Passion in the Blood (2 page)

Baudoin joined his father by the hearth and sat with his forearms on his thighs, gazing into the flames. “William Rufus ruled by bad faith and brutality rather than by skill and diplomacy. But his death brings to the fore again the underlying problem for Anglo-Normans—we have a ruler over our lands in Normandie, Duke Curthose, and a ruler in England, King William Rufus, which has resulted in Normans serving two masters. Robert and I were just now discussing that very problem.”

Ram stood, flexing his knees. “
Exactement!
You have described the problem exactly. What I and others have tried and failed to achieve over the years is one ruler for both, otherwise there’s too much instability.”

Baudoin sank back into his chair. “When Duke Robert decided to raise a Crusading army and virtually pawned Normandie to William Rufus for ten thousand marks, it defused the problem for a while, but now he’s on his way back from the Crusade, a richer man.”

They were silent for a while before Ram spoke again. “The King’s death will leave the Anglo-Norman nobility in a position of having to choose whom to support. I chose the wrong side before in supporting Curthose, and almost lost favour. He failed then to come to England to rally his supporters, and I switched my allegiance in the nick of time and held on to our lands and titles.”

Baudoin stood. “We’ll have to make some decisions. I’ll get a message to Caedmon at Shelfhoc Hall, asking him to come as soon as possible. It’s fortuitous he’s in Ruyton and not at home in Northumbria.”

Ram was proud to see his youngest son act decisively and thankful his sons had been accepting of their half-brother, Caedmon, Ram’s illegitimate son. “You’re right. Henry will move quickly to be crowned.”

***

When Ram didn’t return to their tryst, Mabelle sensed it must be a matter of importance. She dressed and went in search of him, bumping into Baudoin as he hastened from the Map Room.

“What’s happened?” she asked, a sense of foreboding washing over her when she saw Ram’s harried expression.

He rose and motioned her to sit by the fire. “King William Rufus is dead. He was accidentally shot. He might have survived had he not fallen from his horse and impaled the arrow more deeply.”

She made the Sign of the Cross. “May God have mercy on him,” she whispered. “He didn’t have a chance to confess his sins. What will happen now?”

Ram exhaled. “Henry will claim the throne, but so will Curthose. Interestingly enough, according to the message I received, Henry was also in the New Forest yesterday and became aware of what had happened immediately, giving him a head start. No doubt he’s already been to Winchester to take over the Treasury.”

“Who shot the King?” Mabelle asked, sure whoever it was must be a dead man by now.

Ram snorted. “This is where it gets interesting. Tirel of Poix. Again this is according to the message. The same Tirel who is well known as one of England’s best bowmen. He rarely misses a shot.”

The implications for her family suddenly struck Mabelle. “What must
we
do now?”

Robert answered. “Baudoin is arranging for a messenger to Caedmon and Agneta.”

Mabelle looked at her husband and smiled. Of course he would want to make sure his illegitimate son was protected, and part of the plan of action.

Ram was blunt. “We must gather information in the next few days and decide which claimant we’ll support. Our lives and all we hold dear may depend on the correct choice.”

He turned to greet his son as he re-entered the room. “Baudoin, contact our man at Court. We need to know what’s happening, what’s rumour and what’s fact.”

“Already done
, mon p
ère
,” Baudoin replied. “And Rhoni’s on her way from her solar.”

Mabelle and Ram exchanged a look of pride in their youngest son as their daughter Rhoni came hurriedly into the room, holding out her hands to her mother.

Mabelle clasped Rhoni’s hands and gave a reassuring squeeze. She looked fondly at the young woman, always amused at her insistence on
Rhoni
, instead of Hylda Rhonwen. Mabelle had wanted to honour her late mother, Hylda—a woman she barely remembered. As long as Rhonwen was aware Mabelle’s daughter had been named for her—that was the important thing.

Her gaze moved to her two handsome sons—Robert, the future
Comte
de Montbryce, and Baudoin, who had already taken over a great deal of the responsibility of Ellesmere. Then she looked sadly at Ram. Though they’d spent most of their lives in England, their hearts lay in Normandie, at the castle de Montbryce where Ram had grown up. Now a lifetime of sacrifice and devotion to the furtherance of Norman interests in England could be put in jeopardy by the death of King William Rufus.

***

After days of terrible uncertainty, Mabelle entered the Map Room where she found Ram, Baudoin and Caedmon, newly arrived from Ruyton. Robert had already left for Normandie. The men were enjoying a tankard of ale.

She embraced Caedmon, kissing him on each cheek. “It’s fortunate you and your family were visiting your mother instead of at home in Northumbria. Whenever I see you three together, I’m always taken aback at how alike you are. How is Agneta with this latest pregnancy, Caedmon?”

“She’s well,” he replied with a smile. “Though she wasn’t happy about my leaving her and my mother with three children, and Edwin only two years old.”

Mabelle shook her head. “I can’t believe it. It seems only yesterday Agneta birthed your twins here in Ellesmere.”

Caedmon reddened, still regretful he’d been off on the Crusade when his twins, Blythe and Aidan had been born.

Mabelle gave him a reassuring smile. “Do we know yet what’s happening?” she asked.

Caedmon FitzRambaud returned the smile. He admired his step mother. Despite being a woman, she’d always taken an active role in matters affecting her family’s future, and his father valued her opinions. Ram was fond of telling people he was that most unusual of things, a nobleman in love with his intelligent wife.

It hadn’t always been thus. His father had confided in him that when he and Mabelle first met they’d clashed frequently, Ram firm in the belief women should be seen and not heard. But the long separation of the kidnapping had convinced them it was their destiny to be together, to enjoy an all-conquering passion.

Baudoin answered his mother’s query after wiping his hand across his mouth, savouring the dark ale. “According to our contacts at Court, the king was eating while making preparations for the hunt. He was laughing and jesting and pulling on his boots when a smith arrived and offered him six arrows. He took them eagerly, praising the workmanship. He kept four and gave two to Walter Tirel. Ironically he told his fellow hunters it was only fitting the sharpest arrows should be given to the man who was the deadliest shot.”

Mabelle sat down in the chair next to Ram’s. “What happened then?”

“They galloped off into the woods. Tirel and the king were stationed with a few companions, on the alert, waiting for their prey, their weapons ready. A beast suddenly ran between them. The king drew back from his place, and Tirel let fly an arrow. It struck the king, who fell from his horse, driving the arrow deeper.”

Mabelle’s hands went to her mouth. “What’s become of Tirel?”

Baudoin shrugged. “According to one rumour, he denies firing the shot. According to another he wasn’t in that part of the forest, and yet another says he wasn’t in the forest. There was apparently much confusion after the event and no one is sure what happened.”

Mabelle shook her head. “I can imagine. What have they done with the body?”

Her son completed the tale. “It’s said he was loaded on to a cart and taken to the cathedral at Winchester where his body was committed to the ground within the tower.”

His father took up the story, running a hand through his hair. “Rufus won’t be missed by the people. Everything hateful to God and to righteous men was the daily practice during his reign. But that doesn’t solve our problem.

Henry was crowned at Westminster two days ago. He’s issued a Charter of Liberties promising good government. Many of the supporters of William Rufus will support him. Curthose is back from the Crusades and is laying plans to invade England. If we know as much, you can be sure Henry does too and will prepare.”

He paused for several minutes, staring into his tankard. Then, in a solemn tone, he announced, “I hope I’ve made the right decision for this family.”

All eyes turned to him. “I told Robert before he left for Normandie, I’ve decided we’ll support Henry. I believe he’ll be the better monarch in the long term. Curthose has failed his supporters time and again. It’s crucial Robert prepare for war. He’s not happy with my decision. You know, Caedmon, your brother was named for the Conqueror’s son, and he’s more inclined to support his Duke, his namesake.”

“I know,
mon p
ère
,” Caedmon answered, always surprised he could comfortably call Ram his father after the disastrous beginning of their relationship when Caedmon had refused to accept he was the son of a Norman. He’d grown up believing he was the son of a Saxon war hero killed at Hastings. Full of self loathing when he discovered the truth, he’d abandoned his wife Agneta and gone off on the People’s Crusade. His dire experiences during the Crusade had convinced him beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing good comes from hatred and vengeance.

Ram cleared his throat, and drank the last of his ale. He put the empty tankard down on the table. “Now, Caedmon, we must speak of the risks to you and your family of my decision. The threat to Montbryce lands here in England is slight. We could lose Ellesmere in the event Henry doesn’t win, but I doubt it. Curthose will recognise my past loyalty to him, and to Normandie, and also the importance of keeping a strong proven presence here in the Marches.”

Baudoin smirked. “He’d be hard pressed to control this region without our help.”

Ram chuckled. “Quite so. Rhodri ap Owain would recommence his raids in this area if we weren’t here. Your ancestral estate at Shelfhoc should be safe, Caedmon, as well as the three lucrative Sussex manors I’ve already transferred to you. However, any English lands I’ve willed to you may be forfeit if Curthose succeeds. Kirkthwaite Hall is your wife’s inheritance, and as such is safe.

The most important thing is to secure the Montbryce lands in Normandie, including Mabelle’s Alensonne, Belisle and Domfort. Your brother Robert should be able to hold them, with our help, and that of my brothers, Hugh and Antoine, and their sons. I wish Robert would get on with finding a wife who will bring him strong allies. We may need them.”

Caedmon braced his legs and squared his shoulders. “You are my liege lord, Father, and I’ll serve you whatever your decision,” he replied, rejoicing in his heart he already had a beautiful wife who loved him despite his shortcomings. He hoped his half brother would find a woman he loved, and not have to marry for the sake of an alliance.

Dorianne de Giroux had grown up in the bosom of a family filled with hatred and the desire for vengeance. Before she was born, her late grandfather had been blinded and mutilated by another baron, Guillaume de Valtesse. They’d argued over territory.

Sitting with her father and brother in the gallery, she concentrated on her embroidery, but once again, her father, François, wanted to relive the nightmare.

“Your grandfather sank into madness after his blinding and made life a living hell for his sons, Phillippe, Georges, and me. Yet we were the ones who’d captured the Valtesse castle at Alensonne in retaliation. With the help of Valtesse’s bastard, Arnulf, we cast Guillaume out and exiled him, along with his daughter, Mabelle. Curses on fate that Arnulf would die and Valtesse regain his castle.”

Dorianne had heard this story a thousand times and knew what came next. Her uncle Phillippe had been consumed with hatred for the Valtesse family. He’d gone to England and plotted against Mabelle’s husband, the
Comte
de Montbryce. News had eventually reached them Phillippe had been killed in Wales.

“Papa,” she ventured. “Can we not talk of other things?”

François glared at her as if she was speaking Greek and then carried on. “I’m not a violent man, but I can never forget the torments I suffered at the hands of my mad father.”

It worried Dorianne that her older brother, Pierre, seemed to hang on their father’s every word, encouraging his preoccupation. “Well, Papa, you almost had one of the Montbryces convicted of adultery by the King’s court in Caen.”

François smirked. “Much good that did. The Montbryces were in the Conqueror’s pocket. Had I succeeded in getting Hugh de Montbryce condemned, Phillippe might never have embarked on his plan to aid the Welsh kidnappers who captured Rambaud de Montbryce’s wife and her brats.”

Her father rarely showed affection for his children, and she’d looked to Pierre for love and kindness. Their mother loved them, but she was a timid woman who wilted under the gaze of her husband and did his bidding in all things. Elenor now sat with her head bowed, as she did every evening, immersed in her sewing, contributing nothing to the conversation.

Dorianne dreaded the day her father would find her a husband. Having led a secluded existence in the Giroux castle, she had no friends, only her brother. A year older than she, Pierre was allowed more freedom and often travelled with their father through their lands or to other barons’
demesnes
.