Wolf for a Lioness 4

 

Chapter 4

 

The cut on the gelding’s hock was deep and painful-looking, as the ostler showed them.

“’Tis sore, Lady, and I have been putting hot foments on it to ease it, and begged honey to treat it,” said Sewin, the ostler. “It make a lie of his name ‘Beaujambes’ at the moment, but it will heal, and his legs be as fair as ever.”

“I trust you to do all that is necessary,” said Isabeau.  “You have always been good at treating every ailment of the horses.”

Sewin nodded without false modesty. 

“Well, Lady, I do be the get of Sir Gilbert Danforth’s father, and they say all Danforths have the touch with horses, and a love of them.”

“I’d forgotten you irregular parentage, Sewin,” said Isabeau.  “Tell me, do you think this cut was caused by a stone in an irregularity of the land?”

Sewin spat.

“No, Lady, and to my mind the cut were by rope.”

“Rope?”

Sewin looked nervously at Wulfric and Isabeau.

“Tell what you think, man, and have no fear,” said Wulfric.

“Well, Master Wulfric, Lady, that be a straight line across the hock, see?  And above it, there’s a graze that looks like rope burn, like it’s slid up out of the cut as he stumbled.  Fine twine rather than rope, it be, and strong.”

Isabeau and Wulfric looked at the wound, as the gelding shifted uncomfortably.

“I see what you mean, Sewin,” said Isabeau.  “Do you think anyone who loves horses could do this if he wanted to be rid of the rider?”

Sewin spat again.

“If you mean Sir Gilbert, lady, bastard by nature he be, while I only be bastard by birth, but I don’t see him hurting a horse, nowise.  Likes them better nor humans, I’d say.”

“Thank you, Sewin.”

Isabeau pressed a vail into the hand of the ostler for speaking up as much as he knew. 

“So it must have been Fleury,” she said to Wulfric, when they were out of Sewin’s earshot.

“I don’t know,” said Wulfric, frowning.  “The subtlety is not something I associate with that crass boor.  Sewin might believe Danforth incapable of hurting a horse, but after all, it was not likely to break the leg and cause the gelding’s death.  The situation however was almost bound to kill any rider who did fall, or injure him badly and render him likely to die.  The horse was never going to fall down that escarpment but someone thrown over its head was going to fall heavily.  The planning smacks more of Danforth than of Fleury.”

“Oh dear, and I do fear Danforth for his cunning,” said Isabeau.  “I scarcely know what to think.  Unless Danforth made the plan but let Fleury implement it, so as to have the casuistry of not having himself harmed a horse.”

“Let us look at the place where Sir Ferrand fell,” said Wulfric.  “If it will not upset thee too much, Isabeau?”

“Oh it is nice that you use my name again, as you have not this last year or more,” said Isabeau.  “It may upset me but what is that to the purpose?  I am not some peasant wench to let my grief cloud my sense of filial duty.  My father would not wish me to behave like a little fool who hath no strength of mind.”

“Thou’rt strong.”

“My strength is in thee. In knowing that thou art with me and stand with me.”

“Art in danger of making me kiss thee again.”

“Let it be after we have been to see where my father fell, for if we kiss now, I might lose my resolve.”

The land around the Waveney valley was not so flat as either the fenlands to the north and west, nor Suffolk to the south, but it was flat enough that the scarp down which Sir Ferrand had fallen was a notable feature in the landscape, though it was no more than ten feet.  Once, in the distant past, the river had wound its way around this feature, cutting into the harder chalk outcrop that typified the western part of the land of the East Angles.  Riding down the slope was a skilled business, but a route frequently used by Ferrand, by way of a short cut to oversee his demesne.  For Sir Ferrand had not left the stewardship entirely to Wulfric, but had taken an interest in his lands, and had been keen to learn both about the land itself and its people.

The top of the escarpment was covered with scrubby hawthorn trees, which also scrambled down the cliff in tortured shapes, twisted by the exigencies of clinging to the shallow soil in strong winds.  Wild flowers like knapweed and toadsflax and various vetches grew freely amongst the soft grasses, and sheep grazed happily across the heights that were unsuitable for the plough but which gave rich sustenance to the sheep whose wool were part of the demesne’s wealth, along with the flax grown in the valley.   Wulfric led Isabeau through the throng of curious sheep, who meandered over to gaze at the interlopers, to the fresh white scar at the edge of the slope.

“Here Beaujambes scrabbled with his other front foot after one was caught,” he read the signs.  “Everyone knew that this was the route by which your father crossed from the high lands to the low in the valley.  It is an easy slope to ride down for a competent horseman.”

“Yes, I have ridden it myself,” said Isabeau.  “Piers dared me the first time, and I was frightened, but once I had done it once, I had no further fears.”

“I would have ridden ahead of you, had I been there,” said Wulfric.

“I did not wish to seem a coward in the eyes of my cousin,” said Isabeau.   “Wulfric, the path goes between two hawthorn trees.”

“Aye,” said Wulfric.  “And I wish to inspect the boles most carefully.  Look you to the one on the right, and I will look to the left.”

Isabeau looked to the tree on the right.

“Wulfric, the bark is rubbed and damaged,” she said.

“And on this; and look, Isabeau!” he beckoned her over.  “The murderer did not remove all his twine.  It is blacked with tar to hide it, and tied tightly.”

“And might have hurt anyone who came this way,” said Isabeau.  “Though I cannot think it was a snare set for any but my father.”

“I agree,” said Wulfric.  “If I, or you, had ridden out this way, doubtless the killer would merely have been annoyed at having to set the trap once again, but it seems to me that, knowing your father’s habits to be most regular, the killer set the trap and watched for him to ride by, to fall, and then removed his trap.  He has got the twine off the other tree, but here the knot pulled too tight and he has cut the twine away with his belt knife, relying on time to hide his deed as the bark grows over the twine.”

 

One awaited without as the pair returned to the manor; a neat, dark young man, who wore his face clean-shaven against the common fashion, clad neatly and soberly in fine brown woollen bliaut and robe, modestly embroidered in coloured threads about the hems. He came forward with his hands outstretched.

“Cousin Isabeau!  I have come, after what I hope is a sufficient period not to intrude, to offer my condolences on your loss!”

“Why, thank you, Piers,” said Isabeau, permitting her cousin to take her hands and kiss her on each cheek. 

“I thought that once the first grief was over you might need family close at hand, as a protector,” said Piers, “And I am hearing the most extraordinary story from Danforth that you plan to marry some Saxon peasant.”

“Danforth twists things ever,” said Isabeau.  “It is because I refused the suit of both him and Fleury when they pressed me to choose between them, and my father hardly cold in his grave.”

“They are neither of them worthy of you,” said Piers.  “I will marry you, Isabeau, and then you may have a protector who is also family.”

“Don’t be silly, Piers; as father’s ward you have grown up as a brother to me, and such would not be proper.  Besides, I have a perfectly good betrothed husband in Wulfric, who would be a most popular husband for me to our people.”

“Wulfric?  But he’s a Saxon!  You said Danforth had twisted things!”

“Yes, if he said I was to marry a peasant,” said Isabeau.  “Wulfric is no peasant, but was high born.  These were once his lands.”

“His father is a traitor,” said Piers.

“My father may have been rebellious, Warrener, but I am not,” said Wulfric. “Have you forgotten that I am here, listening?”

“My name is De Warrenne, not Warrener!” snapped Piers.

Wulfric shrugged.

“It means the same, but I name you in English, not in a foreign tongue.  Methinks neither you nor Isabeau would be happy if married, if you are still like to make much of her besting you at anything, as you used to in your games.  It would not bode well for a harmonious life, you know.”

“And you, what sort of harmonious marriage can she expect with you?”

“As good a one as I might give her,” said Wulfric.  “I confess, I had not expected you to propose as you were raised like a brother to her.”

“I had always assumed that Uncle Ferrand expected us to marry, since I am but his sister’s son, and illegitimate, and so he could not leave the lands to me.”

“If he ever had that in mind, he never communicated such an idea to me,” said Isabeau.  “All he said of you, when he secured for you the post of Warrener, was that he hoped I would watch over you if you needed aid.”

Piers flushed. 

It did not have to be spelled out that Ferrand de Curtney plainly considered his daughter more capable than his nephew if she was to watch over him.

“I have held my post well, and keep the King’s coneys in good health,” he snapped.

“Certes, else wouldst have forfeited the post,” said Isabeau.  “Come within, Piers, and drink wine with us; and drink confusion to Fleury and Danforth.  You would not like to be married to me, because you don’t like people saying ‘no’ to you, and not doing everything that you want.”

“I have matured since last we met,” said Piers.  “I will gladly drink confusion to Fleury and Danforth.  I am glad you do not feel constrained to marry either of them.  How fortunate that Wulfric be still unwed at his age!  I will drink to your happiness.”

“Oh, I have been to busy to look for a wife,” said Wulfric, equably.  “My thanks for your good wishes.”

Piers smiled a rather rueful smile.

“Oh, I should have realised that if Isabeau’s Wolf was the Saxon that Danforth meant that things are no different to when she was a child, and always ran to you with her troubles.”

Wulfric laughed.

“There’s no shame in admitting that you expected me to sort out your troubles too, Piers, you were a very little boy to me then, and I was glad to do all I could.”

For a moment Piers looked as though he was about to take issue with Wulfric for using his given name; but then he smiled a quick smile.

“Yes, you always were very resourceful,” he said.  “Had you already spoken to Sir Ferrand about marrying Isabeau?”

“By the Rood, no!” said Wulfric.  “In sooth, I would not have considered it my place, but Isabeau commands, and I must ever obey my lady.”

“Save when you choose to flout her commands and forbid her something.”

Wulfric laughed.

“Only ever for her own good,” he said.  “I will be master in the house over such things as I feel important; otherwise, I am a man, withal, and no half-woman like Danforth and Fleury who doubtless would feel threatened by a literate and educated woman, and would take out their fear of being made to look fools by beating her into submission.”

“They neither read nor write, and cannot figure,” said Piers in scorn.

“In which any child in Kirtney village over the age of eight is their master,” said Wulfric in pride.

“I’m not marrying a petty like Torulf Attlea,” said Isabeau, “child prodigy as he is.  The boy is not five summers old, Piers, and has learned to read and write most beautifully.  He has a lovely voice too, and angelic golden curls, and will doubtless make a priest some day, if only his father does not teach him enough about thievery to work his way up to steal something significant like Ely Cathedral.”

“A prodigy indeed,” said Piers.  “How goes the harvest?”

Idle chatter filled an hour, ere Piers took his leave.

“Did you have any idea he wanted to marry me, Wufric?” asked Isabeau.

“None at all, Isabeau.  Would you then rather marry him, a relative, and another Norman?” asked Wulfric.

“Not in the least,” said Isabeau.  “I never felt I knew him as well as I know you, which is foolish, for he was as a brother to me from when I was three or four summers old and he but two years my elder, and we grew up in close proximity much of the time.  Although he spent some years as a page in Roger Bigod’s household.  I would not confide in Piers as I have always confided in you; I considered now whether to tell him our suspicions, but something made me hold back.”

“He’d likely let his tongue run on and tell one of them by accident,” said Wulfric.

“And kind of you to suggest it might be by accident, not tale bearing for advantage,” said Isabeau.  “Poor Piers!  I think he was ever lonely, for not wishing to be seen to play too much with a girl, and not being old enough to treat you as a playmate.”

“He never liked me,” said Wulfric, shrugging. 

“And I can’t see why, as you were ready to aid him too,” said Isabeau.

“Perhaps he felt that he was in the household under sufferance when his mother died, and that I helped him only because he was thy cousin, sweet Isabeau.”

“Did you so?  Then you never showed it.  I was not jealous exactly ….” She laughed.

“No, but thou wert demanding.  And I did give in to thy wishes, not his.  I was too young to hide that thou wert my sunshine.”

“Oh Wulfric, didst really think thusly?”

“I still do…”

Were it not for Dame Alice, Isabeau might have walked right into Wulfric’s arms; as it was, the looks they exchanged were eloquent, and Isabeau blushed.