Shadows and Strongholds (30 page)

'I cannot believe that Hugh Mortimer is surrendering.' Ernalt de Lysle's mouth twisted as if it were full of vinegar. He gave his horse a bad-tempered kick, and then had to tighten the reins as the beast plunged. Ahead of them, the banners of Mortimer were carried on dipped lances in token of submission as the rebels rode into the royal camp to make peace with Henry.

De Lacy turned in the saddle to look at him. 'What choice does he have?" he said with a hint of impatience. 'Cleobury has fallen and it is only a matter of time until his other castles fall too. Only a madman would continue to hold out against the King. Pride makes poor bread to live on when all else is taken away; believe me, boy, I have done it.'

Ernalt flushed. 'We will have to ride past the men of Ludlow.' he said in a mortified tone. 'I don't want to be mocked by them.'

De Lacy gave the young knight a speculative look. 'Joscelin de Dinan may be satisfied at today's outcome but I doubt he'll mock,' he said. 'Not when his son-in-law has been stripped of the greater part of his authority. Besides, from what I hear, Roger of Hereford is not long for this world. De Dinan knows very well that he's balancing on a knife-edge.'

'But he still possesses Ludlow.'

'For the nonce, but that will change.' De Lacy had known that taking up arms with Hugh Mortimer would set back his claim to Ludlow. Yet he had been honour bound to answer Mortimer's call for aid, and since a man without honour was detestable, there had been but one choice.

Ernalt scowled. 'Hugh Mortimer should help you to take Ludlow in recompense.'

De Lacy had been thinking along similar lines himself, but to hear it from the mouth of his knight made him pause to wonder at Ernalt's fervour for the de Lacy cause. There was more than just loyalty involved, he was certain. Ernalt seemed to harbour a personal grudge against de Dinan. While Gilbert could justify his own grudges, he had no inkling of what goaded Ernalt. 'The idea has its merits,' he said, 'but it would be necessary to move with care. To do it straight away would not be wise.'

'No, my lord, but with the Earl of Hereford ailing and stripped of much of his authority, de Dinan has no one of any weight to take his part. The FitzWarins may have royal connections, but wield no true power.' A sneering note entered his voice.

De Lacy had no love for Fulke FitzWarin of Whittington, although mostly his antipathy consisted of feelings of superiority. Judging by his tone. Ernalt had a more active grudge against him. A vague memory flickered at the back of de Lacy's mind and was gone before he could grasp it. 'No,' he said, 'FitzWarin is nothing to me.'

De Lacy remembered what the grudge was as they were conducted through the siege camp under their banners of truce. In the course of avoiding Joscelin de Dinan's neutral grey stare, his gaze fell on the squire standing at his left shoulder. Fulke FitzWarin the younger, known as Brunin. Ernalt made a sound in his throat and muttered something that sounded like 'whoreson'. The FitzWarin youth raised his head and fixed his sable-dark gaze on Ernalt and it was plain that Ernalt's sentiments were reciprocated in full measure.

'It was at Shrewsbury Fair, wasn't it?' murmured Gilbert as they rode beyond the contact and the tension dissipated.

'What was?' Ernalt looked wary.

'Don't play games. You know of what I speak.'

'My lord?'

'That incident—three years ago, was it?—when you came home looking as if you'd been trampled on by a warhorse. I never got much sense or reason out of you at the time, but I heard from other sources that you and de Dinan's squire had had a fight over a girl.'

'It was nothing.' Ernalt raised the back of his hand to his mouth for a moment, as if touching a wound.

'And that is why you look at him as if you would carve out his liver and feed it to the crows. There is more to it than that, I think.'

Ernalt shrugged his broad shoulders and said nothing. After a moment, Gilbert looked away and let the matter drop. It was of no real concern, after all.

Hawise had discovered that she enjoyed embroidery. As a child she had possessed little patience, but now she found that there was something soothing about sitting in a quiet corner and ordering her thoughts to the movement of her needle. It was satisfying to see a pattern take shape on the fabric, to watch delicate leaves and scrolls curl and coil upon the stretched linen. She also had sufficient vanity to be aware that her hands were one of her best features, the fingers long and graceful, adorned by rings of braided silver and gold. The act of embroidery gave them prominence to an observer and became one of the first things they noticed about her.

Her mother joined her on the bench by the window and took a silver needle from the pin cushion in the sewing casket. Beyond the open shutters, October sunshine clothed the keep and bailey in light the colour of falling leaves. Sybilla selected a hank of amber-coloured thread and carefully pared off a strand. 'It is time and past time we considered the matter of your marriage,' she murmured after a moment. 'I have been remiss, and so has your father.'

Hawise concentrated on her stitches while her stomach gave a sudden wallow. Discussion of her future had been deferred several times over the past year for although Henry was firmly entrenched on the throne, their position at Ludlow was still uncertain. There had been Mortimer's rebellion at Wigmore and de Lacy had continued to claim vociferously that Ludlow was his. Thus far his protests had landed on deaf ears, likely because he had joined Mortimer's defiance, but there was no safeguard for the future. Then there had been the tragic matter of her brother-in-law's death. Although they had been prepared, the end had still come as a shock, as if an open door that had been creaking had finally slammed shut in the wind. Roger's earldom was to lapse and her father had lost his most powerful ally.

'You say nothing, daughter? Does the thought disturb you?'

Hawise frowned and shook her head. 'A little,' she said, 'but I know that you and Papa will not force me to anything that is not of my will.'

Sybilla's lips twitched. 'I see that you have listened well to my homilies on the matter, but it will be up to you to help us decide.'

Hawise glanced out of the window. Cecily was walking in the bailey with Marion, the stiff autumn breeze swirling their cloaks and fluttering their veils. Her half-sister had returned to Ludlow to mourn. Even if Cecily's heart was not broken, it had been scarred, and she needed time to recover before the subject of her own future 'choice' was raised.

'Do you have anyone in mind?' Sybilla pressed gently.

Hawise continued to stare. 'Do you?' she countered.

'One or two, but I was going to ask if you had a preference first.'

Hawise heard the prick of her mother's needle through the taut linen, her stitches measured and precise. 'No,' she said neutrally. 'I have no preference.'

'Hmmm,' said Sybilla, not making it clear if it was a sound of thoughtfulness or doubt. She took several stitches in silence, then rested her needle and looked at Hawise. 'A messenger came from Whittington today and that is part of what has prompted me to speak with you. Fulke FitzWarin has asked officially if we will consider a marriage between you and Brunin.'

Hawise flushed crimson. It had been a possibility for some time, albeit among many possibilities, including an offer from a northern baronial family.

Sybilla watched her. 'What do you think?'

Hawise gave a panic-stricken laugh. The difference between possibility and certain offer was terrifying. 'What does Brunin say? Does he know?' She thought that he must do, for he was spending a month at Whittington with his family and it was inconceivable that he had not been involved in the discussion.

'That I cannot say, since the offer was couched in formal terms.' Sybilla smiled. 'Judging by the way he looks at you sometimes, I doubt he has objections. Indeed, if your father thought for one moment that he had, he wouldn't entertain his return to Ludlow. As far as your father is concerned, no man will ever be good enough for you, but it is you I am asking. There are many eligible young men who would be glad to have you to wife. You may not have the kind of beauty that the troubadours sing about, but you have an allure of your own that is perhaps more attractive.' Sybilla reached out a tender hand to stroke Hawise's thick auburn braid.

'An allure called Ludlow,' Hawise said, lips thinning. 'That's all Robert le Vavasour could talk about when he came courting!'

'Perhaps,' Sybilla said with amusement, 'but his eyes did a lot of looking.'

Hawise sniffed indignantly. 'Yes,' she said. 'I almost had to fish them out from between my breasts!'

Sybilla spluttered, and then compressed her lips to quash her mirth. 'I take it you are not enamoured of Robert le Vavasour.'

Hawise shook her head. 'He was too fond of listening to himself She was aware of the sidelong looks cast at her by the young men of the keep and guests who visited with their eligible sons. Their glances left her feeling breathless, vulnerable and flattered. She could not recall Brunin ever eyeing her like that; to her face he was more likely to laugh and tug her braid but perhaps he was different when her back was turned. More than once she had studied him and speculated. The memory of him swilling down at the well in the bailey a couple of summers ago was still one that burned in her imagination. 'I do like him,' she said, her voice slow with consideration. 'And I know that I will have to make a choice soon… but…'

'Is there anyone you would prefer? The Earl of Leicester's second son perhaps?'

Hawise made a face. 'He was good company, but no more than in passing and all he wanted to talk about was hunting. If I married him, there would be hounds all over the bed.'

Sybilla bit back a smile. 'And Brunin is more than in passing?'

Hawise sighed. 'Perhaps it is just that I have known him for longer. I've had time to quarrel with him as well as be polite.'

Sybilla studied her thoughtfully. 'Then perhaps you should try to imagine your life without Brunin in it. If he should be knighted and leave Ludlow for pastures new, how then would you feel?' She laid her hand upon Hawise's wrist to emphasise her point. 'Lost? Indifferent? Relieved?'

'I do not know…' Hawise rubbed her temple.

'Use your heart, not your head,' Sybilla said quickly. 'Give me the answer you feel inside.'

Hawise laughed. 'Is that not the opposite of what you are always telling us? Look before you leap is what you usually say'

Sybilla answered the laugh with a reluctant one of her own. 'Yes, it is what I usually say, but this time, no. You have to go beyond the mind and make your choice from the heart too. Otherwise, your father and I might as well have selected a husband for you at birth.'

Hawise looked down at her mother's insistent hand. The flesh was slick over the bones, the veins prominent, a few brownish spots adding evidence of years, but the nails were well tended and the several gold rings were a display of wealth and power and feminine vanity despite the onset of years.

'How do you feel about sharing a bed with Brunin?' Sybilla asked. 'About bearing dark-eyed sons and daughters with his mannerisms?'