The Innocent (27 page)

"What?"
she shrieked angrily. "Did I not make it clear to you before you went on your ridiculous scouting mission that I wanted Eleanore de Montfort dead? I will settle for no less than her life, as she has wronged me! And I want the little nun to suffer as I have suffered. I want her used by each man in your garrison before you kill her for me. If you love me, you will do it."

Merin ap Owen laughed. "But I don't love you, Isleen," he said. "What ever made you think I did? Because I took you for my whore? You are as dangerous as a rabid cat, my pretty bitch. I re-connoiter my target personally because only I can be the judge of its worth. Cattle and sheep are all Ashlin possesses that interest me. There is no value in anything else there. The lady Eleanore’s lord is away right now, and so the time is most auspicious to raid their livestock."

"You fool!"
she screamed, and began to pound upon his broad chest. "You thickheaded Welsh fool! Of course there is more to Ashlin than just cattle and sheep. Can you not see it?"

He caught her wrists in a cruel grasp.
"What?"
he demanded of her, and then he cuffed her. "What do I not see at Ashlin that has value, Isleen? What do I overlook?" He gave her a shake.

"Eleanore de Montfort!"
Isleen cried. "Let me go, you brute! You are bruising me badly." She rubbed the wrists he released. "Is not the lady worth a ransom, Merin ap Owen? Cattle and sheep that are stolen rarely earn their value when sold, and everyone knows the livestock you take for sale are stolen. Leave Ashlin’s beasts in their meadows, and take the lady of the manor instead. Her husband must sell them all if he is to pay the ransom you will ask. You will gain double what you would have if you stole the creatures yourself. Is that not a better plan than yours, Merin ap Owen?"

"Aye, it is," he agreed thoughtfully, "but do not think I don't understand your motives, Isleen. You wish to gain custody of Ashlin’s mistress so you may wreak your vengeance upon her while she is in my parole. I will not allow you to do it, Isleen. I want the full measure of gold that Ashlin’s lord will bring me in exchange for his wife’s safety. If the lady Eleanore is harmed in
any
way, my pretty bitch, not only will I lose a golden ransom, I could quite easily lose my life when her angry husband slays me. You wouldn't want that, Isleen, would you?" He grinned down into her face. "You do want me to love you, don't you? I do not know, but if your facile little mind continues to aid me so well, I might learn to love you one day." He pulled her into his embrace, and kissed her hard.

Isleen reached down as she returned his kiss, and fondled his manhood until it was stiff again. Then she pulled him to the bed and, shedding her gown, cupped her big breasts in her hands to tease him. He lifted her up onto the bed, and, standing above him, she spread her legs so that he could scent her musk. Bending down, she rubbed her nipples across his lips. He licked eagerly at them, and she backed away.

"Bitch!" he growled, reaching out and yanking her by the ankles onto her back. Fumbling with his garments, he loosed his lance and couched it securely within her sheath.
"Bitch!"
he repeated as she attempted to dislodge him.

Isleen pulled him down into an embrace and sunk her teeth into his shoulder, biting until she tasted blood. "Now I have infected you with my rabidity." She laughed.

He slapped her several times, but the blows were not hard, merely a warning. "You are clever," he told her, "but not indispensable, my pretty bitch. I may have to kill you one day."

"Perhaps," Isleen told him, "I will kill you first," and she laughed at the surprised look on his face.

He thrust into her again, using her cruelly, forcing her near the peak, holding her back again and again until she began to scream vile curses at him, and he at last gave her her release, mocking her as he did. "You are only a woman, Isleen, and a weak woman at that." Then he laughed, and withdrew from her. "Remember that, my pretty bitch. I must think on what you have suggested." He pulled his clothes back into order and walked out of her room even as she cursed him again.

Isleen, he considered as he entered his own private apartment, was becoming a very annoying encumbrance. Still, she had the same ferocious appetites that he himself possessed. He had to admit to himself that he gained more satisfaction from her than any other woman he had ever known. Still, she was not to be trusted, he reminded himself. She wanted to be rich, and she wanted to be independent. Perhaps he would help her to attain those goals, provided she behaved herself. She would certainly make a better ally than enemy.

Her proposal to kidnap the lady Eleanore was clever. Isleen was right when she said he could gain double in ransom than he would simply by stealing and selling Ashlin’s livestock. But if he was able to get custody of the lady and bring her to Gwynfr Castle, could he keep her safe from his wild whore? A dead or injured mistress of Ashlin would gain him nothing. Isleen’s grievance with Eleanore de Montfort was not justified. Isleen herself had told him how she had managed to get Eleanore as a young child banished to the convent before she married Richard, and how she had seen her but once before her dying husband sent for his sister nine years later.

Isleen’s partner in crime, her cousin, had obviously been a stupid man. He had chosen both the wrong time, and certainly the wrong place, to attempt his debauchment of the lady Eleanore. He would have been wiser to come in the night with the aid of Isleen and take the girl where her servants could not have heard her cries. It was his fault that Isleen’s plan had failed. Eleanore de Montfort could scarcely be blamed for defending herself from the unwanted advances of Saer de Bude, nor could her serf be faulted for protecting his mistress.

Isleen’s complaint had no basis, in fact. She was, Merin ap Owen concluded, jealous of her former sister-in-law. Aye, that was the crux of the matter. The lady Eleanore was every bit as beautiful as was Isleen de Warenne. And she was respected and loved by her people, which Isleen certainly had not been. How often his whore had complained to him about Ashlin’s people. The lady Eleanore was everything that Isleen was not, and Isleen hated her for it. Not that Isleen would have changed given the opportunity. She wanted everything her way, and when she could not have it, she cried foul.

How to keep his hostage safe from her was the problem. Once he had solved the conundrum, he would move on to the issue of how to kidnap her. The lady Eleanore was not worth the loss of life it would take to battle through Ashlin’s walls, although once inside the compound, gaining entry to the house was a simple enough matter, he decided. But if he could not get inside the walls, he would have to get his victim outside, where he might capture her more easily.

Merin ap Owen poured himself a goblet of the fine wine he kept here in his own private domain. Then he sat down by his fire to consider the matter more carefully. The lady was close to the nuns who had raised her. Could she be lured outside her walls by an attack upon St. Frideswide's? Possibly, but not certainly. There was that grizzled and battle-hardened sergeant at arms who served her. He was in charge of the safety of Ashlin, and would certainly know better than to allow his mistress to go to the convent to help her nuns after an attack. He would send his own men to help. Still, such an attack could prove a successful diversion.

Stroking his chin slowly and thoughtfully, he narrowed his eyes in contemplation. If he could get someone into Ashlin’s manor house, someone who could drug the gatekeeper, the men on the walls, the household servants, and then open the gates for him… now that was the perfect plan!
But who?
Who would the manor folk take in? Not be suspicious of? He needed some helpless creature he could bully, and whose loyalty was unquestioning.
Who?
Then a slow smile lit his handsome features as he realized the perfect pawn for his endeavor. Isleen’s servant. Clud’s niece.
Arwydd!

Arwydd was not a stupid girl. She had been clever enough to gain an exit from her uncle’s brothel, where she had been naught but an unpaid slave. Isleen never complained about her, which meant the girl was also clever enough to serve a difficult mistress. Could she also serve her master? Aye! She could, and she would or he would kill her himself. He had no use for disobedient servants. And while he thought on it, he decided he would learn who had been futtering his whore while he had been in England. He had warned his men that she was his personal possession, but obviously someone had succumbed to Isleen’s bounteous charms. The man would die for it when he learned his name. He would say nothing to Isleen, but she would understand, and more important, so would his men. No one would ever use Isleen again unless he gave them permission to do so.

He smiled grimly, then considered how to infiltrate Arwydd into Ashlin. She would be a runaway slave, of course, whose master had attempted to sell her as a whore, or some such tale. That was a story sure to gain sympathy from the gentle lady Eleanore. He chuckled. It was clever, and Arwydd was just the right lass to carry it off. He would have to think on a series of signals she could use to alert him and his men, but with his decision, success was a foregone conclusion. Merin ap Owen chuckled, well pleased with himself- and even with Isleen.

P
ax of Ashlin was astounded by all he had seen of the world so far. What stories he would have to tell Willa! His lord and he had departed home and ridden for over a week before they reached the sea. It seemed that England was quite a large country, Pax decided. Finally they came to a town his master called Portsmouth, where they set about arranging for passage across to Barfleur. Pax had never seen such a big place as Portsmouth, and the salty smell of the sea was strange to his nostrils. Only by listening carefully could he make out what was being said most of the time, for the English spoken here was different from that spoken at Ashlin. Fortunately his Norman-speak improved quickly as his lord spoke it with him every day.

"Remember," Ranulf warned him, "to pretend you understand just basic orders and unimportant phrases. That way the others about you will speak freely, and I may gain information that may be of use to me."

"I will, my lord," Pax replied.

"You have done well so far, boy," Ranulf praised him, and Pax was pleased, for he truly wanted to better himself and be worthy of Willa’s hand when he returned. If the lord was satisfied with his service, then he would certainly give permission for Willa and Pax to wed.

They crossed to Normandy on a fair summer’s day. The sea was pleasant, the sun warm, the winds brisk without being harsh.

"We are fortunate," Ranulf told him as they debarked the next afternoon at the Norman port of Barfleur. "We have crossed quickly and without difficulty. I take it as a good omen."

"Will we sleep tonight in Rouen, my lord?" Pax asked.

"Nay. Tomorrow, perhaps, but then again mayhap not until the night after depending upon the weather and the roads."

They led their horses and the pack mule from their ship.

"Let us find a market, Pax," Ranulf said. "I would purchase us some food, for I know not if we will espy a safe place to stay, and we may find ourselves in a wilderness without inn or abbey. We had best prepare for it, eh?" He mounted his horse, then turning said, "The animals will need a bit of water before we leave the town."

"Aye, my lord! I will see to it," Pax replied.

They found the market first, and Ranulf purchased two long loaves of bread, a small wheel of cheese, a fat sausage, some peaches, and a heavy skin of wine, which he tasted first to be certain it was not sour.

"You are English?" the wine merchant asked.

"Aye," Ranulf acknowledged. "I am but a humble knight and have come to pledge my loyalty to Duke Henry, for our king lies ill."

The wine merchant nodded with understanding. "Better to do it
before
the fact rather than
after,
" he opined. "You are a wise man, my lord. You obviously have a care for your family, and that is good. Duke Henry is a generous lord, and the Duchess Alienor the most beautiful and accomplished of women. I saw her once when I was visiting my sister in Rouen. She is a glorious lady, if I may be forgiven for saying so."

Ranulf thanked the wine merchant for his courtesy and his directions to the public trough. They moved on to water the horses, then they set out on the road to Rouen. As darkness approached, Ranulf realized his precautions had been wise. There was neither a religious house, or any other civilized place to lay their heads. When he saw a small spot near a running stream, and sheltered from the view of the road, he ordered a halt to their journey.

"I want no fire tonight to draw bandits," he said to Pax. "We will eat before the light is gone. There is plenty of water and grazing for our animals."

"Will we not be attacked by wild beasts without a fire?" young Pax ventured.

Ranulf smiled. "We are more likely to be attacked by two-footed wild beasts if we have a fire to lead them to us, lad," he said, dismounting. "Look in yonder field at those fat cattle grazing. They would not be left out the night were there beasts about to menace them. Come, let us eat, and then get a good night’s rest. I did not sleep well last night upon the open deck of our vessel, for fear someone would cut our throats for the horses and the mule." He chuckled, noting how pale his squire had become at his words. "You can trust no one here, lad," he said quietly. "I am the only person in whom you may put your faith, Pax."

They unsaddled the horses and left them to graze. The young squire then carefully cut two large chunks of bread, cheese, and sausage, handing a portion to his master. They settled down to eat, passing the wineskin back and forth as they needed it. They decided to save the peaches for the morrow. The day had been long, and they were both tired. The sun had set now, and the twilight was deepening into night. It was clear, and, lying upon his back gazing up at the sky, Pax thought the stars different. A quarter moon rose, faintly brightening the landscape about them as the two men fell into a sound sleep.

Ranulf awoke to the sound of a bird calling. Opening his eyes, he could see the sky lightening beyond the horizon. Arising, he went to pee, then gently kicked his squire. "Wake up, lad, 'tis almost dawn," he said. "I want to eat and be on our way. I'd just as soon sleep in Rouen tonight as in another damp field. My bones are getting too old for it."

Pax scrambled to his feet. "I'm sorry, my lord. I did not mean to oversleep."

"Go relieve yourself, then let us eat," Ranulf said.

They left a third of the bread, the remainder of the sausage, and the peaches for a midday meal, eating only bread and cheese with their wine. The wine sent a bit of fire through their veins, warming them. The morning was faintly humid, and the day promised to be hot. When they had finished, they watered the horses, saddled them, and were on their way once again. The countryside about them was a fairly flat valley enclosed by rolling hills. Their path ran beside the river Seine. By very late afternoon the roofs of the town were well in view. The knight and his squire crossed the large humpbacked stone bridge with its thirteen great arches that spanned the river.

Rouen was a very old city. It had been a provincial capital in the time of the great Roman Empire, Ranulf told Pax. Pax nodded, but he had no idea who the Romans were and would not ask for fear of appearing ignorant. Normandy had been a part of a province called Gaul, Ranulf concluded. Even England had been a province of the Romans, who called it Britannia. Pax nodded again, but his eyes were darting about with curiosity as they traversed the narrow streets, which were lined with tall half-timbered houses of four and five stories. Pax had never seen anything like these houses.

"We must find a place to stay," Ranulf said, "and as near to the castle as possible."

"We are not to stay in the castle?" Pax was surprised.

"Not unless we are invited. Remember that I am here merely to pay my respects to Duke Henry, who will be our next king. Greater lords than I are sharing sleeping places, crowded together with their servants like cattle. Perhaps, though, I might beg a place for us in the duke’s stables. It depends on how many men are with him right now. Let us go to the castle first, Pax. On reflection an inn could prove too costly for my small purse." He had not told his squire the truth about his visit to Normandy. The lad was green yet, and Ranulf could not be certain if Pax could be relied upon not to gossip.

The Empress Matilda’s castl was easy to find. The largest building in Rouen, it had both a great hall and a donjon. They rode across the castle’s drawbridge and into the bustling courtyard. Ranulf’s eyes scanned the area, and at last he spotted the stables. He turned his horse toward it, and Pax followed. He sought out and found the stablemaster, importuning him for shelter.

"I am Sir Ranulf de Glandeville, lord of Ashlin. I have come from England to pay my respects to Duke Henry. Is there a place, perhaps in your lofts, for my squire and myself?"

The stablemaster looked the two men over carefully. Their clothing was respectable and of good quality, if a bit travel stained. Their mounts were good. "Do you know anyone here?" the stable-master asked.

"Sir Garrick Taliferro, who serves as one of Duke Henry’s knights," Ranulf said. "He will vouch for my identity and my honesty."

"You understand," the stablemaster replied, "that I must assure myself you are who you say, my lord. So many of the English, and their great trains of knights are now coming here to make their peace with the duke. Space is tight."

"I understand," Ranulf answered the stablemaster politely.

"I will send one of my men for Sir Garrick, whom I also know. If he approves, then I will give you and your squire shelter for as long as you need it."

"I'm no great lord, and I will be grateful," Ranulf replied.

"Here, you, page!" The stablemaster’s hand reached out, grasping the thin neck of a young boy. "Go and find Sir Garrick Taliferro, and tell him that Conan, the stablemaster, would speak with him." Then giving the lad a gentle kick, he sent him off.

They had not bothered to stop upon the road and eat during the day. Now Ranulf ordered Pax to get out the remainder of their food, and the two men sat companionably upon a bench by the stable doors eating, and sharing the remaining wine from the skin. They sat for some time, the day sliding into evening and growing dark about them. Finally a shadow loomed up through the gloaming, and Sir Garrick appeared.

"Ranulf! What are you doing here in Rouen? How is my godson?" The knight held out his hand in a warm greeting.

Ranulf arose, taking the offered hand. "I thought perhaps it was time I came to pay my proper respects to Duke Henry. My lady thought it wise also, and Simon thrives."

"Stephen?"

"Failing, but still alive," Ranulf replied. Then he smiled. "If you can convince Master Conan that we are respectable, he will give us shelter here in his stables, Garrick. Can you do so?"

"Aye! I will gladly. The castle is full to overflowing as the duchess has arrived with all her court to visit her mother-in-law. Come, and I'll take you and your young squire to the great hall. It is time for the evening meal. 'Tis not as substantial as the midday meal, for the empress keeps her household on short rations, but it will be filling." Garrick Taliferro chuckled. Then he turned to the stable-master and said, "The duke would be grateful if you would give this man and his squire and their animals proper shelter, Master Conan."

" 'Tis done, my lord," the stablemaster answered. "Come, my lord, and I'll show you where you'll sleep. Bring your beasts with you, if you please." He moved into the stable, and they followed him deep into the bowels of the building. At its far end he stopped, and pointed to a group of empty stalls filled with fresh straw. "You can stable your animals there, my lord. You and your squire can sleep in one of the stalls, too. 'Tis out of the way, and no one is likely to notice you there. I will ask you to have your squire care for your horses and the mule himself. That way no one will come back into this section of the stables, and your armor will be safe," he said with a wink.

"Thank you, Master Conan," Ranulf said, pressing a small silver coin into the man’s hand. "I am grateful."

The stablemaster nodded, and moved off.

"I've had enough to eat, my lord," Pax said. "I'll remain here, unsaddle the horses, and see to their care. You go along."

"You're certain?"

"Aye, my lord!"

Ranulf walked with Sir Garrick to the great hall of Rouen Cas-de, where the evening meal was just beginning. They found places at one of the trestles directly below the salt. Flat trenchers were placed on the table, one to every two guests. Sir Garrick cut the trencher with his knife, and passed Ranulf a half. The pewter cups were filled with a passable wine. There was a small wheel of cheese on the table. A platter was passed that held what appeared to be joints of roasted rabbit. Spearing one with his knife, Ranulf laid it on his trencher and cut himself a generous wedge of cheese. The priest at the high board stood and said the blessing, then they began to eat.

When he had filled his stomach, Ranulf looked about him. The hall was huge and well filled, mostly with knights and their retainers, although, near the high board there was a trestle lined with lovely women. At the high board sat Duke Henry, his mother, Empress Matilda on his right, his wife, Alienor of Aquitaine on his left. Ranulf had once seen the Empress Matilda. While she had grown older, she had not changed a great deal. Her expression was still one of arrogance and disdain. She had never forgotten her royal heritage. She was the daughter of King Henry I and his queen, who had been the daughter of Scotland’s King Malcolm. The Empress Matilda’s mother had been a descendant of the last Saxon kings of England. Her blood was bluer than most.

The young duchess, however, was probably the most beautiful woman Ranulf had ever seen. His own Eleanore was a great beauty, but Alienor of Aquitaine’s beauty was incredible. She had truly golden hair, and even from where he was sitting Ranulf could tell her eyes were a bright and vibrant blue. Her features were perfect: flawless skin, a straight nose, and a generous mouth that he saw laughed easily.

"Don't fall in love with her," Garrick Taliferro said softly. "Most men do. She enjoys the attention, but she is loyal to her husband."

"As she should be," Ranulf replied, a trifle shocked that his companion should even say such a thing.

"You have not heard the gossip then about her troubadours?"

"Nay. What is said?" Ranulf was frankly curious.

"The duchess’s court is the gayest and brightest in all of the world," Garrick Taliferro began. "She loves music, literature, and poetry, and those who make it. Her court is called the Court of Love. It is the troubadours' habit to choose a noble lady, married, of course, for she must truly be unobtainable, fall in love with her, and then write exquisite poetry and song about his unrequited love for the lady of his choice."

"And what does the
unobtainable
lady do when she is singled out like this?" Ranulf asked, amused by such affectation.

"She alternately encourages her troubadour, then disdains him on other occasions."