The Prize (4 page)

Royce raised an eyebrow over his vassal's dramatic confession. "We will discuss this later," he announced with a meaningful glance toward the Saxon.

When Ingelram bowed his head, Royce turned back to the tax collector. "Tell me what you know about Nicholaa," he ordered.

James lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "I was run out of this area two and one half years ago, milord, when the task of collecting the tax was given to another man. I know that Nicholaa was supposed to marry a giant of a man named Roulf, who had a large holding to the south. She'd been pledged to him since childhood, and if the wedding took place as scheduled, she was married to him almost two full years before he was slain at Hastings. 'Tis all I know about Nicholaa, milord."

Royce made no comment on the information he'd just been given. He dismissed James, waited until he had left the hall, and then turned back to Ingelram. "In future, you will not parade your sins in front of outsiders. Do you understand me?"

Ingelram nodded. He looked properly horrified by the reprimand.

Royce let out a sigh. "When you act in my stead, Ingelram, your mistakes become mine. If you've learned anything from this incident, then the inconvenience you've caused me might all be for the good."

Ingelram was astonished by his lord's remarks. He'd never heard a defeat referred to as an inconvenience before. He didn't know how to respond.

Hugh captured Royce's attention when he interjected, "Lady Nicholaa has proved to be cunning, hasn't she, Royce? She certainly slipped out of your grasp… for the time being," he added with a nod in Ingelram's direction.

"Yes," Royce answered with a grin. "For the time being."

"'Tis the truth, I fell victim to her lies," Ingelram blurted out.

"Nay," Royce contradicted. "You fell prey to her beauty. Recognize the error for what it was so you won't repeat it."

The vassal slowly nodded. He took a deep breath while he removed his sword from his scabbard. His hands shook when he offered his father's bejeweled weapon to Royce. "I've failed you, Baron. Because of me, you've been shamed."

Ingelram closed his eyes in anticipation of the blow. A long agonizing minute passed before he opened them. Why was his leader hesitating? "You don't wish to retaliate, Baron?" he asked, confusion obvious in his gaze.

Royce let him see his exasperation. He turned to Hugh, caught his smile, and almost smiled himself. "What I wish to do and what I will do are two different things, Ingelram," he said. "In time you will understand. Why do you offer me your sword?"

Ingelram was caught off guard by the question. Baron Royce's voice had been so mild. Was it possible his lord wasn't overly displeased by his error in judgment? "I offer you my sword so that you may use it against me, if that is your inclination. Baron, I don't understand why you… I have disgraced you, haven't I?"

Royce ignored that question and asked one of his own. "Under whose command were you before you came into my ranks?"

"I was Baron Guy's squire for two years," Ingelram answered.

"And in all that time did you ever see Guy use a vassal's sword against him?"

Royce was prepared to hear a quick denial. He knew Guy sometimes used intimidating tactics when dealing with younger, inexperienced soldiers, a method that found little favor with Royce. There had even been whispers of true brutality, but he didn't pay any attention to such talk. He believed the stories were simply exaggerations spread by disgruntled men who hadn't been able to meet Baron Guy's rigid training requirements.

He couldn't hide his surprise when Ingelram nodded. "I did witness such retaliation. Baron Guy never killed a vassal, but several unfortunate soldiers later died from the punishment he inflicted. Their wounds became infected."

"Ingelram, that explains your peculiar behavior," Hugh interjected. He turned to Royce. "The boy's speaking the truth, Royce. Guy uses physical retaliation and humiliation to gain obedience and loyalty. Tell me this, Ingelram," Hugh continued with a glance in the vassal's direction. "Are the bastards Henry and Morgan still acting as Guy's right and left hands?"

Ingelram nodded again. "They are his closest advisers," he said. "When Baron Guy is occupied with more important matters, Henry and Morgan supervise the training of the men."

"And the punishment as well?" Hugh prodded.

"Yes," Ingelram answered. "The punishment as well."

"Morgan's worse than Henry," Hugh announced. "I've seen him fight. I hoped he would die during the invasion, but the Saxons didn't accommodate me. I suppose the devil's bent on keeping him alive."

Ingelram took a bold step forward. "May I speak freely?" he asked Royce.

"Isn't that what you've been doing?" his baron answered.

Ingelram blushed. Royce suddenly felt like an old man. He was a good twelve years older than the vassal, but the differences in their reactions made it seem more like twenty. "What else did you wish to say, Ingelram?"

"Most of the soldiers are obedient to Guy, but they aren't loyal, as Baron Hugh supposed. They fear him and do his bidding for that reason alone. There's no loyalty, save to Duke William, of course."

Royce showed no outward reaction to the startling news about Guy. He leaned back against the mantel of the fireplace and folded his arms across his chest. He looked very relaxed. Inside he was furious. A man of such status should be a protector by nature, Royce believed, with values stronger than those of his men. It sounded as though Guy had become a destroyer.

"Ingelram?" Hugh asked. "Did you request this move into Royce's ranks?"

A noticeable wheeze had entered Hugh's voice. He leaned back in his chair to ease his weariness and rubbed his whiskered jaw while he waited for an answer.

"I did request the move," Ingelram answered. "In truth, I held little hope I would be considered, though. The list of soldiers begging entrance into Baron Royce's army numbers over a thousand. My father was able to sway William's mind, however, and my name was lifted to the top of the list. I was very fortunate."

Hugh shook his head. "I still don't understand how you managed it, with or without William's blessing. First you had to gain Guy's permission to request this transfer. 'Tis a fact Guy isn't known for granting requests, especially those that might benefit Royce. Guy's been in competition with Royce ever since their squire days together."

Hugh paused to let out a low chuckle. "I almost pity Guy. He always comes in second best. I think it's making him crazed."

Royce was watching Ingelram. The vassal's face had turned bright red. When Ingelram realized his lord was staring at him, he blurted out, "Baron Guy isn't your friend. He's filled with jealousy. You always best him."

"But why did he grant you this transfer?" Hugh prodded, wishing to get to the bottom of this puzzle.

Ingelram's gaze turned to the tops of his boots. "He didn't see my transfer as a favor to Baron Royce. Quite the opposite, in fact. Both Henry and Morgan had a good laugh over their lord's cunning decision. They all believe I'll never be a fit knight."

"Why would Guy consider you unfit?" Royce asked.

If Ingelram turned any redder, Royce thought, he might burst into flames. He held his patience and waited for the soldier to answer him.

"I'm weakhearted," Ingelram confessed. "Baron Guy said I wasn't strong-willed enough for his unit. Now you have the truth, and Baron Guy has been proven correct. My weakness caused your defeat."

Royce felt like growling. "We're not defeated," he snapped. "For God's sake, put your sword away. You haven't even begun your training, and for that reason I do not fault you. If, however, after six months under my direction, you should make a similar misjudgment, I'll take your throat between my hands and try to strangle some sense into you. Do you understand?"

Royce's voice had taken on a hard edge. Ingelram nodded vigorously. "I shall willingly give you my neck if I fail you again," he vowed dramatically. "No other defeat will I—"

"For the love of God, will you cease calling this minor inconvenience a defeat?" Royce demanded. "Lady Nicholaa has only delayed me; she hasn't eluded me. When I'm ready to leave for London, I'll go to the abbey, and I won't have to go inside, Ingelram. She'll come out to me."

He took a threatening step toward his vassal. "Do you doubt me?"

"Nay, my lord."

Royce nodded. He didn't explain how he planned to accomplish this feat, and Ingelram knew better than to ask. The topic was duly dismissed.

Soon, however, Royce was forced to put the matter of collecting Nicholaa on the bottom of his list of duties. Hugh was far more ill than anyone realized. By the following morning the warrior was burning with fever.

Royce stayed by his friend's side for three long days and nights. He wasn't about to let any of his own inexperienced young men or the Saxon servants near the Norman. They would poison him at the first opportunity, or so Royce believed. The duty of caring for the knight therefore fell on Royce's shoulders. It was a task he was, unfortunately, unqualified to accomplish with much skill.

Royce kept the tax collector in residence and left Hugh's side only once during the long vigil, to question the Saxon about Nicholaa's family. He'd already formulated a plan to force the woman from her sanctuary, but he wanted to make certain he hadn't missed any other considerations.

Hugh's condition deteriorated. By week's end, it became apparent he would die if he didn't receive proper treatment. In desperation, Royce took his friend to the abbey. Both Ingelram and Hugh's vassal, Charles, flanked the cart in which Hugh rested.

The four men were denied entrance to the abbey until they agreed to remove their weapons. Royce didn't argue with the order, and once the swords were handed over, the iron gates to the abbey were opened.

The abbess met them in the center of the stone-paved courtyard. She was an old woman, nearly forty by Royce's estimation, stooped in posture, too, but with a surprisingly clear, unwrinkled complexion.

She was dressed in black, from the veil hiding her hair to the shoes covering her feet, and though the top of her head didn't even reach his shoulders, she seemed unimpressed by his size. Her gaze was direct, unwavering.

The abbess reminded him of Sister Danielle… or rather Lady Nicholaa, he corrected.

"Why have you placed your soldiers around the walls of this abbey?" the nun asked in greeting.

"My soldiers are here to make certain Lady Nicholaa doesn't leave her sanctuary," Royce answered.

"Have you come here with the intent of persuading her to leave?"

Royce shook his head. He walked over to the back of the cart and motioned for the abbess to follow.

The abbess proved to have a compassionate nature. As soon as she saw Hugh's condition, she ordered him taken inside.

Hugh was too weak to stand on his own. Royce hoisted the sleeping warrior over his shoulder. He staggered under the weight, straightened, and then followed the abbess inside. There was a stone staircase directly to the left of the arched entrance. He and his men climbed the steps and followed the nun down a long, brightly lit corridor.

Whispers followed them. The clatter of men's boots as they strode down the wooden floor echoed off the stone walls, but Royce could still hear the soft chanting of the other nuns. The closer he came to the door at the end of the hallway, the stronger the voices became. He recognized the Pater Noster and knew then the sisters were at prayer. From the direction of the sweet, musical sound, he guessed the nuns were sequestered on the floor above.

"We have only one large room in which to house the sick who come to us," the abbess explained. "Just one week past we were filled to capacity, but today only one Saxon soldier remains under our care. You do agree, don't you, Baron, that all men are equal inside these walls, be they Norman or Saxon?"

"I agree," Royce answered. "Is this Saxon soldier Lady Nicholaa's brother?"

The abbess turned around. "Yes," she answered. "Justin is resting inside."

"Is he dying, as I was informed?"

"Only God can answer that question," she replied.

"Justin refuses to accept the cross thrust upon his shoulders. He fights our every treatment. He prays for death while we diligently pray for his recovery. I can only hope God will not become confused by our contradictory pleas."

Royce wasn't certain if the mother superior was making a jest or not. Her brow was puckered into a frown. He nodded again, shifted Hugh over his shoulder, and then said, "I would like to get my friend settled. Can we not discuss your concerns after Hugh has been made comfortable?"

"I've only one concern now," the abbess announced. "You'd best know I have every intention of placing your friend in the bed next to Justin's. I can see from your frown you've little liking for this decision, but I have a sound, practical reason. Sister Felicity is best qualified to care for both men. She's quite elderly now, and I won't have her running from one end of the room to the other. She'll sit between the soldiers. Do you accept this condition?"

Royce nodded. The abbess looked relieved. She turned and opened the door. The room Royce entered was gigantic. He squinted against the sunlight that poured in from three large windows in the far wall. Wooden benches stood beneath each window. The walls were sparkling clean from a recent whitewashing.