A Man of Value (18 page)

“Strumpet,” he exclaimed. She winced. Leofric’s good hand went to the hilt of his dagger.

“Caedmon—”

“Silence. Go to your chamber.” He splashed water from the trough at her. She gazed down at her soaked gown in shock. Leofric rushed to support her as she swayed.

“Caedmon—” Leofric tried, his eyes burning.

“Be gone, all of you. Get out of my sight,” he shouted, catching a glimpse of the Brightmore sisters peering nervously through the partly open front door. “And get those interfering hags out of my sight too.”

Ascha gasped and with a backward glance of disbelief at Caedmon, let Leofric assist her as she fled, sobbing.

Dragging his feet, Caedmon slowly climbed to his own chamber and tapped lightly. Hearing no invitation to enter, he opened the door and crept inside. Agneta was still asleep, amid a tumble of disheveled bed linens. He found a clean shirt, dragged it over his head and moved silently to the bed, where he sat down, trying not to disturb her, but wanting to watch her in repose.

Her eyelids fluttered open. “Caedmon,” she whispered, reaching out her hand. “Caedmon. You’ve come back to me.”

He shook his head. “No Agneta. I can’t be with you. I’m not worthy of you.”

She sat up beside him, and his manhood swelled as her thigh touched his, adding to his misery. He edged away.

She put her hand on his thigh. “Caedmon, please don’t shut me out. I’m your wife. I’ll decide if you’re worthy or not.”

He lifted her hand, kissed her fingertips and put her hand back in her lap. “Agneta, I’m no longer the man I was. I’m less than nothing. I am in fact the embodiment of all I’ve despised my whole life. And from the look on my true father’s face when he saw me, I would venture to guess he’s as ashamed of me as I am of him.”

Agneta took hold of his head in both hands and turned his face to her. “Caedmon, you’re a gentle, noble and honest knight. You must find it in your heart to forgive what has happened—”

“Forgive,” he shouted, leaping to his feet. “You speak to me of forgiveness and yet you can’t forgive me my part in the raid on Bolton.”

Agneta flushed. “It’s true,” she conceded. “We both need to find the path to forgiveness. But we must help each other to find peace. I’ve already—”

“I’ll never find peace here in this manor house. I believed it my birthright, but it’s not. I must leave.”

“Then I’ll go with you.”

“No,” he shouted. “I don’t know where I’m going, or what I’ll do. I plan to sell my sword to some lord who has need of it. That’s no life for a woman. There’s no reason you can’t stay here and enjoy the security of the income of this house.”

“I have no wish to live here without you,” she whispered, lowering her eyes to the floor.

He turned and left, his heart breaking.

~~~

Leofric returned to the manor house with news that Caedmon was seen regularly in Ruyton, drinking and carousing, causing disturbances. He came back to the house at night, stumbling into the stables and nothing Leofric could say to him seemed to make any impression.

Agneta was distraught, at a loss. Lady Ascha refused to leave her room and could be heard sobbing. The Brightmores made themselves scarce. Agneta wondered if she should appeal to the Earl, but what would she say? Caedmon would be angry. The decision was taken out of her hands when Tybaut told her he would have to report the situation to the Earl.

“It’s my duty, my lady. Sir Caedmon is neglecting the estate. If he keeps on squandering the money from the rents on—”

She held up her hand. “Do what you must, Tybaut. You have the best interests of the manor at heart. I myself—”

While he might have his suspicions, the steward wasn’t aware of the real reason for Caedmon’s behaviour and must be perplexed by it. It disturbed her to see the effects his loathing was having on Caedmon. She wondered about the changes her own hatreds and resentments had wrought in her.

~~~

Tybaut journeyed to Ellesmere and sought an interview with the Earl. He explained what had been happening at Shelfhoc. The Earl listened attentively and thanked the nervous steward, assuring him he would travel to Ruyton, then went to find Mabelle.

She was sewing with some of her ladies. He dismissed them. She rose to greet him and he saw the look of concern on her face. He told her of Tybaut’s news. “I intend to ride to Ruyton to face Caedmon, something I should have done sooner, but I want to be sure you approve of this decision.”

She would agree. They’d already made the determination together that they would endow Caedmon with three of the manor houses in Sussex and that he would inherit three more on Ram’s death. The properties they’d chosen were lucrative estates which would ensure a prosperous future for Caedmon and his family.

Mabelle drew him down into a chair and sat opposite him. “Of course you must go.”

He rode with a company of his men-at-arms. As they entered the courtyard of her home, Agneta came out to see who’d arrived. “My lord Earl,” she croaked, curtseying.

Ram dismounted. “You know who I am?”

She looked up at him. “My lord, your face—is Caedmon’s face.”

Caedmon had married a beautiful woman, and Ram sorrowed for the pain she suffered. He took her by the hand and bade her rise. “Lady Agneta, you must not bow to me. I’m the cause of your grief. You’re the wife of my son, a daughter to me. Where is Caedmon?”

She rose, gripping his hand. “He’s probably gone to Ruyton. I don’t know when he’ll return. It’s difficult these days.”

“Tybaut has told me of the problems. I’m here to try to resolve some of them. May I enter and tell you of the circumstances that have brought us to this point?”

He kept hold of her hand, sensing she needed his reassurance. The two of them went into the hall of the house and Ram shared with her the story of his liaison with Caedmon’s mother. It felt strange to be back in this house where it had all begun.

“My wife, Mabelle, has forgiven me my infidelity to her and my children have accepted that Caedmon is their half brother. I didn’t know of his existence until he came to Ellesmere, but he’s my son and I want to recognize him as such.”

She turned to face him. “But he’s angry,” she whispered. “Forgive me, but he despises Normans.”

Ram frowned and nodded. “I suspected as much from what he said when we met. I hope to change his mind.”

Without warning a loud bang heralded Caedmon’s arrival through the front doorway of the house. He burst into the room, his face flushed with anger. “Well, well, great Earl. Not content with taking advantage of my whoring mother, now you turn your attention to my wife while my back is turned.”

“Caedmon!” Agneta gasped, taking her hand from the Earl’s. “That’s not why the Earl is here. Have you taken leave of your senses?”

Ram’s heart thudded. He wanted to embrace this young man, his son who looked like him, obviously a Montbryce. “Caedmon,” he said softly, trying to maintain his composure. “You may say anything you wish about me, but your mother isn’t a whore. If you’ll but allow me to explain the circumstances of what happened—”

“Circumstances?” Caedmon cut in. “I know the
circumstances
. You shamed my mother then rode away, leaving her to fend for herself and her child.”

“I swear to you, I didn’t know I had a third son until I saw you at Ellesmere.”

Silence hung in the air. When Caedmon said nothing, Ram decided to continue. “Caedmon, I want to recognize you as my son. My family is of the same mind. I wish to offer you the name of FitzRam, if you’ll accept it. I also wish to—”

Caedmon strode to within a pace of his father, and hissed into his face. “I want nothing from you, Earl of Ellesmere. I wouldn’t consider bearing a Norman patronymic. You’re everything I despise.”

Agneta took her husband’s hand, trying to pull him away from his confrontational stance. “Caedmon, he’s your father. You can’t despise him.”

“You’ll not be the one to tell me what I can or can’t do, wife,” he shouted, red in the face, shrugging off her hand, keeping his eyes on Ram.

“Caedmon,” Ram said, raising his hands, palms towards Caedmon, trying to calm the situation. “You may not accept it at the moment and you may not like it, but you have Montbryce blood in your veins, blood from an honourable family lineage. Montbryce men don’t shout at their wives in that manner, particularly when she hasn’t been the cause of pain. If you wish to shout, shout at me.”

“Aye, father,” Caedmon spat out the words with great sarcasm. “Was it in
this
room you fornicated with my mother, or perhaps in the chamber where I’ve lain with my own wife? Your whore is upstairs now. Why don’t you go up and see her?”

The slight upward glance Ram gave betrayed him. Caedmon thrust out one hand towards the door, the other on the hilt of his sword. “Get out of this house.”

Ram felt there was no use arguing further. He’d made the first move. It was up to his son now. For all his skill as a diplomat he felt he’d failed. He bowed to Agneta, bidding her farewell, nodded to Caedmon and left.

Caedmon turned to his wife. “You had no right to allow him to enter this house, Agneta.”

She could find no words to say to him. She’d on the one hand hoped the Earl would come, and on the other dreaded he would. She wanted to know what kind of man he was. When the Earl dismounted and she saw the resemblance, it made her weep.

Relief had washed over her like a cleansing rain when the Norman nobleman called her
daughter
. She could scarcely believe she’d heard him say these words. She’d been an orphan since her own parents had been murdered and Caedmon had been the rock she’d come to rely on, but now he seemed lost to her. To hear words of support and love from the Earl of Ellesmere was more than she’d hoped for.

She left the room and went to her chamber, where she wept alone, marvelling at the depth of forgiveness that had enabled the Earl’s family to survive this blow and to accept Caedmon. That was the kind of family she wanted. She prayed she might be able some day to overcome her own hatred for the Scots who had killed her parents and brothers and that her husband would survive the depths of despair into which he’d sunk.

~~~

Caedmon had been missing for another sennight. There was no sign of him in Ruyton. When a rider cantered into the courtyard with a message, bearing a seal with the imprint of Caedmon’s ring, Agneta’s hands shook violently as she tore it open. She crumpled to her knees on the cobblestones as she read the missive.

My dearest wife Agneta,

I regret the agony and grief I’ve caused you. I no longer know who I am. I have to come to terms with the reality of my parentage, but I’m too full of anger. I need to make amends, to cleanse myself of the hatred and resentment burning a hole in my heart.

I’ve decided to join Pope Urban’s Crusade to rid the Holy Land of the Saracen menace. I hope in this way to restore honour to my name, and perhaps return a richer and saner man. By the time you read this, I will have taken ship for Normandie—ironic isn’t it! From there I will make my way to join with the Crusaders in Constantinople. I’m confident the income from the estate will meet your needs. I miss you. Forgive me, for everything.

Your unworthy husband, Caedmon

She clenched her fist and pressed it to her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to burst forth. The bile rose in her throat. She didn’t know which emotion to succumb to first. Anger, fear, desolation, sorrow, all raged within her, but the most overwhelming pain was that he’d left as she’d come to the full certainty that she was with child.

“Not one word of love, Caedmon. Not one word of love. But then why should I expect that? I told you I could never love you, but I know now that I do. Perhaps if you’d known of my love, this torment you’re facing might have been easier for you to bear.”

She could pursue him and beg him to return. But she would be a pregnant woman, alone in foreign lands. She went to her
armoire
and stood in front of it for many minutes, finally taking out the bundle she’d brought with her from the Abbey. Trembling, she unwrapped the dagger that had taken her mother’s life, spread the cloth on her bed, lay the weapon atop it and crawled to sit cross-legged on the bed.

She stared at the dagger for more than an hour before she could touch it. Gingerly, she ran her trembling fingers over the walrus ivory handle then withdrew them quickly, as if she’d been burned. A sob tore through her and she curled up in a ball on the bed.

She awoke some time later to the sound of someone banging on the door.

“Agneta,” Leofric shouted. “Open this door, Agneta.”

The dagger was still there, taunting her. She lunged and grasped it in both hands, pressing the sharp point to her breast. Her body shook, sweat poured from her.

“Agneta!” Leofric shouted again.

The steel of the long blade made the dagger feel heavy in her hand, though it wasn’t large. It was a weapon made for a woman. Her thumb felt the raised edges on the elaborately carved steel guard. She looked down and, through her tears, noticed, for the first time, the Viking warrior carved into the front of the guard.

The banging came again, more insistent, and she heard Lady Ascha’s sobbing voice. “Please open the door, Agneta.”

Agneta looked back at the dagger—a gift to her grandmother from her own Danish grandfather. Was this a carving of him, striding out of his longship onto some foreign shore? Onto the shores of Northumbria, long ago? The blade too was carved with mysterious designs which she didn’t understand, but which somehow spoke to her.

“Mamma,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I now have some understanding of why you did what you did. Why you couldn’t face life without my father. I can’t accept the prospect of life without Caedmon.”

Absentmindedly, she traced her fingertips over the Viking warrior. “Help me, brave grandsire from ages past. I don’t have the courage to raise a child alone.”

The Earl won’t allow you to face it alone. He will help you.

Trembling uncontrollably, she put the dagger back down onto the bed and stood on unsteady legs. She went to the door, opened it and collapsed into Leofric’s arms.