The Last Conquest (25 page)

‘Rise.’

Aud gazed up at him, still not moving. Her lips parted. The flush deepened on her cheeks.

Baldwin shouted to Sandor over his shoulder. ‘Tell her I want her to stand up. Nothing more. Tell her nothing will happen to her.’

Sandor translated.

Aud looked at him with wider eyes.

Suddenly Baldwin felt sorry for her. Something else too. He was conscious of an odd familiarity, and groped in his mind for an explanation. Recognition came with a shock like a physical
blow.

Agnes! She reminded him of Agnes.

It was uncanny.

Baldwin took off his glove and again held out his hand. The first time he had meant it to be a gesture of defiance to Capra. Now it had a totally new dimension.

Slowly, very slowly, she too put out a hand. All the while she kept her eyes on his. At the first contact, fingers clasped tight, with feverish intensity.

As he raised her slowly to her feet, Baldwin found himself wanting to soothe her hot cheek. For the first time in his life he did not feel awkward with a woman, despite the language barrier, and
he knew she was not awkward with him either. Rowena had never known till that moment that Aud could make such a graceful movement.

Without taking his eyes off Aud, Baldwin shouted over his shoulder again. ‘Sandor? Tell her there is no danger. Tell her we shall soon be going. Tell her no suffering will come to her
family.’

Sandor translated again.

Aud withdrew her hand, but slowly. For each of them it was like gold dust running away between their fingers.

Baldwin watched Aud stride to stand beside Rowena and Godric. She took Edith’s hand.

Without looking at Gorm, she said, ‘Get up, Father. There is no fear now.’ She could not understand why she felt so sure.

Gorm, his face glistening, his brow puckered in disbelief, scrambled to his feet.

William Capra would not yet admit defeat. ‘You know you punished the wrong man there, Sir Baldwin.’

Baldwin stood up straight, pulled on his glove, and looked at Capra. ‘Oh, no. I am just about to deal with the right one.’

A small part of him stood back amazed at his coolness. He could not explain it, but he suddenly knew exactly how to deal with the situation, instead of hovering with worry between two ghastly
possible results.

‘Your orders are as follows. You will refill your flasks and water your horses. You will stay in formation beside your mounts. You will not go near the buildings, you will break those
torches across your knees, and you will not lay a finger on any of the people who live here. Is that clear?’

Capra looked straight back at him.’

‘Why have you changed your mind – sir?’

‘I have not changed it,’ said Baldwin. ‘I have simply not told you before of my decision. This valley lies on one of the avenues that we have decided to leave open for Harold.
He can not be more than a few days away by now.’

‘We have only your word for it,’ said Capra.

‘That is all you are going to get,’ said Baldwin.

Capra once more tried a mass appeal.

‘Who cares what happens to this place anyway?’

‘I care,’ said Baldwin, meeting him head on. ‘Because I have my orders. And I have just given you yours.’

‘And if I do not carry them out?’ said Capra, coming out into the open.

‘Then I shall give orders for you to be whipped – here – now. Just look around you. As you are more stupid than you are insubordinate, I must point out the obvious. I have the
Magyar with me, and young Senlac, the Saxon boy here, and that giant with the axe. He alone could cut you in half with one hand if I gave the command. As for your . . . audience . . . one already
has the marks of my glove on his cheek. The others will be pleased to seek my favour when I tell them how many more camp fatigues await them when we arrive back. I can not see your . . . loyal
comrade Pomeroy here risking his dirty neck against all of us, just for you. Can you? Not even Pomeroy is that much of a fool.’

Capra hesitated. Baldwin drove him back.

‘I should not bother to think of telling his Grace the Duke either. Use what little intelligence you have. Whom will William trust and believe – his quartermaster, of many
years’ service, kin to the ducal line, oath-bound comrade of twenty-six years? Or a pedlar’s bastard fit only for scavenging and petty terror?’

Baldwin spat at Capra’s feet and turned away to Sandor.

‘Tell them we shall water the horses, take a little food and water ourselves, and then after a rest we shall move on. My men will not enter the house.’

Nevertheless, it was an uneasy time, to begin with.

Godric never moved from Rowena’s side, and never let go of the axe. His body was not tense, but his eyes were constantly alert. Nor would he pay any attention to Gorm’s nervous
chatter.

Gorm forgot most of his fright in his indignation. Could this great oaf not see that the whole place was in danger? Had he no care for the safety of anyone else – Sweyn, or Edith, or Aud,
or himself, for that matter, who had taken him in and raised him?

Aud – by some mystery that he could not divine – had somehow secured some sort of reprieve for them, and this ox was about to shatter it with his misplaced idea of gallantry. Did he
fancy himself as some champion from Charlemagne’s court of heroes? What a fool! Could he not see that any one of those Normans could slash his hamstrings from behind and then dispatch him at
leisure as he wriggled helpless like a dog with its back broken? It would give the rest a taste of blood; before you could turn round the other soldiers would have run berserk and killed everyone.
With his stupid devotion Godric would have done for them all.

Gorm’s forehead wrinkled in bafflement. Why? Why? Godric had never shown the slightest sign of possible violence before. Gorm could still see the patience in the boy’s dark eyes as
he put a hand up to his cheek where the marks of Gorm’s drunken fingers still glowed. Even as Godric grew to full strength, Gorm had found it difficult to break the habit of striking. His
foster son steadfastly refused retaliation either of word or of deed. It baffled Gorm and annoyed him, so much so that he often struck again.

In his drunken musings Gorm put it down to lack of spirit, poor breeding, or even stupidity, and sympathised with himself for being stuck with such a pudding. But when Godric read his thoughts,
or cured him of his many stomach ailments, or simply looked at him in the firelight, he knew that behind his eyes lurked spirits and passions of a nature and depth totally beyond his reach. It was
then that he was not only baffled but frightened.

Godric, he decided, was not wholly human. He showed no violence, no temper, no fear, no worry. There was no weakness that Gorm could seize upon and use. Godric owed his upbringing and his
livelihood to him, yet Gorm sensed that in the right situation, none of that would matter. He raged inwardly that Godric never showed himself; there was never a glimpse of his soul.

Until now.

Gorm raised his eyebrows, then lowered them again. Had this been going on under his nose and he had never seen it? Was this dark-spirited, silent young ox a prey to common human feelings after
all? And was he daring to climb above his social status by lusting after his benefactor’s daughter?

Gorm wiped the last of the sweat off his palms. Well, he would see about that. Nobody was going to deprive Sweyn of his inheritance – nobody.

Sweyn!

Gorm suddenly remembered, and looked round for him. Sweyn and Edith were crouched before the very tall, lanky Norman – the only one who was not properly armed. Gorm had spent many years of
his life on the road; he knew a minstrel when he saw one.

Taillefer stopped making patterns and boxes with string, and pulled a thin pipe from his wallet. He sat down and put it to his lips, watching the two children out of the corner of his eye. He
played a note or two.

Edith giggled. Sweyn edged forward in curiosity. Taillefer played a snatch of tune. Edith clapped in pleasure. Sweyn’s pout was for once lost in a smile.

Taillefer stretched out his long thin legs, leaned against a gatepost, and played a song. The men-at-arms, lounging and munching, listened contentedly and grinned at each other as they recalled
the vulgar words of the guardroom version.

William Capra looked round and swore quietly to himself. He nudged Ralph Pomeroy.

‘Idiots – think only of their stomachs.’

He flung a stone at Berry, who jumped, and then snarled at him.

Edwin put an arm round the dog’s neck and looked accusingly at Gilbert.

‘They are no friends of mine,’ muttered Gilbert, staring straight ahead and trying to conceal the fact that he was talking. ‘You saw.’

‘I did. And I honour you for it. It was brave. Perhaps you have saved our lives.’

Gilbert saw Capra gazing at him and frowning once again. He stood up and pretended to stretch his legs after the meal.

Sandor had no such scruple. He cut some cheese and passed a piece to Edwin.

‘The big man would have fought. Many would have died. Truly the woman is fortunate to have such devotion.’

Edwin nodded. ‘Their love is very strong.’

Sandor pursued an idea which had occupied his mind for a day or so.

‘You have a love too?’

The question was so unexpected that Edwin lost his voice for a moment.

‘She was – she is – not here.’

‘Far, perhaps?’ said Sandor innocently.

‘Not of this land,’ said Edwin. ‘I have not seen her for – for many months.’ He blinked. ‘Two years – about.’

‘Ah.’

Sandor spat out a piece of rind. ‘Gilbert has a love. He also has a son.’

‘Then he is truly lucky,’ said Edwin with more decision. He looked up suddenly, and his eyes were wet. ‘Tell him from me.’

Sandor thought it wise to change the subject.

‘See how Taillefer leads them in a dance.’

Taillefer, now on his feet again, was doing a disjointed little jig, playing the while. Edith and Sweyn danced too, in a parody of his movements. They followed him in swaying line across the
yard, through the gate, and towards the house.

Baldwin moved to stop him. Aud put a hand on his arm.

‘He will do no harm.’

‘My orders,’ said Baldwin. ‘I gave orders – nobody to go near the house. Near the house.’

Aud pointed at the lounging soldiers. Two were even dozing.

‘There is no danger now. This minstrel of yours is cunning. His pipes have charmed your men and put them to rest. Let him go on with his work. Besides, see these apples I have brought you.
They are the very best of the season. Godric was sorting them in the barn when you came.’

Was it really less than an hour ago? She was living now in a different age.

Neither could understand what the other was saying, but the meaning of each was clear.

‘Here,’ said Aud. ‘Take them quickly. We can not afford to give to everybody.’

Baldwin took off his glove again. Aud’s body came close to him as she slid the fruit into the satchel at his waist. As he held open the flap, their hands touched, then clasped as tightly
as before.

They looked at each other. Baldwin did not know whether he wanted to prolong the silent moment or bring it to an end. From inside the house came the notes of Taillefer’s pipe and the high
treble of the children’s voices.

Baldwin cleared his throat. ‘Thank you.’

Aud ducked her head. ‘Thank you for being kind to us.’

She helped him to fasten the satchel.

‘What a touching scene!’

Baldwin whirled round. Leaning over a gate was Fulk Bloodeye.

‘A truly affecting moment.’

Aud gasped in horror when she saw his face. She gasped again when she saw the person with him.

He was undersized; beside Fulk he looked dwarf-like. His stoop and his misshapen shoulder made him smaller still. His hair was black and long, not like a Norman’s at all. Nor did his skin
have the pocks and stubble common to most campaigners. It was smooth and dark, soft almost like a woman’s. The thin moustache down either side of his mouth glistened with good grooming.

His hands, folded like a monk’s before him, were small and delicate, with fingernails trim and clean. From the way he held his head, slightly back, it was clear that, like many cripples,
he was vain, and fastidious about his dress.

Everything about him was smaller, lighter, and smoother than normal. The leather of his jerkin showed fewer gashes and burred edges. His helmet had not the sharp outlines of the Norman pattern.
Tinkling ringlets of mail hung loose from the headband. The dagger was curved, not straight; the sword was shorter and lighter. The handles of each showed curious patterns. Around his waist and
under his belt was a great silken sash in bright red.

The eyes were gleaming pinpoints of light. He said nothing, content to let Fulk do the talking. Aud looked desperately from one to the other, not knowing which one to fear the more.

Fulk swept a prodigious bow. ‘Greetings to my lady. My congratulations, Sir Baldwin. I did not know you were a diplomat as well as a – soldier. A courtier too. Anticipating
harmonious relations after the conquest, perhaps?’

With a furtive squeeze of Aud’s hand, Baldwin stepped towards him. Recovering from the shock of Fulk’s arrival, he still had enough residue of confidence from his reprimand of
William Capra to be able to go on the offensive.

‘What are you doing here?’

Fulk glanced at Aud. ‘I might ask you the same question.’

Baldwin ignored it. ‘Your Flemings were on camp duty. I arranged it.’

Fulk smiled easily, adding another crease or two to the scar on his face. ‘My Flemings, maybe. But not myself. Captains of mercenaries do not perform menial tasks.’

‘They were William’s express orders – after your insolence to him.’

‘Yes,’ said Fulk. ‘I thought as much.’ He yawned elaborately. ‘However, I became bored watching my men humping logs, and rode out in search of interest.’ He
glanced about him. ‘I seem to have found it.’

Baldwin refused to be drawn.

‘How did you get here without being noticed?’

Fulk waved a hand towards the olive-skinned statue behind him. ‘My Matthew knows the ways of the hunter,’ he said with heavy irony.