A Tapestry of Dreams (17 page)

Oddly, Hugh had never asked any questions about his ancestry. He had accepted the fact that he was not Thurstan’s son because, though sons were common enough to priests either through concubines or even wives, Hugh knew Thurstan would never lie. He had seemed satisfied, as a child, to be loved as a fosterling, and Thurstan had hesitated to damage the child’s peace by intruding a subject he avoided either out of indifference or out of fear. Now it appeared that Hugh’s parentage was not the problem at all.

“But if I am not successful with David,” Thurstan continued, his mind still busy with whether or not to raise a subject that seemed not to be troubling Hugh, “you will be free to do your duty to Sir Walter.”

“Then I am sure my service to you will do no harm.” Hugh smiled broadly. “In fact, good will come of it. The boys will take over much of what I have been doing of late, and it is time for them to have more responsibility.”

Thurstan, who had taken and swallowed another spoonful of stew, lifted his head. “Why are you so eager to flee Sir Walter’s service that you do not even ask why an aged and peaceful man of the Church needs a knight?”

The question took Hugh completely by surprise, and he exclaimed, “I am
not
eager to leave Sir Walter!” Then, under the kind but piercing scrutiny of Thurstan’s eyes, he flushed. “That is true, or nearly true, Father. I love Sir Walter and he me—and that is the source of trouble.” And having said that much, Hugh realized he had better go on and describe the whole situation. He was able to do so with a clear conscience because Thurstan’s request for his service would solve the problem, and there would be nothing more for his foster father to worry about.

But when he was finished with the tale of the fears and jealousies of Sir Walter’s relatives and his own fear of hurting Sir Walter by telling him or leaving him without a good reason, Thurstan shook his head. “Such foolishness, Hugh. Why did you not tell me this sooner?”

Hugh laughed. “Because I did not know that an aged and peaceful prelate of the Church would have need for a man of war. What is that need, Father?”

“I will come to it in time, my son, but first I wish to clear away this private matter. I am old, but not yet grown foolish with it—I hope—and it is plain enough that you did not speak to save me any worry over you. Do you still believe you succeeded in that?”

Mildly chagrined, Hugh answered, “No, Father.”

“Self-deception in worldly matters, especially when meant as a kindness, is no sin, but it can cause unnecessary pain. Your trouble with Sir Walter’s family is not all that hurts you, my son.”

“No, Father,” Hugh admitted with a sigh, “but it seems useless to me to speak of the other matter.” Then he smiled. “Oh, no. I will give your answer to that before you say it. I have heard it often enough. ‘The more minds that consider a problem, the better the chance that it will be solved. And if they all pray, too, guidance may be granted.’ But it would take a miracle, not guidance, to solve my problem, and I am no saint to look for divine intervention, especially in this, since I am in the wrong. I have looked too high, Father, and seen a woman I desire who is far, far beyond me.”

All the time he had listened to Hugh describe the jealousy of Sir Walter’s relatives, Thurstan had been also mentally debating whether to introduce the subject of Hugh’s ancestry. Now he asked, “Because you may be a bastard?”

“May be?” Hugh repeated. “But I thought my mother sought shelter with the sisters at Durham because she had been cast out by her own people. And I assumed from that she had ado with a—a man not fit for her station.”

“Hugh! Who told you this tale?” Thurstan looked shocked.

“Indeed, I do not know, Father,” Hugh replied. “I… it seems I knew it always. Could my mother—”

“You were not a day old when your mother laid you in Saint George’s arms in Durham church.” Thurstan cut him off sharply. “And she died not half an hour later. She told you nothing—and me not much—your name, only that, really. ‘Hugh,’ she said, over and over, then ‘Take care of him,’ which I promised gladly, and then ‘Yourself, yourself.’ I tried to explain, but she could not understand and only wept and said ‘Yourself,’ so I promised again.”

“And you have surely kept that promise,” Hugh said, impulsively rising and embracing his foster father.

Thurstan raised his head and kissed Hugh, but then sighed. “I have loved you always, so it is no merit in me to have cared for you. Indeed, I have wondered sometimes if what I felt when I lifted you from the carving and carried you in my arms out of the church—I let you suck my finger while I sought a wet nurse for you… Hugh! That silly woman!”

“My nurse? I can scarcely remember her.”

“But it must have been she who made up that tale. Perhaps I told her your mother was a lady to ensure close and good care for you, and—yes, I remember now, she asked if you would be taken from her or if she would go with you when your father came. I must have said I did not know who your father was—”

“And she added the most likely story to those few words of yours.” But Hugh was smiling when he spoke, and he kissed Thurstan again and added, “Do not look so distressed, Father, I beg you. No harm was done. It is best to believe the worst, and it saved me from dreaming false dreams and putting on airs.”

Thurstan shook his head slowly. “You do not understand, Hugh. I may have done you a great wrong, a great wrong.”

“You have done me only good,” Hugh insisted fiercely.

Thurstan only shook his head again, thinking back. “I told myself that I had no time to seek your father or even more particulars about your mother, but I fear that was not my real reason. Did I not in my secret heart wish to keep you for myself? What ill could have befallen if I were a day or two late in finishing my visitations? Yet the next day I flew from Durham, carrying you with me—”

“Father,” Hugh said gently, taking Thurstan’s hand in his and squeezing it to gain the old man’s attention, “you did not hide your name. You
did
speak to the sisters. You know that if any person had come asking for my mother, the sisters would have sent him to you. And you were not so far away, only in York. That means no one came to ask and that your desire to keep me—for which I thank God most sincerely—cannot have done me harm. It is most likely the nurse’s tale is the true story.”

Thurstan sighed. “Perhaps it is so—I mean you may have been born outside the holy state of wedlock, although even that is not sure. The sisters said your mother spoke of her husband coming for her.”

“But no one did come, and perhaps her use of the word ‘husband’ was no more than an easy way to save herself from the expostulations of the sisters, who would not want her to fall into sin again.”

This time Thurstan smiled. “If you had come into the Church, you would have made a fine devil’s advocate. It is true that no inquiries were made up until the time I left for France, and so it may also be true that your poor mother had been deceived. If so, by God’s mercy she never knew she had been abandoned. Still, I do not think your father was of common blood. Your mother had money with which to pay the sisters, real coins of silver. Also she was trying with her dying breath to tell me something, something very important. I know you have often been plagued by the name Licorne, but I am sure it has some meaning. She struggled so—I have never seen so desperate a struggle. I wished to give her the rites for the dying, but she would not listen until, in parts, she uttered forth first ‘li’ and then ‘corne.’”

“She sounds a gallant lady,” Hugh said, rather pleased. He could feel no grief for a person he had never known, but he could be proud of his mother’s courage. “I am sorry I never asked about her before, but I felt such questions would not be welcome. She had sinned—”

“Hugh! It is not our place to judge, but God’s. Did not Christ stand before the woman taken in adultery and say that only the sinless might stone her?” Then he patted Hugh’s hand. “Sit down, my son, and finish your meal.” And when Hugh obeyed, he said, “I was mistaken in this matter also. I thought you were not curious because you did not ask—or, perhaps, I did not offer information because I did not wish to stir your curiosity—but what is important is that so great a struggle as your mother’s must have had a purpose. This, perhaps even more than the word ‘husband,’ makes me believe there is a chance you are not a bastard and that somewhere there is a family to which you belong.”

“Somehow I doubt I would be very welcome to them,” Hugh remarked dryly.

“Mea culpa.”
Thurstan sighed. “Perhaps if I had sought them out when you were an infant—”

“Father,” Hugh said harshly,
“no one came.”

“Do not judge, Hugh,” Thurstan warned. “There might be reasons you could not guess for a seeming neglect. However that may be, I am glad we have at last touched on this subject. Before you go, I will give you a parchment on which I have written out all the circumstances and all that I have learned and sealed it with my seal, having as witness the bishop of Durham, the abbess of the convent—although she is now dead and there have been two abbesses since then—and others, so that none can doubt of whom you were born or when. There is a copy with the charters and muniments in the safekeeping of the Church. You may do what you will with your copy, but if you wish to learn more, I will assist you in any way I can.”

“I am not sure,” Hugh said uneasily.

“There is time enough to consider what will be best for you.” Thurstan’s tone dismissed the subject, and Hugh was not surprised when he continued, “Now, let us come to the reason I would like to have your service for a time. After certain letters passed between me and Scotland, it became clear that the only hope for keeping the peace is for me to meet with King David in Roxburgh—”

“You!” Hugh exploded. “You cannot go so far. You will kill yourself.”

Had Hugh felt less guilty, he would have saved his breath, for once Thurstan conceived some act to be his duty, he was inflexible. He had withstood both the king and the archbishop of Canterbury for years on a matter of principle, and Hugh did not really expect his own arguments, which depended on Thurstan’s physical well-being—a matter to which his foster father gave no consideration at all—to have any effect. Nonetheless, because involving Thurstan in the effort to stop King David from invading England had been his idea, Hugh argued and pleaded. The end result was as he had foreseen. Thurstan kissed him fondly and said he was glad to be so highly valued, but he laughed at Hugh’s fears and brushed them away.

One thing only did Hugh’s reasoning accomplish. When he pointed out that Thurstan’s ability to make and enforce an agreement might be greatly lessened if he were seen to be ill and exhausted, the archbishop agreed to leave sooner than he had intended so that they could travel slowly and he could break his journey and rest for several days or a week if necessary.

Once Thurstan mentioned the journey he intended to make, Hugh needed no further explanation of what use his foster father had for him. Hugh’s duty was, of course, to captain the troop of men-at-arms that would protect Thurstan and the extensive baggage train that would accompany him. Thurstan might privately eat and drink little, wear a hair shirt, mortify his flesh, and practice other asceticisms, but he did not ever confuse the humility necessary in a man with the majesty necessary for an archbishop of the Church. Thus, the contents of the baggage train—the rich vestments, jeweled ornaments, precious plate, even a reliquary of gold and gems containing a saint’s fingerbone to be given as a gift to King David—were very valuable indeed.

Theoretically, a holy man like the archbishop and his belongings should be safe from any threat; unfortunately, theory and practice were far apart. The wretched outlaws who preyed upon travelers in some of the areas Thurstan’s party must pass were mostly too far gone in sin to concern themselves with who their victim was. Excommunicated already, they had nothing to fear for their souls and would be deterred only by sure knowledge of failure.

In addition, it was not unknown for a king who was being thwarted by a churchman to seize that person and apply forcible inducements to gain his silence. No one expected King David, who was a good man of strong faith, to act in such a barbaric manner. Nonetheless, considering that the pressures on the king of the Scots were great and that there might be other powerful men around him who were not as bound by conscience, it was foolish to offer the temptation of being helpless. Thus, fifty mounted men-at-arms were to accompany Thurstan, fifty men handpicked by Hugh for their strength, skill, and steadiness of character.

Once they were on the road, Hugh was pleasantly surprised by Thurstan’s stamina. They had with them the luxurious traveling cart of Sir Walter’s wife, Adelina, but the archbishop preferred to ride on horseback, insisting that he would be less tired by that exercise than by being bumped over the rutted roads in the traveling cart. Hugh did not argue—aside from extracting a promise that Thurstan would ride in the cart if it rained—because he knew the pace would be so slow for the baggage wagons over the gluey mud of the roads in the spring that the horsemen would have long rest periods. But there was little rain, the roads were better than Hugh had expected, and they took only five days to cover about seventy miles to Durham, arriving early in the afternoon. When Thurstan had settled into the luxurious guest quarters in the bishop’s palace, Hugh suggested that the archbishop stop and rest for a few days in Durham. The quicker pace was telling on Thurstan, who was beginning to look tired. The archbishop did not deny that a rest would be welcome, but he said he would prefer to stay at Hexham abbey.

“Hexham abbey?” Hugh repeated blankly.

“Yes, I can rest there for a week to recruit my strength for the rest of the journey. It is past Hexham that the roads become very bad…”

Thurstan went on explaining why he preferred to break his journey at Hexham rather than Durham, but Hugh hardly heard. The mention of Hexham had brought back, as vividly as if he were reliving the incidents, the day he had spent with Audris. He was caught up in a storm of conflicting emotions, a violent desire to see her, fear of the pain he knew being with her would cause him, an aching need for her to have remembered him as he remembered her, and a stabbing guilt over that wish because he did not want her to suffer.

“Why do you object to Hexham?” Thurstan asked in amazement, responding to Hugh’s expression.

The tone of surprise finally pierced Hugh’s self-absorption. “There will be no room to quarter the men,” he replied.

It was the first thing that came into his head, and as he said it, he became aware that it was true. Hexham was not one of the great abbeys. It had been long established, founded by Saint Wilfrith in the seventh century, but it had declined after William the Bastard’s scourging of the north. Like the area itself, Hexham abbey was recovering; a beautiful new church was being built to replace the old Saxon church of Saint Andrews, which, like Jernaeve, was built of Roman stones. Hugh’s insides did an odd flip-flop when he thought of it. He and Audris had listened to mass in that old church and had watched the work on the new one for a while.

“True, true,” Thurstan was saying, his brow creased with thought. “There is not so much traffic through Hexham that they need overlarge guesthouses. And the abbey has no rich patron nearby. There is a lord… yes, yes, I recall the name—Fermain. They pay their tithes faithfully—I cannot fault the lord on that, but the Fermains are not given to making gifts to the Church.” Suddenly Thurstan smiled mischievously. “So, mayhap I have found a way to take just a little over the tithe. Tomorrow you will ride ahead and ask for lodging for my men from Fermain.”

Thurstan’s insistence that he go to Jernaeve seemed to Hugh like a kind of divine intervention, as if God had given His permission and told him there was no wrong in his desire to see Audris. A wave of longing for her swept over him, a need so immediate that like great hunger it knotted his bowels and caused a trembling inside him.

“I can ride over before dark today,” Hugh said, “and return early enough to be with you on tomorrow’s journey. It is only a little over twenty miles to Jernaeve, and less if I ride cross-country.”

“
Now
what imprudence do you expect me to commit?” Thurstan asked, half exasperated, half laughing. “If you will name it, I will promise not to do it. That will save you a long ride in the dark.”

Of course, this time it was not Hugh’s concern for his foster father but his eagerness to see Audris that was driving him. He felt ashamed of grasping so greedily at what had been offered him, and opened his mouth to agree to go the next day, but the words that came out were, “Oh, no. How can I tell what you will take into your head to do? I would be up all night anyway, worrying about what promise I had forgotten to ask for.”

Thurstan stared at him, then shook his head. “Was I such a plague to you as a child? Did I hang over you and constantly forbid you to do this and that?”

Hugh could feel himself flush and laughed uneasily, knowing he should give up the expedition, but he was unable to do it. “No, of course you were not,” he said ruefully. “I am only restless and—”

“My dear son!” Thurstan exclaimed. “How stupid I am, thinking only of how riding makes my old bones ache. I had forgotten what a trial it must be for you to plod along at a pace suitable to me. By all means, go.”

“Father, I did not mean—”

“That you are tired of me,” Thurstan interrupted again, smiling. “No, I know you too well to think that, Hugh. You are young, that is all. And you know I will not miss you or lack for company.” The smile turned wry. “I will have visitors enough. Each will have a problem or a favor to ask—which is why, as I said, I prefer Hexham for a rest. My lodgings will be less elegant, but I will mostly be left in peace.”

“I will stop at the abbey and tell them you will stay with them for a week,” Hugh offered. “Or have you written to them already?”

“No, I did not write,” Thurstan admitted. “I was not sure how traveling would affect me and feared I might need to stop before we got so far. Then, of course, I could not have spared the time. It is a good thought to give the abbot warning, but tell him also, Hugh, that I wish no special provision made for me. I have been so busy since this journey was decided upon that I have had no time really to pray. My soul must rest as well as my body, and it will rest better if I am one with the good brothers in all things. But do not stop if it will cause you to ride back in the dark.”

“I do not think I will ride back tonight at all,” Hugh assured him. “Sir Oliver will give me shelter at Jernaeve, or I can stay at Hexham. I will come back at dawn tomorrow. I am sure I will arrive before you start, but I will explain to Drogo. If I should be late, he will start the cortege, and I will meet you on the road.”

“Then I am content. Go with God, my son.”

Hugh knelt to kiss Thurstan’s ring and then rose and hurried out. He was quivering with impatience, mentally thanking God that he had not yet unarmed. He had only to snatch up his shield and helmet from his quarters and rush off to the stable. There, he bellowed at the grooms for not saddling Rufus quickly enough, and when it was done spurred the destrier so that he leapt ahead, scattering the servants in the courtyard. One poor woman tripped and fell. She was in no danger, for Rufus had both room and time enough to turn aside, but she cried out in fear as the steel-shod hooves flashed past her, and Hugh slowed his pace guiltily.

He had intended to go directly to Jernaeve and stop at Hexham at dawn on the way back to Durham, but the near-accident seemed to be another warning against grabbing greedily at a few extra minutes with Audris. I will have a whole week, he told himself. Let me not be foolish and show myself unworthy of the favor granted. Besides, he knew he must talk to the prior as well as give Thurstan’s message to the abbot.

There was nothing Hugh could do to stop his foster father from rising twice in the night to attend Matins and Lauds if he wished. And Thurstan might actually eat more of the plain food served the brothers than he did of the elaborate dishes usually presented to him. Those aspects of being “one with the brothers” could not be altered. On the other hand, Hugh wanted to make sure that the prior would arrange to set up Thurstan’s own bed in the guest chamber or, if he insisted on sleeping in a cell and his bed would not fit, that a good mattress and thick feather quilts would be provided. The days were warming, but the nights were still cold, and Thurstan felt the cold.

Although Hugh tried to keep his mind on the problem of saving Thurstan from himself and what other hints he might give the prior without seeming to tell the man his business, he was aware of a churning eagerness that urged him to forget his duty for a little while and go first to Jernaeve as he had originally intended. But Hugh feared the hot, sick eagerness was an evil temptation. If it was, the “permission” to be with Audris would be withdrawn when he showed himself unworthy by lack of control. He made a real effort, therefore, to subdue his impatience, both in answering the abbot’s excited questions and when, far from being annoyed by his interference, the prior wanted the most minute details about how the archbishop should be attended and served.

As Hugh spoke to both men, patiently assuring them over and over that the archbishop desired only peace and time to rest and pray, he was rewarded. The unpleasant grinding in his bowels diminished, and after both abbot and prior were satisfied, he was able to ride the last few miles from Hexham to Jernaeve at a moderate pace. When he came to the ford, he felt no need to splash across it at once; he could pause to look up at old Iron Fist, to seek Audris’s window in the south tower and savor his joy. A minute later, a harsh call demanding his identity came from the guard on the wall. There was a brief delay while Hugh pulled his eyes from the dark opening of the window.

“I am Hugh Licorne, Sir Walter Espec’s man,” he bellowed back, then asked formally, “May I enter and be welcome?”

Inside the tower, Audris had just removed her working dress, stained and muddy from the garden. She felt restless and irritable because most of what she had been doing could easily have been left to the gardeners. She should really have been out in the hills checking on the nests she had marked to see if eggs had been laid and how many, but after the rumors began that King David was gathering an army, her uncle had made her promise that she would not go out alone.

Audris understood. No Scottish army could come south without warning, but single men or small troops could be out spying out the land, where the herds were, and other such matters. If they came upon her and took her prisoner, it would be a disaster. Oliver would have to yield Jernaeve. But understanding and knowing that her uncle was right made her confinement no easier to bear.

Audris looked at the gown Fritha had laid out for her to wear, trying to decide whether she should put it on and eat the evening meal with her family or indulge her bad temper by remaining in her chamber. She heard the guard’s challenge and went toward the window, idly curious. Since the guards had been alerted about the rumors of a new Scottish invasion, they challenged everyone. The visitor might be one of her cousins or a yeoman from a bound farm, none of whom would change her half-made decision to send Fritha for food and eat alone. A second thought quickened her step. Perhaps it was a messenger from Bruno. They had heard nothing from him since the letter announcing the king’s departure for Normandy.

Hugh’s voice made Audris cover the last few feet to the window in a leap. She stared out incredulously, drinking in the sight of his destrier and his hair flaming in the ruddy light of the setting sun. She heard the guard shouting something, but the words were lost on her as Hugh turned and she saw the unicorn on his shield. Later she realized that the guard must have warned him that he had passed the shallowest point of the ford, but at the time it seemed to Audris that he had turned to reassure her, for there were other red-haired men who rode chestnut horses. Impulsively, she held out her arms toward him from the window, then snatched them back and looked down at them, her cheeks reddening as she realized what she had done.