Lords of the White Castle (76 page)

'No word?'

His brother shook his head and looked away.

Fulke glowered and kicked the rushes. 'This place is a pig sty!' he growled, 'You might not care about living in shit, but I do. Go and do something about it!'

Richard knew when to make himself scarce. William had already vanished to oversee weapons practice for the garrison. Cursing, Fulke collected a flagon of cloudy ale from the sideboard, a none too clean cup, and mounted the dais to survey his domain with a jaundiced eye.

That night disgruntled, irritated, Fulke rolled himself in his fur-lined cloak for warmth and comfort, but still he was cold and Whittington seemed not so much a haven and a home as a desolate, haunted place. Finally, unable to sleep, he rose. Fetching ink, quill and vellum, he penned a brief letter to Maude, sealed it with the gold ring from his jewel coffer and bade a messenger ride to find her at first light.

Ten days later, with no word from Maude, Fulke left Whittington to visit the Welsh court at Aber. Llewelyn greeted Fulke courteously enough, but with an air of reserve that Fulke reciprocated.

'Wales reaps a bitter harvest when England is at peace,' Llewelyn said, 'for then all her ambition turns to the conquering of her neighbours. Why should I be delighted that you have sealed a truce with John?'

'I am not asking you to be delighted,' Fulke answered. 'Do you remember when you sealed your own pact with him by marrying his daughter, and forced me to leave Whittington?'

'A fair point, but much water has flowed beneath our bridges since that time.'

'I agree,' Fulke said shortly. 'I have not consented to this truce in order to make war on Wales. All I am requesting is that you curb your young men from raiding my lands.'

'In the time of your grandfather, those lands were Welsh.' 'And before that English, then Welsh, then English again.

It is a game of push and pull. But if you raid, then my men will retaliate, and so it will go on.'

'Llewelyn has changed,' Fulke said as he rode home with William from their parley. 'He has grown more bitter, more cynical.' Hearing his own words, he winced. So do we all, he thought. When trust was broken and broken again, there came a point when it could not be mended—like a cracked tile underfoot that made the foot step awry and the body lose its balance.

'Do you think the raids will stop?'

Fulke shrugged. 'It is likely for a time, unless the winter is hard and their hunger fierce. I have served Llewelyn warning that I will treat the raids as acts of war, not the peccadilloes of hot-blooded young men, but I have kept the pathways between us open.'

William smiled faintly. 'You have the diplomacy that many do not,' he said. 'The ability to show your fist and talk like a courtier at the same time.'

'I wouldn't call it diplomacy.'

'Then what?'

'Needs must when the devil drives.'

They arrived at Whittington to find travellers' horses in the stables: a powerful dappled cob and two smaller mounts. Fulke recognised his daughter's chestnut mare and Clarice's small brown gelding. There were also several saddle horses probably belonging to an escort, but there was no sign of Maude's favourite cream-coloured palfrey.

His heart leaping, Fulke almost ran into the hall. Tall and whipcord lean, William Pantulf was warming his hands at the fire in the company of the two girls. As Fulke entered the hall he looked up, and his glance alerted the others. Hawise turned.

'Papa!' She ran to him, her red braids snaking. He caught her up and swung her round, hugging her close in delight and pain and then holding her away to look at her.

'Holy Mother, you've grown again! Last I saw you, I could tuck you beneath my arm, now you reach above my shoulder!'

Hawise giggled, sounding so much like her mother that it was almost like an arrow in his heart. To look at she was pure de Dinan, her gaining height and ripening curves the legacy of the grandmother for whom she was named.

'Are you home for good now?' she demanded.

'For the winter at least. Did my letter not reach you and your mother?' His arm around Hawise, he went forward to the fire to greet Will Pantulf and Clarice.

Hawise stiffened against him. 'Yes' she said. 'We were at Edlington and Will was visiting so he offered to escort us to Whittington. I couldn't come on my own, so Clarice accompanied me as a chaperone.' Her voice was slightly breathless and Fulke did not miss the look that two young women exchanged.

'Is your mother following later?'

A brief silence. Will Pantulf cleared his throat and looked embarrassed, as if wishing himself somewhere else.

Hawse shook her head. 'No, Papa.'

'Why not?' Fulke's stomach turned over. There was a look in his daughter's eyes, a mingling of anger, sadness, and compassion, which contained a feminine wisdom far beyond her years.

Hawise lifted her chin. 'She says that if she is going to be a widow while her husband is alive, she will dwell on her dower lands as befits her station.'

'What!' Fulke demanded, incredulity and anger starting to build.

Hawise's composure slipped. 'Why did you go to a tourney, Papa, instead of coming home to us?'

He shook his head, trying to grasp what she was saying, trying to make some sense of the morass.

'My grandfather said that you had gone to a tourney'

'It wasn't just a tourney,' Fulke snapped. 'It was a gathering of all the men who felt that the spirit of the charter was not going to be honoured.'

'Mama said that if you wanted to chase your dream as well as your own tail, then well and good, but that you should not expect her to wait at Whittington for you and become another Maude de Braose.'

Fulke's frown darkened and he clenched his fists, furious that Maude should use Hawise as a pawn in their battle. 'She sent you with that message, did she?'

'No, Papa.' Hawise shook her head miserably. 'But I heard her say it. Go to her, please. I cannot bear to watch you destroy each other.' She made a small, helpless gesture.

Fulke kissed her broad white brow and smoothed the curly red wisps that had escaped the tight braiding. 'I'll ride out on the morrow,' he said gently, but his eyes were hard.

A servant brought hot wine and William joined them from outside, hugging his niece, nodding to the others, bringing welcome relief.

'No Maude?' he enquired.

'I'm going north' tomorrow to fetch her,' Fulke said, managing for his daughter's sake to keep his voice neutral.

'Well, and what should I say to my wife?'

Clarice looked at Fulke where he stood before the hearth, drinking a last cup of wine before he retired. 'Only you can know that, my lord,' she said, picking up her cloak. Hawise and Will Pantulf had gone outside to admire the stars and each other. In her role of chaperone, Clarice was slowly preparing to follow them out.

Clarice had felt the anger and anxiety coming off Fulke in waves almost as hot as a brazier throughout the evening. Now he was brooding, and although he was far from drunk she could see that the wine he had consumed had made him melancholy rather than mellow. 'One thing I can tell you: she will not come to you.'

'Why?'

'You are asking to hear her words from my mouth. I cannot do that.' Clarice fastened the cloak.

'I don't see why not. Everyone else seems to know her reasons. She must have discussed the matter with you.'

Hearing the growl in his voice, Clarice mutely shook her head. Turning from him, she hurried from the hall, and did not answer when he shouted her back. She had no intention of becoming a grain of corn between two grindstones, or of putting herself through the mill of facing him and speaking for another woman when all she really wanted was to… Clarice gave a terse mutter of self-annoyance and banished the thought before it could develop coherence at the front of her mind.

Outside it was a night for lovers, crisp and star-frosted. A time to embrace within the shelter of each other's cloaks, sharing warmth. Clarice's breath whitened in the air as she climbed the wall walks and joined Hawise and Will, standing breast to breast, their lips so close that their own breath mingled as one. She felt no envy; indeed she was wary for she had seen both sides of a coin that evening. Nevertheless, a wistful pang clutched her heart as she looked on the couple and knew that such an innocent love would never be hers.

CHAPTER 39

Shipley, Yorkshire, Autumn 1215

Sleeves pushed back to the elbow, one hand steadying the beechwood mixing bowl, Maude dug her other into the glutinous mixture of salt, bay salt, saltpetre, ground black peppercorns and honey. On the trestle before her lay two dozen thick hams. She could have left the work to Dame Guldrun, who had been making York hams every autumn for the past twenty-five years, but she wanted to learn. Besides, it kept her" occupied and prevented her from falling into a bleak mood. There were only so many hours of the day that could be spent at embroidery or archery or tending her children. The boys were too old to need her constant supervision. They wanted to be off with the grooms and dogs, testing their skills, being young hunters, playing at warrior knights. Mabile was in the hall under the watchful gaze of the steward's wife and Jonetta, who had refused with a shudder of revulsion to come out to the cold salting larder and help cure hams.

'Tha hast to rub 'em all ower wi' this mixture twice a week for a moon, turnin' 'em every time,' instructed Guldrun, 'then tha hast to soak 'em for a day and a night and hang 'em up to dry' Her own pink forearms resembled the hams into which she was vigorously smearing the mixture. 'And when tha's done, tha must always cover t'knuckle wi' ground-up peppercorns to stop the wick things from gettin' at't'meat.'

Maude nodded. That made sense. Pepper might be expensive, but losing a ham to maggots in the winter months made it a false economy to skimp on preservation. She had a tiny cut on her knuckle and it stung ferociously as salt met raw flesh. She coated a ham in the mixture, following Guldrun's example.

Thass right, my lady' Guldrun gave a gruff nod of approval. 'You can tell you're a Yorkshire woman, born if not bred.'

Maude laughed with delight at the compliment. The dour folk of these parts had no love for the Normans who had all but wiped out their great-great-grandparents during the harrying when the Conqueror brought fire and sword to England's North Country. There had been few people left to carry the memory, but that had only emphasised rather than diluted its power. To be praised by a matriarch such as Guldrun was accomplishment indeed.

She found herself thinking that it was a pity Clarice had gone to Whittington. With her delight in all things domestic and her dexterity, she would have enjoyed this. The thought of Whittington crept like a worm into the apple of her mind. Perhaps she should have gone with the girls. In truth, it had been her duty to do so, but she had ignored the voice of conscience. Pride and pique and anger: all were justified. In her mind's eye she carried a vision of Fulke jousting in summer sunshine, laughing in masculine camaraderie, flirting with women.

'Ye need not be so hard, mistress,' Guldrun warned with a look askance. 'T'pig's already dead.'