Earth Song (32 page)

Why, then, had Dienwald ridden away from his keep alone? It made no sense to Walter.

He saw the chancellor and all his men leave, which was a relief, for Walter had no wish to tangle with the king's soldiers. Then Lord Henry and his men left St. Erth. Walter sat back, chewed on a blackened piece of rabbit, and waited.

“The wench is what she is, and nothing can change that.”

“That is true,” Graelam agreed.

“Do you love her, Dienwald?” Kassia asked now, setting her embroidery on her knee, for the babe was big in her belly.

“You women and your silly talk of love! Love is naught but a fabrication that dissolves when you but look closely at it.”

“You begin to sound more the fool than your Crooky.” Kassia sighed. “You must face up to things, Dienwald. You must go home to your wife and your son. Perhaps, if you are very careful, you could still raid on your western borders. Aye, I think my lord would wish to accompany you. He chafes for adventure now that there is naught but boring peace.”

“She's right, Dienwald. There would be no reason for the king to find out. You could be most discreet in your looting and raiding. You would simply have to select your quarry wisely. Aye,
Kassia speaks true. I should like a bit of sport myself, on occasion.”

Dienwald brightened. “Philippa likes adventure as well,” he said slowly. “I think she would much enjoy raiding.”

“It is certainly something for the two of you to speak together about,” Kassia said, lowering her head so Dienwald wouldn't see the smile on her lips.

Roland de Tournay, much to both Graelam's and his wife's appalled surprise, said suddenly, “Nay, I don't agree with Graelam. I agree with you, Dienwald. I think you should travel to Canterbury and explain to the archbishop what happened to you. I think he would annul his marriage. After all, the wench wasn't honest about her heritage. She's a bastard when all's said and done. What man would wish to be wedded to a bastard? Aye, rid yourself of her, Dienwald. It matters not if she carries your babe in her belly. Let the king, her father, see to it. You will be happy again and your keep will resume its normal workings. You can return to your mistresses with a free heart and without guilt.”

To Graelam's and Kassia's further surprise, Dienwald bounded to his feet and stared at Roland as though he'd suddenly become a toad that had just hopped onto the trestle table and into the pigeon pie.

“Shut your foul mouth, Roland! Philippa knew not that she was a bastard! None of it was her fault, none of it her doing. She is honest and pure and sweet and . . .” He broke off, saw that he'd been trapped in a cage of his own creation, and turned red all the way to his hairline.

“You damnable whoreson, I hope you rot!” he bellowed as he strode with churning step from Wolffeton's great hall, leaving its three remaining occupants to explode with laughter.

Philippa stood in the inner bailey, her hands on her hips, facing Dienwald's master-of-arms. “I care not what you say, Eldwin. I won't remain here for another day, nay, not even another hour! Don't you understand? Your master is at Wolffeton—he must be there—licking his imagined wounds and whining to Graelam and his
perfect
little Kassia about what his treacherous wife has done to him.”

“And you wish to go to Wolffeton, mistress? If the master is there, you want to berate him in front of Lord Graelam? Rebuke him in front of the men? Mistress, he is your lord and master and your husband. You mustn't do anything that would reflect badly on him. Above all, surely you wouldn't wish to leave St. Erth! Why, 'tis your
duty to remain here until the master decides what he will do and—”

Philippa was at the end of her tether. Crooky, who stood beside her, looked knowingly at Eldwin and said, “You are naught but a stringy bit of offal, sirrah! Don't pretend to rise above what you are to tell
her
what she must and mustn't do. She is a princess, Eldwin, so bite your churl's tongue! A princess does what she wishes to do, and if she wishes to fetch the master, well then, all of us will go with her and fetch the master. And the master will be well-fetched, and that's an end to it!”

“Aye, I will go as well,” said Edmund, “for he is my father.”

“And I!”

“And I!”

Eldwin, routed, looked about at the two score of St. Erth people, who had obviously sided with the mistress. Old Agnes was grinning her toothless grin and flapping her skinny arms at him as if he were a fox in her henhouse. He gave over, but not completely. “But, mistress, all of us can't leave the castle! Old Agnes, you must stay and see to the weaving and sewing! Gorkel, you must keep the villeins at their tasks and see to the keep's safety.”

“Aye, and what will ye do, Eldwin of the mighty arm?” Old Agnes said.

“I go with the mistress,” Eldwin said, rose to his full height, and stared down at Old Agnes, who promptly moved back a few steps.

Philippa grinned, and Eldwin, pleased that he'd made her smile, and equally pleased that Old Agnes had retreated a bit, felt his chest expand. Perhaps they
should
fetch the master. Perhaps it
was the best thing to do. Wasn't there more to his duty than to remain at St. Erth and command and protect the keep?

“Aye, mistress, it will be as our brave Eldwin says,” Old Agnes shouted. “I'll keep all these rattling tongues at their tasks! I just hope Prink—the faithless cretin—gives me some difficulties. If Mordrid doesn't smack him down, then I'll have Gorkel flail off his wormy hide.”

“Aye,” said Gorkel the Hideous, “I'll keep everything and everyone in his place. You aren't to fret yourself, mistress. No one will fall into lazy stupor.”

It was too much. Philippa looked from one beloved face to another and felt her smile crack. The past three days had been beyond wretched, and all of them had tried so diligently to make her feel better about her husband's defection. She swallowed her tears, and found herself nodding at Crooky with approval even as he cleared his throat and looked fit to burst with song.

We go to fetch the master
We go to bring him home.
We'll not take a nay from him
Unless he's torn limb from limb.

Crooky stopped, clapping his hands over his mouth, aghast at the shocking words that had come pouring forth. Philippa stared at him. Everyone stared at him. Then Philippa giggled; several nervous giggles followed. Finally Philippa sobered and turned to Eldwin. “Pick fifteen men and arm them well. We ride to Wolffeton within the hour. As for the rest of you, prepare the keep
for your master's return. We will feast as we did the day of our wedding!”

Walter was livid. He saw her there, at the head of the men, riding away from St. Erth. Fifteen men—he counted them. Well-armed they were. Too many for him to attempt to capture her, damn their hides.

Where was she going? Perhaps, he thought, smiling, she was leaving her husband. Aye, that was it. She was leaving the perfidious lout.

At last he'd have her. Walter roused his men, mounted his destrier, and waved all of them to follow him. He would follow her all the way to Ireland if need be. He would find her alone at some point along the way. She would have to relieve herself or bathe. Aye, he'd get her.

Dienwald patted Philbo's neck. His destrier was lathering a bit, beginning to blow hard now, but he plowed forward, ever forward, as if guessing they were homeward-bound.

Dienwald would soon have his wench again and he would kiss her and hold her and tell her he forgave all her multitudinous sins, even if she chose not to remember them. He would love her until he was insensate and she as well.

“Ah, Philippa,” he said, looking between Philbo's twitching ears. “Soon all will be well again. Even though I'll be an earl, I shan't carp overly.
I will bend my knee to your cursed father when I must, and will show him that I am a man of honor and a man who cares more for his daughter than the world and all its bounty.

“I'll learn to write so that I can extol her beauty in love poems, and recite aloud what I have written to her.” Dienwald paused at those outflowing words. Philbo snorted. Dienwald's vow rang foolish, so he quickly shook his head. “Nay, not poetry,” he added quickly, “but I will show her how much I desire her and adore her by my actions toward her. I will whisper in her ear of my desire for her and wring her sweet heart with my tender tongue. I will never, ever yell at her in anger again.” He smiled at that. Aye, 'twas good, that vow. It was a vow with meat and meaning, and he could hold to it; he was a reasonable man, he was controlled. It wouldn't be difficult.

Aye, he would tease her and love her and bend her gently to his will. He worried not about his own peculiar will, for he was not a tyrant to demand subservience. Nay, his was a beneficient will, a mellow will, a will to which she would submit eagerly, her beautiful eyes filled with pleasure at pleasing him, for she adored him and wanted above all things to delight him.

His brow lowered suddenly, and he added loudly, “I won't promise to become a shorn lamb in the king's damned flock!” He moaned, seeing himself in a royal antechamber, clothed like a mincing buffoon, waiting for the king to grant him audience. It was a hideous vision. It curled his toes and made his heart lurch.

Philbo snorted, and Dienwald ceased his flowing monologue and his dismal imaginings, which,
after all, needn't necessarily come to pass. In the distance he saw a tight group of men riding toward him. He counted them, sixteen men in all. What could they want? Where were they going? And then he recognized Philippa's mare and Eldwin's huge black gelding and his son's pony.

What was happening here? Where was Philippa going with his men? There she was, riding right there in the fore, leading them, commanding them. Where was she taking his son? Then he froze in his saddle.

She was leaving him. She'd decided she didn't want him. She'd decided that she was too far above him to belittle herself with him further. She'd left St. Erth—her home—where she belonged. She was going to London, to her father's court, to wear precious jewels and fine clothes and never again worry about being naked and having only a blanket to wear.

His fury mounted and he cursed loudly, raising his voice to the heavens. Aye, and he couldn't begin to imagine all the men who would be at court, wanting her, damn her beautiful face and body, not just because of who her father was, but because of how she—

“Damnation!” he bellowed, and urged Philbo to a furious gallop. He saw Edmund riding close to Philippa, Eldwin on his other side. And there was Northbert, his loyal Northbert, riding just behind her. She was stealing his son from him, and his men were helping her. Rage poured through his body.

“By God,” Eldwin said, coming closer to Philippa's side. “That's the master! See, 'tis Philbo he rides! He rides right for us, as if he comes from hell.”

“Or he rides toward heaven,” Philippa said, smiling.

“Aye,” Edmund said from her other side, “ ‘tis Papa!”

“At last,” Philippa said, drawing her mare to a halt. Her eyes sparkled for the first time in three days and her back straightened.

Philippa forgot her anger at her husband at the sight of him galloping toward her. He'd come to terms with matters and realized that he wanted her, only her, and she was his wife, no matter who her sire was. How fast he was riding! She felt warmth pouring through her, knowing that soon he would be kissing her and holding her, not caring that his men were watching, that his son would be tugging at his tunic for his own hug. He would probably pull her in front of him on Philbo so he could fondle her all the way back to St. Erth. Philippa closed her eyes a moment and let the sweet feelings flow through her. He would love her and there would be naught but smiles and laughter between them again. No more arguments, no more boiling tempers, no more shouting down the keep.

She opened her eyes, hearing his pounding destrier, and now she could see his face, and she urged her mare forward, wanting to reach him, wanting to lean into his arms when he drew close.

Dienwald jerked up on Philbo's reins, and the powerful destrier reared on his hind legs, snorting loudly.

“Philippa!”

“Aye, husband. I am here, as is your son, as you can see, and your men with us. We were coming to—”

He allowed Philbo to come only a few feet closer to his men and his wife. He needed some distance from her. He'd stoked the fire and now he was ready to blaze. “You damnable bitch! How dare you steal my son! How dare you steal yourself! Aye, I know where you're going, you malignant female—'tis to your father's court you were traveling with my treacherous men, to bask in the king's favor and gleam riches from him. Perfidious wench! Get thee out of my sight! I don't want you, I never wanted you, and I will whip you if you leave not this very instant, this second that follows the end of my words! Hear me, wench?”

“Papa . . .”

“You'll soon be safe from her, Edmund. We'll return to St. Erth and all will be restored to the way it was before she blighted us with her presence. You were right, Edmund: she was a witch, a curse from the devil, rising out of the wool wagon like a creature from Hades, criticizing you, scorching all of us with her tongue with the first words from her mouth. You won't have to suffer her further, none of us will. You, Eldwin, Galen, Northbert! all of you, leave her side. Ride away from her. She's naught but the most treacherous of beings!” He paused, breathing hard.

“Master,” Galen said quickly in the moment of respite, though he was awed by his master's flawed fluency. He waved his hand to gain Dienwald's attention, for the master was staring straight at the mistress, blind with anger. The master was confused; he didn't understand. Galen looked toward the mistress, but she was simply staring back at the master, white-faced and still. “What you think isn't what is true, master. You mustn't believe those absurd words you spout—”

“We return to St. Erth at once!” Dienwald roared. “Get thee gone, wench. No more will you torment me with your lies and tempt me with your sweet body.”

Philippa hadn't said a word. She'd stared at him, at his mouth, as if she could actually see the venomous words flowing out. He truly thought she was leaving him, taking his son with her to London, to her father's court? She felt a hollowness inside, an emptiness that at the same time overflowed with pain and fury. She stared at him as he yelled and bellowed and insulted her. It was all over now. So much for her silly dreams of his love.

He was exhorting his men now, calling them faithless hounds and churlish knaves. Then he stopped and stared at them, and his men were silent beneath his volley of fury. A spasm of pain crossed his face. They'd all betrayed him. They'd gone over to her side. He felt blinding grief and anger. Without a thought, he galloped through them. He would return to St. Erth. They could do as they pleased; if they chose to follow her, then they could, curse them. His men fell back from him, scattering, their destriers whinnying in surprise. He heard Galen shouting, Northbert bellowing something he didn't understand or care to. He wanted only to get away from her and the misery she'd brought him. He whipped Philbo into a mad gallop away from her, away from his men, straight through them, back to St. Erth. Away from his son, who'd also chosen the damnable wench.

“ 'Tis over now,” Philippa said. Her lips felt numb, her brain emptied of feeling and thought. She felt utter and complete defeat. Nothing
mattered now. It was better so. Then suddenly she felt the blood pounding through her, felt the heat of fury roil and churn within her, felt such black rage at his stupidity that she couldn't bear it. How dare he, the disbelieving fool!

“No!” Philippa yelled after him. She whipped her mare about and raced after her husband. She yelled back over her shoulder, “Eldwin, remain here! None of you do anything! I'll be back soon! Edmund, don't worry. Your father but needs a sound thrashing!”

Dienwald's men, their ranks already split by the master's wild ride, let her go through as well. She rode straight after her husband, her eyes narrowed on his back, her hands fisted over the mare's reins. She saw Dienwald twist in his saddle at the sound of her mare closing on him, saw the surprise on his face, the brief uncertainty, the renewal of rage.