Shadows and Strongholds (18 page)

Hawise could sense Brunin resonating like a plucked bowstring, although his expression was blank. 'You are not worth the storm it would raise to teach you a lesson, Ralf,' he said indifferently.

'You'd never best me in a fight.'

'You have a short memory for some things.' Brunin sat down on the bench beside Hawise; taking a small loaf of bread from the basket in the middle of the trestle, he broke it in two.

Ralf flushed. 'Come outside now and we'll see.'

'This is a celebration. I don't want to fight you.'

'Because you know you'd lose.'

'Because you're my brother.' Brunin broke the bread again and began to eat as if he were indifferent to Ralf's belligerence. 'Surely our family has enemies enough without squabbles between ourselves.'

Ralf opened his mouth, but no words emerged. Glowering, he shoved away from the table and stalked off. After a moment, Richard gave Brunin a look of hangdog apology and shuffled after him. Warin and the younger boys remained where they were, their unease apparent. Nevertheless, none of them rose to follow Ralf and Richard.

Brunin stared at the bread in his hands as if he did not know what it was; with a tremendous effort, he swallowed the morsel he had been chewing. Hawise noticed that his hands were trembling. He had told her about his brothers, and had mentioned Ralf as his particular
bete noire
, but he had never gone into detail. Now she thought she understood.

'If you had taken up his challenge, he would have come off worse,' she said stoutly.

He forced a smile and pushed the remainder of the loaf aside. 'Perhaps.'

'I don't believe what he said about you and de Lacy's squires.'

He hunched his shoulders and looked down at the trestle. 'Oh, that part's true. He likes to taunt me with it, but he wasn't there to know what it was like. If he had been, he'd probably have helped them hold me down.' He breathed out hard as if pushing the memory from his body.

Hawise bit her lip and wished she had not spoken.

'I heard what he said about your hair,' Brunin said into the awkward silence. 'I hope you paid as little heed to Ralf as I did.'

She curled a tangled tress around her forefinger. She knew the prejudices against folk with red hair, especially girls and women. It was said that they were hot-tempered, quarrelsome and false. Ralf had probably only been repeating what he had heard at his nurse's knee. If Hawise had not been so certain of her parents' love for her, and had she not been so proud to take after her father, her confidence might have been knocked.

'No,' she said with a defiant shake of her head. 'I paid him no more heed than I would a buzzing fly.' She brought her hand down on the table in a swatting motion and Brunin smiled.

'I must thank you for the changes I see in my eldest son,' Eve FitzWarin murmured to Sybilla.

The men were still drinking in the hall, and the women had retired to the chamber above. Two musicians played a harp duet in the corner, the notes hanging sweetly amid the soft layers of hearth smoke in the air. Eve's eyes were dark-circled and Sybilla thought that she did not look well. By all accounts the birth of her daughter had been difficult and Mellette's constant presence in the bower did not lend itself to domestic tranquillity. Nor did the tense situation in England yield the kind of peace essential to a breeding woman. Sybilla was glad that she was no longer of childbearing age. That worry at least was behind her. Instead she had her daughters to watch through the trials of young womanhood.

'The changes are of his own making too,' Sybilla said. 'I have done nothing beyond that which any lord's wife would do for her husband's squires.' The speech was graceful and formal. She was aware of Mellette FitzWarin lurking in the background, her ears cocked like a terrier's.

'Nevertheless, you have my gratitude.'

'It is early days,' Mellette commented. 'Has he started full weapons training yet?'

'You would have to ask my husband, Lady Mellette,' Sybilla said quietly but with an edge to her voice. She would respect the old woman's age and status, but she would not be browbeaten or yield to bullying. 'Brunin gained much useful experience when they were on campaign last year… and learned some harsh lessons too. My husband is delighted with his progress, and I enjoy his presence in my household.'

'And your girls, do they enjoy his presence too?' The sharp blue glance darted to Sibbi, Marion and Hawise, who were sitting a little apart from the older women, playing a game with dice and counters.

Sybilla frowned, wondering what meaning to ascribe to the question. 'I hope so, madam. Why do you ask?'

'Are any of them betrothed?'

Ah, so that was the way the wind blew. Sybilla straightened her spine and folded her hands in her lap, her posture a direct echo of Mellette's. 'Not yet. They are too young. We will make no decisions until each one reaches the age of fifteen.'

'I had been wed a full year by the time I was fifteen,' Mellette said.

'So had I, but, given the choice, I would not have married so young.'

'Choices are dangerous for girls. Their eyes will light on men unsuitable and their bodies will lead them into sin and disgrace. Better to yoke them to a husband than to let them stray.'

Sybilla blinked. She looked at Eve, but her eyes were downcast as if the sheen on her silk gown was fascinating. 'I would hope and trust that my daughters have more sense,' she said with dignity. 'And surely it is better to "yoke" them to a man for whom they have an affinity rather than to one they dislike. The second is just as likely to lead them to stray, do you not think?'

Mellette made small chewing motions. 'Not if they have had a sense of duty dinned into them by a strict upbringing,' she said. 'I knew my duty when I married Warin de Metz, as doubtless you knew yours when you were wed to your husbands.'

'Yes, I knew my duty,' Sybilla answered. 'But I wish I had been given a choice. I came to be fond of Payne, and you have seen that there is a deep bond between myself and Joscelin, but at times it was very difficult, especially when he was Stephen's man. I intend to give my daughters—and Marion—more say in the matter of choosing their mates than I was given.'

Mellette shook her head. 'Then I say that you are storing up trouble for yourself. What if one sets her eyes upon an inappropriate man?'

'That could happen anyway' Sybilla bent a firm gaze on Mellette. 'I give my daughters leeway, my lady, but I do not let them run wild.'

Mellette cast her glance towards the girls. They had obviously been half listening to the conversation for three pairs of eyes looked back, Hawise's through a loose tangle of hair.

'So you say.'

Sybilla bit her tongue with difficulty for Mellette's comment was downright rude. Everyone else was supposed to have impeccable manners, but the family matriarch appeared to be exempt.

'The fair one… what kind of bloodline and dowry does she have?'

Sybilla had had enough. 'I doubt it will be of concern to you, my lady,' she said with icy civility.

'Oh, but it might be one day,' Mellette said. 'I have a brood of grandsons and some of them at least will marry.'

'Marion has a good bloodline and a comfortable dowry. I am certain that if she were a horse, she would sell for an excellent price at Shrewsbury Fair.'

Sybilla's response had been bitingly sarcastic, but Mellette seemed to find it amusing. A smile would have been too much, but a gleam lit in her eyes. 'The seller always expounds the worth of the goods,' she said.

'And this particular one would be very careful about the buyer.'

Mellette nodded. 'That much we agree upon.'

The conversation ended there. It was like a sparring match where the partners had withdrawn to consider their opponent's strengths and weaknesses. There was no liking between them, nor even much respect, but there was an acknowledgement that they were two of a kind. Women of strong will, who, in their different ways, ruled the roost.

Joscelin and his family returned to Ludlow and matters continued as before. There were occasional spats between Ludlow and de Lacy, but no outright warfare. Henry's adherents waited for his return and the country held its breath. It was like a still, autumn day; everything waiting for the first blustery gales to blow away the tired debris of the previous season, to bring on winter and prepare for spring.

Plenty of news sailed across the Narrow Sea, but no Henry, for he had other concerns. It both interested and disconcerted Joscelin to see Prince Eustace cross to France at the invitation of King Louis and attempt to take on Prince Henry on Norman soil.

'There speaks desperation,' he said when they heard the news from one of Hereford's messengers. 'If he cannot catch him on English ground, what makes him think that he can take him on in Normandy?

It came to nothing, a mere ripple of breeze that drifted a few leaves from the trees. But other strands of fate were strengthening the wind. Suddenly and unexpectedly, Henry's father died and thus Henry, at eighteen, became
Count of Anjou as well as Duke of Normandy. Stephen's queen died too—and King Louis of France divorced his.

The tidings of the divorce and its aftermath blew into Hereford on the same day. Joscelin had been lodging there overnight whilst patrolling the road between Hereford and Ludlow. He rode homewards in thoughtful mood, digesting the news, saying little to anyone. Brunin did not disturb him, but rode close to his left shoulder, bearing his shield. He had trained fiercely to earn the privilege that had once been Adam's, and he carried the shield proudly in Adam's honour. He was now tall and strong enough to bear it as a matter of course rather than a burden. Although he was still as slender as a colt, adolescence was beginning to lengthen bone and develop muscle. His voice had deepened, but had yet to break, and there was a smudge of dark down on his upper lip.

Brunin was fast outgrowing Morel too, and Joscelin had said that, come next Shrewsbury Fair, they would see about obtaining a full-sized horse for him so that he could concentrate on his mounted battle training. Currently he was borrowing Hugh's brown stallion for tilting at the ring and the quintain, but it would be better to have his own destrier and such an acquisition would be another marker on the road to manhood.

They came to the place where Adam had been killed nearly three years ago. The woods had been fiercely chopped back on either side of the road so that there was nowhere for ambushers to hide or for archers to make a killing shot. Even so, Brunin's shoulder blades twitched and his muscles tightened. Beneath him Morel caught his tension and sidled his haunches. Joscelin emerged from his reverie. 'You feel it too, lad?'

'I remember it as if it were yesterday, sir.' Brunin crossed himself. The place was not marked but he knew it was here. Sweat moistened his palms and he rubbed them on his hose.

Joscelin nodded. 'As if it were about to happen again.' He was biting the inside of his cheek. 'We have had little war since that time. Only brawls and tit for tat. But I feel as if something is gathering.'

Involuntarily, Brunin set his hand to the strap of the shield. 'Perhaps it is the wait for Prince Henry,' he suggested.