Enchantress Mine (40 page)

“The usurper? You build a castle for the usurper?”

“William of Normandy is England’s rightfully anointed and crowned king, my lord Eadric.”

“The crown belongs to Edgar the Atheling, lady.”

“Edgar the Atheling is a child,” said Mairin patiently, as if she herself were speaking to a child and not a man. “He could not hold England against invaders. He would be easy prey to those of his own countrymen seeking to rule through him. Besides, our late King Edward chose William of Normandy as his heir. King Edward knew we needed a man of strength.”

“So William the bastard claims.”

“The pope upheld his claim!” retorted Mairin.

“Bah! A foreigner who knows nothing of England, or of her people!”

“A people who want peace,” Mairin snapped back, “but they do not seem to find it when men like you pillage the land!”

“I fight for our freedom, woman!” roared Eadric.

“You fight for what you can personally gain,” she replied angrily. “Why else do you rob, and kill, and ravage the countryside? Why have you come here? Aelfleah is a small and isolated manor with little to give.”

Though Saxon women were noted for their bluntness of speech, and even encouraged to it by their families, Eadric was taken aback by Mairin’s fierce words which touched too close to the truth to satisfy him. She made him very uncomfortable. His reputation as a warrior usually cowed the people with whom he dealt. What was worse was that she spoke before his own men. He would find himself losing his authority if he did not regain control of the situation.

Drawing himself to his full height he thundered at her, “Get into the house, woman, and shut your mouth!”

Mairin smiled mockingly and she swept him an equally taunting curtsy. “Do come into my hall, my lord Eadric. I will give orders that your men be fed, and their horses watered, or would they prefer to pillage themselves?” Then turning she walked back into the house.

“Woman, you try my patience,” he muttered following after her, his several lieutenants at his heels.

Eadric the Wild gloried in his terrible reputation. He would have been discomfited to see the wicked grin upon his antagonist’s face for he did not frighten Mairin in the least. Indeed she had already decided that he was nothing more than a bully and a blowhard. Like a wounded animal he would be dangerous if and when he was cornered, but she had decided he would be no serious danger to Aelfleah if handled properly. He was a Saxon of the old school, and he had simply not yet come to terms with Harold’s defeat. He would continue to fight uselessly until he either accepted the inevitable or was killed. Eadric was a wealthy man, but he was not a man to concern himself with the comforts that life could offer. He lived as the Saxons had lived a hundred years earlier, in a large noisy hall filled with retainers and animals, both of whom scrabbled for bones and other leavings amongst the rushes. He was taken aback by Aelfleah’s small neat hall which was divided from its entry by a beautiful carved screen. The rushes upon the polished floors were clean for they were changed weekly. The hall had a pleasant air to it due to the sweet herbs that were scattered amid the rushes. In the large fireplace great logs burned warming the room nicely, and seated by the fire was a handsome woman who arose to greet them.

“This is my mother, the lady Eada, widow of Aldwine Athelsbeorn,” said Mairin.

“Lady,” said Eadric the Wild, “I am honored to meet the wife of so illustrious a man as Aldwine Athelsbeorn.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said Eada, and then she returned to her seat.

“Bring wine,” Mairin commanded her servants, and waved Eadric to another seat by the fire.

The wine was brought, and passed among the visitors, and then Eadric said, “One of my lieutenants is an old friend of yours, Mairin of Aelfleah. He tells me that you are promised to him.”

“I am promised to no one,” said Mairin, “and besides I am—” but before she might finish, a bearded blond man came forward.

“Do you not recognize me, Mairin?”

She peered closely at the man, then her face grew dark with anger.
“Eric Longsword!”

“Aye! I have come back to claim you, Mairin! I have pledged my fealty to Eadric and Edgar the Atheling, and when you are my wife we shall hold Aelfleah for them. I have so sworn it!”

“Indeed,” replied Mairin scornfully, “have you, Eric Longsword? Did I not warn you that I would not marry you? That has not changed. Why would I promise myself to a traitor for that is what you are. A traitor who fought with Tostig and Harold Hardraade against England! I would not wed with you if you were the last man on earth!”

“The choice is not yours, Mairin. Aelfleah is strategically placed, and we need it. It is your duty as a loyal Englishwoman to wed with the man who can hold this manor for England’s rightful king.”

“Which is precisely what I have done, Eric Longsword! I was married the day before Christmas last to Josselin de Combourg, a loyal knight of England’s rightful king, William. I am my lord’s loving and faithful wife, and I will bear his child next winter,” she finished triumphantly, one hand placed over her belly for emphasis. Then her face darkened again with anger, and she said in an icy voice, “How dare you claim a betrothal with me, and how dare you lead these outlaws here to my lands to wreak havoc! Never did my family give you the slightest hope of a marriage between us. Nor did I! I had not thought you a man of such strong imagination, Eric Longsword.”

“If you are married then I shall kill your husband, Mairin,” he said coolly. “I mean to have you. I have never denied my passion for you. From the first day I saw you in Constantinople I wanted you. My feelings have not changed. You need a strong man who can teach you how to bend to a husband’s will. I am that man. William will be driven from England, and the Atheling will rule as he should. You will be
my
wife with
my
babe in your belly. As for the brat you now carry, if it lives it can be given away.”

Mairin stared at Eric Longsword shocked, but then she burst out laughing. Turning to Eadric she said, “This man is stark raving mad, my lord. You had best lock him away lest he be a harm to himself, or others dear to you. As for me I shall bear his company for hospitality’s sake, but if he comes near me again I will have my retainers fling him from my hall out into the barnyard where such an animal belongs!”

Eadric looked shrewdly at Mairin, and asked, “Where were you married?”

“In London by Odo, the bishop of Bayeux, and in the presence of the king, my mother, William FitzOsbern, William de Warenne, the Count of Eu, Robert de Beaumont, and Hugh de Montfort.”

“Where is your husband now, Mairin of Aelfleah? Did he flee at our coming?”

“Nay, my lord. He is with Bishop Odo seeking to retake Dover Castle from the traitorous Picard, Eustace of Boulogne. It was his duty to support the king’s brother.”

Eadric the Wild nodded his understanding. Then arising he said, “There is nothing for us here. We move on! Order the men to burn the fields and drive off the livestock. We will have something for our trouble!”

Eadric quickly discovered that the manor fields contained nothing but stubble, and that the livestock, even the poultry, had seemingly disappeared. It suddenly occurred to him that although they had burned a large barracks and workshop complex on the castle site, there were no workmen there. Nor were they to be found, nor was there evidence of the manor’s livestock, or poultry, or pretty girls. Into his cold eyes crept something akin to admiration, and he chuckled although the sound held no mirth. “It would do absolutely no good to ask, would it?” he said.

“No, my lord, it would not,” she answered softly.

“Then I shall not, Mairin of Aelfleah, for you have bested me once too often before my men. Still you shall not escape me entirely unscathed. Burn the village and the church,” he ordered.

“What about the manor house, my lord Eadric?” demanded Eric Longsword viciously.

Eadric saw the panic leap into her eyes. It pleased him, but what pleased him more was that she went down upon her knees to him pleading loudly that he spare her home. “I fight for England,” he said loudly and loftily. “I do not make war upon helpless women and babes. I will spare your house, Mairin of Aelfleah.”

“Oh, thank you, my lord!” she cried, brushing an imaginary tear from her eye. She was tempted to ask him: if he didn’t wage war on women and children, why was he burning the manor village? Discretion fortunately overruled her tongue.

He turned from her, but not before she had seen his lips quirk with amusement. She would have been a formidable opponent had she been a man, he thought. She planned her battle well, and knew when to retreat to cover her losses. He felt little satisfaction as he rode from Aelfleah.

Behind him the manor peasants managed to save the church, but for the roof, although the entire village was destroyed. Still as they picked through the rubble of their homes that afternoon there were certain items that were salvageable. Mairin promised them that their homes would be rebuilt as quickly as possible. The castle workmen returned from their hiding places, and were immediately pressed into rebuilding the village. This time the cottages raised would be of stone, but for their thatched roofs, so that should the village ever be fired again it would be easier to rebuild.

Within a month the cottages were done. The new barracks and workshops once more stood upon the hill. As the castle workmen had helped Aelfleah’s people to save their harvest, so Aelfleah’s people had aided the castle’s workmen to rebuild. The manor quickly settled back to its normal routine. The grain brought from its hiding place was threshed, and stored away in dry places to be ground into flour only as needed, for flour did not keep long once ground. The apples in the orchard were ready for harvest, and the cider was being pressed as Josselin de Combourg returned home to his wife and his lands.

Mairin was loath to discuss her defense of Aelfleah, but Eada was not. “Aldwine would have been so proud of her,” the older woman bubbled. “She managed to unite everyone. She saved the entire harvest, and all the livestock. Not a woman was raped, nor a man killed, nor any child carried off! ’Tis true we lost the village, my son, but it is already rebuilt, and this time of stone, but for the roofs. No man could have defended Aelfleah and its people any better. As for that cheeky Eric Longsword, she sent him packing once and for all! Why, the nerve of him telling Eadric that he was betrothed to my daughter!”

“Mother!”
Mairin flushed.

“Eric Longsword?”
Josselin’s attention was suddenly engaged. Mairin’s defense of Aelfleah had not surprised him, although her cleverness at getting in the crop and hiding the workmen had astounded him, but Eric Longsword? “Who is Eric Longsword?” he asked.

“A fool!” snapped Mairin.

“His father was a thegn in the north, loyal to Tostig,” said Eada. “He served in the Varangian Guard in Byzantium where we first met him. He has always been taken with Mairin, and tried to court her after Basil died, but she would have none of him. He dared to tell Eadric that Mairin was to be his wife, and that he was to gain control of Aelfleah. To such end he swore fealty to Eadric and the Atheling. Mairin corrected him quickly enough, and Eadric realized that Eric Longsword was but bragging to gain influence.”

“I will kill him,” said Josselin calmly.

“You will stay here and protect us, my lord!” said Mairin sharply. “I am not well with this child I carry, and I can take no more excitement!”

Josselin looked at Eada. “What is it?” he demanded.

Eada shook her head. “She has been staining blood ever since Eadric came. She may lose the child, and I would not be surprised for she labored in the fields to get the harvest in like any common peasant.”

“You labored beside me, mother, and in the village too when we aided our people to haul thatch.”

“In your condition? Are you mad, Mairin?” he shouted angrily at her.

“How could I not labor with our people, Josselin? It is up to the manor lord or his lady to set the example.”

“But you are with child!”

“So were half the women of the village, and none of them is the worse for it,” she retorted.

“They are peasants,” he protested, “and strong like beasts of burden. You are my wife, and delicate.”

She sniffed. “God’s will be done,” she said. “If the child is not right it is better I lose it now.”

He looked at her horrified. “How can you say such a thing?” he demanded.

“Men!” she claimed derisively. “What do you know of babies but that you sire them? I have seen strong, ruddy babies come into this world. I have seen pale and weak ones arrive blue and misshapen to linger a few days or a few years, breaking their mother’s heart either way. If the child is not to be healthy, I should rather not bear it, and be weakened by such a birth. Is that so wrong?”

He looked confused. She was once again making logic out of what must surely be wrong. Yet he did understand what she was saying. Still, this was
his
son that they were speaking of, and he wanted that child desperately.

Mairin saw the play of emotions across his face, and reaching out she touched his cheek. “God’s will will prevail, my Josselin. If it is his desire that this child be saved then it shall. We shall pray for it, my lord. Together we shall pray for our innocent child.”

They prayed with sincerity upon the cool stone floors of the newly roofed church. Less than a week later, Mairin miscarried of their child. A tiny scrap of humanity so small that they could not tell if it had been the much-sought-for son, or a daughter. Mairin, who had been so calmly logical the week before, wept bitter tears in her husband’s arms.

“It isn’t fair,” she kept repeating. “It just isn’t fair!”

“There will be other children,” he comforted her, feeling equal disappointment. “I am just glad that you are safe, enchantress mine. I can accept the loss of our child, but I could not have accepted the loss of you.”