail seductively down her back. She seemed to have captured men by some other means, unknown to Faon.

Aurélie departed from the hut and began a hurried step toward the hall. She paused when she saw Faon and Verel in discussion. “Why, Mistress Faon, have you come to help tend our injured?” Faon wrinkled her nose in distaste and looked away. “I thought not. Forsooth, your beautiful gown would be damaged.”

Aurélie laughed lightly and continued on, Verel’s eyes following her with pained attention. Not a dozen steps were taken by the lady of the hall when a fully costumed knight of Hyatt’s colors approached her, bowed and begged the chance to carry her basket as he escorted her to the hall. Aurélie willingly turned over her burden, gave a brief smile and nod, and walked with the young, besotted knight toward the inner bailey. She was out of sight before Verel could pull his eyes away from her departing form.

“You betray your lust for her,” Faon said angrily.

“Lust?” he laughed. “ ’Twould be an ill-fitted shoe, should I lust after the Englishman’s woman. I do not seek death so eagerly as that.”

“What makes you think he values her?”

“Only a fool would not, madame. And in addition, I see that she places high value on her husband, even if she tries to spare us all the agony of her final betrayal.”

“What say you? She fears him, from all I can see.”

Verel chuckled ruefully. “So I thought, but as the peasants approached with the injured bearing Hyatt’s blazon, the lady fair tore asunder two guards to see who came. It was clear that she feared ’twas Hyatt who was hurt. Do you want to see how a woman cares for a man? Tell her that he is injured and you will know.”

“Bitch …” Faon muttered, looking down at the dirt.

“What ho! Do you perchance trouble yourself to be jealous of Lady Aurélie? Perhaps you had your sights set on the Englishman. I will tell you something, madame, to save you much misery. It is said that Hyatt does not do anything against his desires; he wed the lady. I know her well, and if he does not see the prize that he holds, he is a fool. I hate him truly, but I suspect he is wise, or we would not have fallen so easily.”

“You have been watching her?”

“When I can.” He shrugged.

“Do you think she comes to love him?”

“If she does not, she may in time. Women often look the way of the man with the most power, and there is little question of Hyatt’s dominion here. And I know something of the woman. She is steadfast, whether the man is deserving or not. It was her way with our Sire de Pourvre, even though he certainly did not deserve her. There is naught I can do now. I should have taken her when I could.”

“When you could?”

“Aye. While the Sire de Pourvre paid me as the captain of his half-troop, there was talk that the woman suffered as his wife. He did not put much stock in women; he was more keen to young boys and priests. A sweet word in her ear might have turned her away from her spouse. The Sire de Pourvre promised the castle and towns to me, since there was no heir.”

Faon smiled, but it was an evil gleam in her eye. “Would you get away from here if you could?”

“Do you lay some trap for me?”

“Oh nay, I would not harm you. But mayhap help you.”

“Then I tell you true, if I could find some French force to reclaim this place, I would do to Hyatt what he did to the Sire de Pourvre. I would take the castle, make her a widow, and reclaim it all.”

“But if you already had her?”

“Then, madame, this place would mean little to me.”

Faon lowered her lids seductively. She ran a hand along Verel’s arm, taking no notice of how passersby would look. The beaten people of De la Noye were very cautious with the way they stared at her.

“I think perhaps we will be friends, Verel. We will talk again.”

“You take a grave chance in talking to me, lady. I am the one they watch most closely.”

“I do not worry, Verel. I don’t plan to talk to you in the light of day again. But the loft; now there is a place for whispering.”

He looked into her eyes and his own came alive with mischief. He made a sweeping bow, like a well-trained courtier. “I am at your service, my lady.”

* * *

The smoke from the Château Innesse could be seen darkening the sky from twenty leagues away. The keep was so named because the moat that surrounded the front of the enclosure was wider than the widest river. A full bridge rather than short drawbridge was built for entrance, and the rear of the wall and keep was built into the side of the hill. An approaching army could be seen on all sides from the highest citadel. At first sight Hyatt was struck by its magnificence, for it was easily twice the size of De la Noye. And his heart was somewhat saddened, for he believed the conquest had been successful days before, yet still she burned.

The stench worsened as Hyatt’s troop neared. It was the flesh of the beaten that burned and filled the air. The outer wall was not battered, but within the outer bailey were the charred remains of wooden houses, wagons, sheds, and people.

Hyatt’s bearer carried the banner of Edward, and they were admitted. A pitiful number of captives were chained or tied throughout the streets and pathways to the keep. Doors were torn apart and the stain of blood was everywhere. Armored knights clamored through the keep and stood watch on the wall. A woman lay in the ashes before what was once a house and wept. Her clothing was torn to shreds, and dried blood stained her forehead and hands. Only stone buildings still stood, but the roofs were burned.

The troop dismounted before the central hall and tethered their horses. All the men looked around, frowning, grimacing. Hyatt went directly through the doors into the hall to meet the captor.

“What ho! A knight of English blood.”

Sir Hollis Marsden sat on a jeweled throne on a dais that must have once belonged to the lord of this estate. On the floor beside him was a woman, her dress torn completely open, her ankle shackled to the leg of the chair.

Hollis tipped a horn to his mouth while the other hand lazily held a whip. His jowls were sagging with plenty, his gut round and full, and one leg was outstretched before him in lazy indifference.

“You seem to have quelled the place, Sir Hollis,” Hyatt said, looking around at the rubble in disgust. “You have little need of my assistance.”

Hollis threw back his head and laughed. “As if that’s why you’ve come. Give the man drink,” he shouted. “Aye, give my enemy drink, for we will never drink together again, God knows!”

Hyatt smiled lazily and stepped into the room. A few of his men began filtering into the hall behind him, while others stayed without to keep watch. A young boy rushed toward Hyatt with a filled mug and, as he accepted the drink, he looked at the youth. The lad wore Hollis’s colors and was likely a servant or page, yet his face was swollen from a beating. Hollis did not even place much value on his own people. Hollis did not rise, but cracked his whip lazily into the rushes on the floor.

“Did you let anyone live?” Hyatt asked.

“The useful ones,” Hollis replied. He glanced at the tattered woman on the floor.

“Who is she?”

“She was daughter by marriage to the old lord’s son. But he is dead. She is a widow now.” Hollis began to laugh wickedly. “She had some high-flown ways … but no more.”

Hyatt tried not to look at the woman. Her dirty blond hair was matted and covered much of her face. A bruise marked her cheek and her clothing was in unsubstantial shreds that might once have been a gown of quality. Dark, swollen marks dotted her exposed calves. Her feet were bare.

Inside, Hyatt began to seethe. He did not understand why anyone would take something of beauty and destroy it. The castle, the woman, the land, all ruined by Hollis’s greedy hand. But he did understand that Hollis would do the same to him in a moment.

And the woman chained at the knight’s feet could be Aurélie.

“Do you require anything of me?” Hyatt asked. “Some French adversary that may threaten from nearby?”

“Nay, we circled the area before I took Innesse. There is no one to attack us.”

“How did you get in?”

“There was no trouble getting inside, once the entire keep was surrounded. I have two hundred and fifty now. One hundred are archers. The sky was black with arrows.”

“I have long wondered how you could afford such a large troop.”

“It is easily done.”

“It must have been a harrowing fight.” Hyatt smirked, looking around. There was little doubt that the place had surrendered and been destroyed.

“Three days and nights. But I lost only a few men. Ours are better, that is all. The word is that you have taken a castle south of here on behalf of the prince. True?”

Hyatt nodded. “But to your credit, Hollis, you did a great deal more fighting than I. We were engaged in only a skirmish. The castle surrendered.” Hyatt shrugged. “Of course, not a door latch was broken and the people already work the fields.”

Hollis began to glower, his cheeks pinkening. Little could be raised out of his plunder to make Innesse a decent place to live. It was as if he had only just realized his mistake in razing the place with Hyatt’s mention of it. “What is the word from Edward?”