Conquests: Hearts Rule Kingdoms (25 page)

It was not long before Avis could barely remember not having such a large group of people sharing her home. It felt almost natural, this full and vibrant home, and she could see that Melville was becoming accustomed to it also. Together, they had created a community that broke their fast together sleepily before dawn, toiled hard in the fields to prepare them for the spring – though with many lookouts in case of attack – and shared in the profits of their labour in the evenings, with minstrels serenading them and children darting between people’s legs. It seemed as if life had reached normality. Even if it was a different type of normality than they were used to.

About two weeks after Melville’s return, as the crops in the ground were shooting forth and the snow had finally melted for good, a man was spotted on the horizon. The lookout’s cry brought many to the front gate, and once again fear flooded their hearts. Melville pushed his way to front of the crowd, Avis at his side.

“Could William have renegaded on his promise?” Avis hissed to Melville so that no one else could hear.

“Never,” said Melville, but his heart sank as he looked out at the figure.

“William promised to treat all of his vassals with kindness!” Avis returned with fire in her words. “And see how he is repaying them!”

With one look Melville quieted her.

“This is not the time to frighten our people,” he said calmly. “For all we know, it could be a messenger from the King.”

In a louder voice, he called out.

“Let him in!”

The man that entered the gates was certainly not there to rob them. He was young, but looked as if he had lived a hundred years. He lay on his front over the thin horse that was struggling to carry his meagre weight. The man’s skin was hanging off his body, and dirt covered the little flesh that he had. Avis rushed towards him.

“Are you hurt?”

The man didn’t reply, and Avis tried in Anglo-Saxon.

“
Bealusið
?”

The man’s eyes flickered open, and his dry chapped lips moved. No sound came out.

“Get this man inside,” ordered Avis. Her heart had stopped, and although she tried to quash the feeling, revulsion had spread through her heart. She had not seen any man in such a terrible condition since…

Hands reached for the man, cautiously helping him down. He was heaved over a strong servant’s back, and hurried inside. Murmuring broke out in the crowd, and Melville pulled Avis towards him.

“Get them inside,” he muttered. “I will see to him.”

That day, the fear that had been lost was found again in everyone. Tension filled the manor, and nothing could abate it until they heard for themselves the story of the strange man on the horse.

It was not until that evening that the entire household heard the man who had arrived in such a dramatic way speak his tale. He sat beside Avis, nervous around the Norman Melville who had tried but failed to speak to him through Robert’s translation. He had refused to say anything, apart from telling them that his name was Tilian.

The man motioned to Avis that he was ready to speak, and stood up on shaking legs. Avis arose to translate for him, and offered him her arm to lean upon, which he gratefully accepted.

“My friends,” began Tilian, speaking in the traditions of his people, “O, hear me.”

There were nods and smiles throughout the crowd, as people heard the customary opening to a heroic tale, full of epic and exciting adventures, although this one was doomed to be filled with sadness.

“I tell you a tale of great suffering, and of bravery, and of great men that we have lost.”

As he told his personal story of how he had seen William and his army approaching his village, there were shudders and tears privately spent.

“I was forced to kill my own animals,” Tilian spoke with a great melancholy in his voice, but no tears fell. “I saw children, who were wandering from village to village, searching for their parents. Our land, destroyed – salted so that nothing will grow. And the flames…”

Tilian’s voice trailed off, in the same way that Melville had seen Avis’ eyes glaze over when she thought about the horrors that she had witnessed. Melville put a gentle arm on Tilian’s shaking one, and helped him to sit down. Nervous murmuring filled the hall. Avis knew that she had to say something, before real panic gripped them once more.

“My friends,” Avis continued in the same style as Tilian, translating as she went. “We must be grateful that we are safe here. William has promised not to harm us.” She glanced at Melville. “And I trust that promise. We are safe here.”

There was a tangible relaxation amongst the people after her strong words, and Melville nodded approvingly. Once again, she had stepped in to protect the people – this time, from their own anxiety.

The gratitude of the people became much more tangible after the arrival of Tilian, and of the other stragglers that made it to the safety of the manor from their homes without detection. Their coming had increased the thankfulness of all, reminding them of their lucky escape that many outside did not have.

Another morning dawned, and another call from the lookout. Avis hurried from her room, dragging on the last piece of her clothing to see if it was another Anglo-Saxon who had managed to stay alive – but it was not an Anglo-Saxon survivor. It was a man on a horse who she did not recognise, but he was clearly a wealthy Norman nobleman. He had a bushy beard that was unkempt, and probably grown during the weeks of warfare. Covered in dirt, Avis thought that she recognised something about his look, but had no time to wonder.

“My lord,” she said stiffly. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

The man smirked down at her, and ignored her question.

“Where is Melville?”

“I…I do not know,” admitted Avis.

The man’s smile increased, and he chuckled nastily.

“He didn’t just leave you, then?”

Avis coloured with anger, but knew better than to lose her temper.

“What mean you with my lord?” she asked coldly, but the man did not answer her.

“Melville,” he repeated sternly. “I must speak with Melville.”

Avis gave a brief nod, and called to Felix the stable boy to retrieve his master. Within minutes, Melville strode into the stable yard, his linen shirt roughly thrown across his wide muscular chest. Avis’ breath caught in her throat, and she watched as Melville’s face darkened. When he reached Avis’ side, he suddenly fell to his feet and kneeled.

“My King.”

Avis gasped. The King? William had altered much since she had last seen him, though it was but three years ago. So much so, that she had not even recognised him – the man that she had sworn to destroy.

William laughed.

“What, no courtesy from you, fine Avis?”

Melville saw his wife’s fists clench, and pulled her down.

“Do you value your life?” He hissed to her.

“It is my life to risk!” She replied angrily, and pulled herself upwards. Staring directly at the monarch, she said, “and to what do we owe this pleasure?”

William guffawed.

“Clearly no pleasure for you, my lady!” he said with outright honesty.

Melville rose, nervous about what this visit entailed. Could William be betraying his bargain that allowed them his protection?

William continued.

“I came merely to tell you that I return south. My time here punishing the North is over. And I hope that they have learnt their lesson.” He smiled nastily.

Melville’s arm was the only thing preventing Avis from flinging herself bodily at William. How dare he? How could he speak of her people in such a manner?

“I am glad to hear of it, my lord,” Melville said stiffly, before Avis could begin speaking her anger.

William watched him, and grinned.

“I will not trespass on your time any longer.” He turned his horse around, but could not resist a passing shot. “I’ll give your regards to your mother, my dear.”

Avis ran forward with a shout, but Melville grabbed her by the waist.

“No,” he whispered into her ear as she struggled against him. “Do not give him the pleasure of seeing you fight. Do not give him that satisfaction.”

Avis’ exertion only ceased as the sight of William disappeared, and the gate was once again barred. Melville finally released her, and she turned on him angrily.

“How could you stop me?” She shouted bitterly. “You know what he is!”

“Exactly,” Melville replied calmly. “And I know what he’s capable of.”

Avis sighed. She tried to calm her beating heart, but it would not.

“You’re right,” she admitted. “But I don’t like it.”

Melville revelled in her retort. That was his Avis: someone who hated the system, but knew not to fight it if it may cost the lives of those around her.

She shook herself, as if ridding her clothes of William’s stench.

“I suppose it is therefore safe for the villagers to return to Ulleskelf,” Melville mused.

Avis nodded.

“Spring is coming. The fields will need to be tended.”

“We had better give them the good news.”

It was a triumphant and yet sad day, the day that Ulleskelf once again became alive with the voices of its inhabitants. It took little more than an hour for the villagers to carry their possessions and children down to their homes, which were untouched. It had been as a ghost village, as if the previous occupants had been stolen away by the wind.

The household servants had helped them move back into their village, but now stood awkwardly. This was not their territory, and although they did not want to leave, it was difficult to stay. They had no place there. The tiny Norman boy Henri was the only one who seemed comfortable, tottering on his little feet, wandering in and out of various buildings, chattering away in a mixture of Norman and Anglo-Saxon.

Eventually, as the sun set and the cool descended, there was nothing more to say. Melville, Avis, and their servants returned home. The manor seemed unbelievably empty that night, and the Great Hall had many empty seats. Voices seemed to echo much louder than ever before, and so all spoke quieter, leading to an ever emptier feeling.

Avis picked at her food unhappily. Melville watched her.

“It was hardest for you to see them leave, I think,” he said.

Avis nodded.

“They are my people.”

“But they are safe.” Melville put his arm subtlety around her shoulders. “You saved them.”

“Yes,” Avis agreed. “We are safe.”

Melville’s arm dipped, moving past her intricate shoulder blades and hooking around her waist. He leaned in towards her, and whispered.

“And we shall shortly be alone.”

Chapter Thirty Two

But Avis squirmed unhappily underneath his touch.

“I am tired,” she said, distractedly. “I think I shall retire early.”

And with that, she rose and left the hall.

Melville sat there, shocked. He could not believe that she had just…left. The last few days had been of unbearable tension for him – constantly surrounded by people, never having a single moment to themselves. As welcome as the villagers had been, he had been waiting for the opportunity to have Avis to himself. He had thought that now the place had been emptied, they could leisurely enjoy the time that they could devote to each other. But Avis had startled out of the room like a frightened doe.

His appetite for the celebratory feast was gone, and after playing with his food for several minutes, Melville left for his chamber in a terrible mood.

The bad mood did not lift over the succeeding days. There was now a distinct awkwardness between Melville and Avis, now that the large multitude had left their home. With no distractions, no worries about calls from lookouts, and no children to care for, they were left almost exclusively to themselves. The corridors, once ringing with laughter and shouts, were now empty, save for the lonely steps of the few servants. They could not avoid each other, although Avis was doing a very good job of it.

She felt the tension strongly. It haunted her in her dreams, when she awoke reaching out for him. She was constantly aware of his presence, and had to stop herself from leaning towards him when they sat together during meals, or walking down the passageways and corridors that she knew he frequented. A fit of tears overtook her when she couldn’t decide whether to go down to the kitchens or not; one half of her arguing that Melville would look for her there and so she shouldn’t, and the other half saying that was exactly the reason that she should. Ridiculous woman! She chastised herself. This should not worry you, you must not let this consume you! But what probably hurt the most was that as she watched Melville, he seemed completely unaware of her.

Melville felt no such thing. The breeze that Avis brought into his life had never felt so lovely as now, when he could spend more time alone with her. He put off necessary visits to York, trying to convince himself that such business could wait another day. And another day. Perhaps even a week. Anything to be able to stay, to stay here, with the hope of seeing Avis before his fast was broken. To see her wandering around, speaking to servants. Maybe even to speak to her himself. But Melville knew that to truly win this tantalizing creature, he could not force his company upon her. He desperately wanted her to seek him out, but all she seemed to do was blush and leave a room each time he entered it. This was so unlike Avis’ character that he marvelled at it, wondered at what she was thinking. Whether she wanted him to follow after her.

But their mutual attraction could not last much longer without release.

A bright, shining morning brought news to Melville that the villagers had requested his presence in Ulleskelf. Although loathe to leave Avis, he admitted to himself that since their departure, he had been remiss in his care of his people. Every thought had been taken over by his wife, and now it was time to face up to his responsibilities as a landlord and master. He could not ignore his people forever.