A Blood Red Horse (24 page)

He passed on this news only to his most intimate circle of fellow malcontents. Before announcing it to the world, he needed to gather round himself a larger group of loyal knights and to oversee the placing of his own men in both the northern castles and the castles that dominated Ellie's dowry lands. He also needed to gain control over the de Granville stud. If the de Granvilles were generally known to be finished, landless knights would gang together to fight over their lands, safe in the knowledge that unlike his father, King Richard had no real interest in England except as a bank and that it was safe to embark on a free-for-all. The constable needed to be careful.

By the summer he felt he was almost there, for he found he had a talent for attracting disgruntled men-at-arms. His major irritation was Margery, who kept winking at him and who he often found behind him when he thought he was alone. For a large woman she managed to be remarkably silent and invisible. Once, when he turned after talking to one of his most trusted lieutenants, he bumped right into her. He wondered how much she had heard, then dismissed her as too stupid to understand what was going on. Women like Margery only had one thing on their mind, and it was not castles.

Ellie could have no complaint about the constable's behavior. Apart from his oiliness, which made her feel faintly sick, he did not try to thrust himself upon her or keep her locked up. He was much too clever for that.

He needed to appear the height of courtesy and reasonableness.
She did, however, find herself openly followed whenever she went out on Sacramenta.

After the hay harvest she rode up to the abbey, but Brother Andrew shook his head sadly from inside the gatehouse and would not let her in. Of Brother Ranulf there was no sign. As she turned away, however, two monks came out to speak to the soldiers. The soldiers looked round at Ellie, who had reached the edge of the trees, then back at the monks. They looked doubtful. Then one shrugged, and they dismounted. Ellie was puzzled. Nevertheless, taking advantage of their temporary distraction, she wandered into the wood. She was just gathering herself together, wondering how best to take advantage of her solitude, when she heard a noise.

“Psssst!”

She looked around her.

“Pssst!”

There it was again. She remained perfectly still, keeping her eyes skinned. In a moment or two, from behind a tree emerged fat Brother Andrew. He was sweating, even though the day was overcast.

“Miss Eleanor,” he said, putting his fingers to his lips. “Just bring Sacramenta here. I daren't come out into the open.”

The mare walked obediently over, and delving into his voluminous pocket, Brother Andrew brought out some sweet bread for her. She took it delicately from his hand and chewed thoughtfully before pushing her nose in his pocket for more. Brother Andrew laughed.

“She is very like Hosanna,” he said. “Or should it be the other way round?” He stopped when he saw that his remark caused a look of pain to cross Ellie's already careworn face.

“Oh, Miss Eleanor,” he said. “I have stolen a minute or two, by getting those soldiers to wait while I have sent one of the lay monks to fetch some hides to be carried back to the castle. I told them to take their time. There now. Have you had bad news?”

“We have had no news, Brother Andrew,” said Ellie, trying to smile. “And that is supposed to be good news. But we just don't know anything about Sir Thomas and the others. And meanwhile, I could hardly be in a worse situation.”

Slowly she told her story and relayed to the monk the content of the meeting with the abbot and Constable de Scabious. Brother Andrew, who already knew the story, as did most of the county, allowed her to finish it before he said anything.

“If only you had come to me for your lessons,” he could not resist chiding, putting up his hand to pat Ellie's knee, then thinking the better of it and putting it down again. “Maybe things would have been different.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” said Ellie dully. “And anyway, you would never have got permission from the abbot, would you?”

Brother Andrew could not deny this. He found some more delicacies for Sacramenta to eat.

“What shall I do, Brother Andrew? You do believe that Brother Ranulf and I did nothing wrong, don't you?” Ellie asked.

“That depends on your definition of wrong,” said Brother Andrew as primly as a fat monk could. “Brother Ranulf should have known better. But I do believe that you, Miss Eleanor, are as chaste as the day you were born.” He twinkled up at her. “Now, don't look so downcast.
Have faith. If the worst comes to the worst, de Scabious may turn out not to be such a bad husband.”

Ellie opened her mouth to protest, but before she could begin, Brother Andrew put his head on one side and looked very serious.

“Miss Eleanor,” he said as Sacramenta, finding no more tidbits, chewed his sleeve, “I know that is very hard for you to believe, and I shall pray that the worst does not happen. But the crosses that many people have to bear in these troubled times are very great. If you must marry de Scabious, you will have to bear it with fortitude. You have no option. A well-bred, unmarried girl like you cannot run about the country like a milkmaid. God has ordered society in a certain way, and you must maintain your place. If people like you start forgetting your station, why, where on earth will we all be?”

“So I must do nothing?” Ellie whispered.

“You must do nothing. But,” said Brother Andrew cheerfully, “de Scabious is an unhealthy looking specimen. I don't think it will be long before you are a widow, and then, Miss Eleanor, the world is yours. Look at your namesake, our Queen Eleanor. Since King Henry died, she has done just whatsoever she fancies.”

From behind her Ellie could hear the soldiers shouting thanks at the monks. In a moment they would be in the wood.

“I suppose so,” was all she had time to say before Brother Andrew, extricating his sleeve from Sacramenta's mouth with difficulty, put his finger to his lips once again and bobbed out of sight.

Ellie returned to Hartslove feeling a little better. At least she had a friend at the abbey. When she told Old Nurse
what Brother Andrew had said, Old Nurse sniffed, but then gathered Ellie into her arms and hugged her.

Shortly after this, de Scabious took to presenting Ellie with small gifts—a jar of spices or a semiprecious stone. Mindful of Brother Andrew's words, the girl did not throw them into the fire as was her inclination. She simply left them on the table in the great hall. She dared not openly antagonize de Scabious, for fear of what he might do. Old Nurse could not protect her if the constable decided to force his way into her rooms, and then she would really be finished. One day she saw Margery slip two of the jewels into her pocket. Ellie said nothing. If de Scabious thought that Ellie had picked them up, it would do no harm.

The only time she raised her voice was at the dinner to celebrate the grain harvest. De Scabious walked straight in and sat in Sir Thomas's chair.

“That is not your place,” Ellie said coldly.

The constable got up, nodded in her direction, and moved over. Ellie was shaking. In addition to getting her as a wife, she wondered how long it would be before the knights lost all sense that the castle was de Granville property and took to thinking of de Scabious as their overlord. Certainly, he was playing the part. There were more knights here than was strictly necessary, and some she did not know. The constable seemed to be preparing for something. It did not take long before Ellie found out what it was.

At blackberry time the constable sent for her.

“Miss Ellie,” he said, smiling at her in a way she found absolutely repulsive. “You may have forgotten, but there is still trouble over the first Lady de Granville's dowry. I am off north to see to things up there and shall be taking some knights with me. I will be gone for most of the autumn but
will be back by Valentine's Day next year. I shall leave fifty soldiers here for your protection. You may have met some of them. These are troubled times. By the way, I think Valentine's Day a very appropriate day to get married. No point in putting off the inevitable any longer.”

Ellie was so relieved to hear that the constable was going that she almost smiled at him. He touched her arm, and she tried not to recoil. If de Scabious thought she was coming round to him, he might tell the soldiers they must at least be polite to her. She could not bring herself to say anything, but inclined her head slightly in a not unfriendly manner. When he rode away with a large retinue in his wake, she watched from an upper window.

It was Margery who, after the constable had been gone for six weeks or so, confirmed her suspicions that the trip up north was more than just a “maintenance” exercise. Poor Margery. Since the incident with Brother Ranulf, Ellie would not speak to her. At first, Margery didn't care. Soon, so Margery thought, she, Margery, would be lording it over Ellie. Never mind being Eleanor Theodora de Barre, Margery would be just as grand when she was Mistress de Scabious. It was true, she knew, that the constable had said he was going to marry Ellie. But Margery knew what he was really up to. He would marry Ellie, repudiate her, keep her lands, then marry Margery instead. It stood to reason.

This had all been set firmly in Margery's head until the night before the constable left. As a “leaving present,” as she termed it to herself, Margery had crept, uninvited, into de Scabious's chamber. She had been sure that when she winked at the constable as she served the dinner, he had known exactly what she meant. They could not profess their passion in public, of course. But Margery knew. She just knew.

Or perhaps she didn't. She had found the constable snoring on a chair in front of the fire. She tiptoed toward him and tickled his nose. First, he sneezed. Then, when Margery did it again, this time making what she thought were appropriately seductive noises, he opened his eyes, saw her face squashed up against his own, and bellowed, “Murder! Witches! Hags!” before throwing himself backward. The chair toppled over, and he and Margery had fallen into a heap together.

“Oh, Holy Virgin!” he panted when he had caught his breath.

“No, not the Holy Virgin, it's me, it's me,” Margery had cried, imploring him to be quiet. But when de Scabious caught sight of her coquettish grin as he was trapped beneath her, he bellowed again. “Shut your mouth, woman,” he begged. “And get out! Get out!”

“But I thought—”

“You thought what? That I really thought of you as a human being? You? Don't make me laugh. Look at you. You are not a woman. You are a lump of dough! Now get out of here before I drop you out of the window into the midden, where you rightly belong.”

Margery, howling, had scrambled up and backed into the corner. “I thought we were to be married. I thought you liked me. I thought we were to take over this place.”

Quick as a flash de Scabious was on his feet. “If I ever discover you have repeated any of the conversations you have overheard, you miserable piece of dung, I will have you flayed alive and your skin turned into—into—into—into casing for sausages!”

Margery had shut her mouth and fled. When she reached the women's quarters, she found a place in a corner and lay shivering. Occasionally she whimpered.
Eventually she fell asleep, her mouth open. Her last waking thought was that if ever the opportunity presented itself, she would get her own back.

This had all been fermenting in Margery's mind, and after the constable had ridden away, she watched Ellie, wondering how best to approach her. She was not sure how much Ellie knew. Was Ellie aware that the constable was intent on taking over the de Granville lands? Did she know that the constable was as certain as it was possible to be that Sir Thomas and his sons were dead? It took some time for Margery to decide that the time was right. Then catching sight of Ellie trying a new winter blanket on Sacramenta, she ventured to approach her.

Ellie stiffened. She could never forgive Margery for betraying her trust. Margery lumbered up to the horse, twisting her hands in her apron.

“Miss Ellie,” she said.

“I have nothing to say to you.” Ellie's voice was sharp.

Margery tried once more, received the same response, and shuffled off. If Ellie was going to be so hoity-toity, well, she could just wait for de Scabious to arrive with dozens of soldiers and declare himself the new Count of Hartslove. Margery banged the pots in the kitchen until the cook shouted for her to find something else to do.

But the memory of de Scabious's contempt put fire into Margery's soul. She determined to try again. This time, she would start differently. So finding another opportunity, she approached Ellie once more. Ellie was brushing Sacramenta's mane.

Margery walked quickly into the stable and began at once. “I know you don't want to speak to me, Miss Eleanor,” she said. “But I am only doing my duty.” Ellie turned away. Margery kept going.

“Did you know that Constable de Scabious has heard on good authority from a man returning from the Holy Land that all the de Granvilles are dead?”

Ellie stood, absolutely motionless.

“I overheard him telling his friends. He has known since April. And he has gone north to secure the castles. After that he will come back here as Count of Hartslove. There, now I have told you everything I know.”

Ellie turned, her face ashen. She dropped her brush, grabbed Margery, and shook her. “Are you sure about all this? If I find you have been lying, I'll have you flayed alive and your skin—”

“Turned into sausage casings. Yes. I know. But it is all true. I swear on this horse.”

It was Margery who caught Ellie as the girl swayed, her legs giving way underneath her. “Oh, sweet Jesus,” she whispered, sinking into the straw.

“I'll get Old Nurse,” said Margery, suddenly feeling out of her depth. “I'll just get Old Nurse.”