The Shattered Rose (15 page)

Beginning to shiver, he wondered what would have happened if hell caught Jehanne in that mad rage. Would he have attacked her with the same mindless violence? Snatched the babe from her arms to spit it on his sword?

Now it seemed unthinkable, but now it seemed unthinkable that he had slaughtered someone he could have taken prisoner. It was even more unthinkable that he had decapitated a corpse and clung to the head as a trophy.

Raoul passed Galeran a wineskin. "I assume that wasn't Raymond of Lowick."

"God, no." Galeran rinsed out his mouth, then drank deeply. ""You'll know Raymond when you see him. He's tall as you, with golden hair and a noble demeanor. The sort women go silly over." He leaned against a tree, still shivering as if it were January.

"Then it would have been convenient to question the wretch."

"What point? It was clearly Lowick's plan."

And Jehanne's? Galeran's quivering mind was asking.

Had she led him into this trap? He could feel frantic sweat trickling cold down his back.

"A witness, at least, if it comes to law."

Galeran looked around at his men, who were beating back the dogs and pretending nothing much had happened. "We have witnesses if we need them. The man was abroad with two crossbows. What other purpose than to kill?"

Raoul looked down for a moment. "Perhaps he was just guarding your lady's back?"

"With two crossbows? He couldn't hold back a troop. At the very least, an ordinary bow would be better because he could fire more arrows. The crossbow is a murder weapon, as all know, and the only effective one against a mailed man." Galeran pushed away from the tree, passing the wineskin to a man. "Bogo, Godfrey, dig a grave and put that in it."

Then he walked back toward the road.

Raoul walked with him. "What are you going to do now?" he asked in a carefully neutral tone.

Galeran flashed him a look. "Don't worry. The blood lust has left me. I'm just curious to see whether anyone comes back to count corpses."

"Then you can have your sword back."

Galeran took it and cleaned it on some leaves before sheathing it.

"So you think it was a trap?" Raoul asked.

"The bait was attractive, and he was waiting."

"I don't think your lady—"

"Don't speak of it."

Galeran couldn't bear to hear his thoughts on another's lips, even to deny them. If it wasn't spoken, it would have less power.

As they halted at the edge of the trees to study the deserted road, birds began to sing again. After a while a rabbit cautiously hopped across the road. One of the dogs whined hopefully, but Galeran stayed it with a hand signal.

"Well?" asked Raoul sometime later. "The sun is starting to set. Are we to stay here all night?"

Galeran sighed, accepting that staying there was pointless. He was just reluctant to progress to the obvious step. "Of course not. We ride on to Burstock and visit my wife's uncle."

Galeran took Bogo's horse, sending the man back to Heywood, but under orders not to speak of this event. Then he led his troop along the road in the fading light. Recent rains had turned the dirt soft enough to hold hoofprints, so it was clear Jehanne's party had not stopped or turned off.

Could it just be an innocent trip to visit relatives? Galeran would like to believe it, but Jehanne's party had been traveling in haste, and had speeded when pursued. Moreover, he had left clear instructions that his wife was to stay in the castle.

And, of course, there was the bowman.

He didn't want to think about that bowman.

Night settled and the moon was clouded, so they slowed to a walk as they crossed the moors. Galeran heard the nearby convent bell sounding lauds as they came in sight of Burstock.

Burstock Castle was a simpler structure than Brome or Heywood, developed twenty years earlier around an old manor house that sat near a river. A motte had been thrown up behind the house, but it was still crowned only by a simple wooden watchtower. The family lived in the comfortable wood manor house within the palisade.

At this time of night, of course, the gates were firmly closed.

"Will they let us in?" Raoul asked when they drew up some distance away.

His friend's patience was beginning to wear on Galeran's nerves. "Probably, but I think we'll camp here for the night"

"Why?"

"I want to see what happens in the morning."

"We've no food and precious little wine."

"Pretend it's Lent. No fires."

The men weren't happy with the situation, but there were no complaints, which wasn't surprising after Galeran's berserker rage. They must wonder when next that kind of violence would erupt, and who would be on the receiving end.

Galeran wondered too.

He took care of his horse, cooling it, then leading it back a short distance to a stream to drink. He unsaddled it and hobbled it so it could graze on the low moorland growth. He drank some water himself, and washed the blood off his hands and face. There was gore all over his mail and braies, but there wasn't much he could do about that.

He spotted some brambles and pointed out the fruit to his men so they could gather some if they wished. Then he allocated watch hours to each man, with special instructions to wake him if anyone entered or left Burstock.

Having run out of things to do, he rolled up in his cloak.

He could sleep this way if he had to, but doubted he would sleep tonight. He could have kept watch all night, but feared his mind would wander. And anyway, he didn't want to have to talk to Raoul.

One question tormented him: Was Lowick in Burstock, awaiting his leman? Were they even now in a bed, pumping together hot and sweatily, and lamenting that Jehanne had needed to whore with her husband to deflect his suspicions?

His whole body burned again with that desire to kill. He desperately forced himself into calm, seeking more palatable explanations.

He could not think of a one.

Jehanne could have no good reason to leave the safety of her home, where she had been commanded to stay.

Perhaps she knew about the bowman, knew he had been tracking Galeran for days, waiting for an opportunity to kill him and still escape to claim the reward. If Jehanne had been waiting for news of her husband's death, then news of his safe return could have thrown her into a panic, causing her to flee to the nearest refuge.

Though the explanation had a certain plausibility, it didn't sit right in his mind. It didn't fit with what he knew of his wife, and it left Jehanne's warning letter unexplained Of course that could have been a skillful attempt to deflect suspicion.

Hell's flames, nothing made sense anymore!

Galeran wasn't sure he would recognize sense these days if it snarled in his face.

A few days ago he would have sworn that Jehanne was the same honorable woman he had always known, that her sin had somehow been an aberration. Now he couldn't help but wonder if he'd been duped by hopes and lust.

He went over and over her behavior, from the moment he'd found her waiting for him in the hall to when she'd left him alone with a broken bed. He sought truth, he sought understanding. He found only confusion.

Eventually he did sleep, to be woken by the dawn chorus poorly rested and chilled by the dew. Spots of rust were already mixed with the dried blood on his second-best mail. Cuthbert would have yet more reason to complain.

He stood and stretched, then went to study Burstock, determined to have done with foolishness.

As soon as he decided what foolishness was.

Lars, the guard on watch, shook his head to indicate nothing had happened yet. But cocks were crowing, and somewhere inside the walls a dog barked. As the sun turned the sky pink and gold, people straggled up the road to the castle from the nearby village, and the great gates swung open to let others out. Two came out on horseback.

Galeran tensed and studied them, but didn't think they were men of his.

They certainly weren't Jehanne and Lowick riding south.

The sun rose higher, and in fields down by the river work began. Raoul had come to stand beside Galeran, and his stomach growled. Doubtless all their stomachs were complaining. There was no point in staying here until they all starved to death.

"Very well," Galeran said, "let's go down and see what the story is."

They saddled the horses and headed back aways to rejoin the road out of sight of the castle. Then they rode up to the gates, banner unfurled.

Believing that Jehanne had taken refuge there, Galeran expected to be stopped, but the guards at the gate just raised their spears in acknowledgment and waved them through. Too late, Galeran wondered if this was another trap, but in a world turned crazy, he'd still be ready to swear that Jehanne's uncle Hubert was incapable of base deceit.

He looked around cautiously, however, trying to sense betrayal. All he saw was the ordinary bustle of a peacetime castle.

The bailey here contained the old manor house as well as the usual shelters for animals and workshops for the craftsmen. In fact, it was more like a small village than a castle compound. People chatted as they passed, children played among strutting poultry, women pummeled wash in big tubs.

Stable grooms ran forward to take the horses even as Hubert of Burstock came forward to welcome them. Aline's father was a short, compact man of great strength and shrewdness known far and wide for his bluff honesty.

With dangerous suddenness, Galeran relaxed. How could he ever have thought Hubert would be party to a meeting of illicit lovers? If the women had convinced him Jehanne was in danger of her life, he would take them in. But Hubert did not look wary so much as worried.

"A bad business, Galeran," he said with a frown.

That was certainly true. But to what business did Hubert refer?

"Is Jehanne all right?" Galeran asked, thinking it was the most noncommittal question that made sense.

""Yes, yes. Upset, of course, but unharmed. Come along in. Have you broken your fast?"

"No."

"Then you must eat! Come along." And Hubert shepherded them all toward the wide doors of the thatched manor house with no hint that he thought ill of Galeran. It was all very strange.

When Galeran walked into the long, beamed hall, supported along the sides by huge wooden posts, he immediately searched out his wife, but she was not to be seen.

Had Hubert lied to him?

But Hubert of Burstock never lied. Then it occurred to him that Hubert had not actually said that Jehanne was here.

Since he wasn't ready to search the place by force, and was almost faint with hunger, Galeran allowed himself to be steered into a seat at the long, fixed table, and plied with bread, meat, and ale.

Hubert sat by him. "What action are you planning?" he asked quietly, toying with a pot of ale of his own. "It's a delicate situation."

Galeran concentrated on a sausage. "True enough. What would you advise?"

"It might be no bad thing to be rid of the babe."

"Do you say so?" Galeran flashed the man a puzzled look. Was he recommending murder?

"The brat would doubtless be well enough cared for, and once you fill Jehanne again, she'll soon forget it."

"I'm not so sure of that."

A grimace told him Hubert agreed. "If it stings her, she deserves it! After her sin, what right has she to put her own concerns before those of the rest of us?"

Us? Galeran queried silently. This conversation wasn't making sense, but he was reluctant to confess as much just yet. But how could Hubert be jeopardized unless he thought he might have to go to war with Galeran over Jehanne?

"And," said Hubert, "once Jehanne bears another child, preferably a son, any claim this one might have to Heywood would be greatly weakened."

"That's true. But I have plenty of evidence that getting sons and having them survive is not always easy."

Hubert waved a hand. "That's in the past! Sometimes a woman needs loosening up for it to work right. And perhaps Jehanne's learned her lesson and will act more the gentle woman. That'll help the babes stick."

Galeran couldn't resist saying, "Gentle, like galloping over here as if the hounds of hell were after her?"

Hubert gave a sharp crack of laughter. "True enough. But it was the only thing to do, if you ask me, despite the affront to the Church."

"It's hardly a sin for a woman to ride at a gallop." Galeran wondered whether his earlier blood madness was with him still. This conversation was making no sense.

"Some might disagree with you there, Galeran. But," Hubert added testily, "you know what I mean. Flambard's not going to like Jehanne having carried Donata away. And he'll doubtless not be pleased that I've given them both shelter here. I don’t like being at odds with the Church."

It was like a key turning in a lock. Galeran put down the remains of the sausage. "The Bishop of Durham wants Donata?"

"Aye. You know that, surely? Though how the idiots expected to care for her without women or wet nurse—"

"Galeran?" Jehanne burst out of one of the private rooms along the back of the hall. "Oh, praise heaven! What have you done about
it?
”

Galeran rose to take her hands, grateful not to meet her with dark suspicions on his mind. "Nothing," he said. "I came straight here."

"Why?"

It was an excellent question. With his wife and her child safely elsewhere, he should have stayed behind to deal with the importunate churchmen. If, that is, he'd had any notion of what was going on.

"We had best talk privately."

Hubert waved his permission, and Jehanne led Galeran back into the room. It was small, but had a large window onto the castle herb garden, letting in morning sunshine and sweet aromas.

Aline was there, holding Donata. She immediately rose to leave, but Galeran stopped her. "Give the babe to me."

She stared at him from under her severe brows, making no move to obey.

Jehanne said, "Do it, Aline."

Aline passed over the child, along with a warning scowl, and left the room.

Galeran looked down at big dark blue eyes, long but pale lashes, and a sucking blister on the upper lip. "Aline fears me."