The Silver Falcon (54 page)

Marguerite could hardly wait to throw her arms around her milk-sister. How long was it since she and Godith had spent all their time together, climbing trees like the boys and playing tricks on Godith’s mother? Ten years must have passed, perhaps twelve, though to Marguerite it seemed an eternity.

Marguerite relaxed the reins and looked around. Hardly anything in the village had changed. She rode slowly past the bare winter gardens and thatched cottages. A crowd of people gathered
on the village green aroused her curiosity. She tried to see what was happening but could not discern why the villagers had gathered. When she heard shrill screams of pain she pulled the reins and dug her heels into her horse’s flanks.

A ring of horrified villagers surrounded two people. A man—Marguerite assumed it was the village reeve—was whipping a young woman. As each stroke came whistling down on the poor girl’s shredded smock, the onlookers screamed with terror.

“You see, all of you, this is what happens when you don’t respect Lord Roford’s wishes,” roared the reeve, lashing the whip again.

The villagers huddled together like frightened lambs. None of them seemed bold enough to hold back the reeve.

Marguerite clearly heard the man claim he was acting in the name of Lord Roford and gasped with rage. William would never have ordered such a punishment, no matter what the woman might be guilty of.

She slipped down from her horse and walked up to the reeve, a powerfully built man, standing with his back to her. The woman being whipped had fainted and fallen to the ground. As he raised his hand again to strike her, Marguerite snatched the whip so decisively that he spun around in shock. He looked ready to grab her by the throat, but she stood her ground.

By now, William and the steward had arrived, too. They dismounted and lined up behind Marguerite but did not intervene.

When the reeve realized who was standing before him, his manner changed abruptly. He became subservient, offering a few confused statements in his defense.

“How dare you beat this poor woman nigh to death in my husband’s name,” Marguerite shouted. “If she’s done something wrong, she should be brought before a judge or us. How many lashes has she had from you?”

He did not answer.

Marguerite asked again, more harshly, “How many?”

“He threatened her with twenty. She’s already had twelve. Please, my lady, she won’t survive more,” a worried-looking man answered instead. He glanced anxiously at the young woman, who was whimpering softly.

“You’re Ralph Redbeard, aren’t you?”

“You remember me, my lady?”

Marguerite smiled. “Your flaming-red beard gave you away. I was terrified of you when I was little.” The anger receded from her face. “Your daughter?”

“Yes, my lady. My youngest. I beg you, have mercy.”

“Take her home. I’ll come later to see to her.”

As Ralph Redbeard picked up his daughter, Marguerite looked at William. He gave her an encouraging smile and nodded his agreement. The crowd was perceptibly relieved, but there was still fear and anger in the air. They were probably all wondering whether the lady would let the reeve leave unpunished. Some of the villagers were looking at him with hate-filled eyes, and the ring around him grew tighter and tighter.

Shaking with terror, the man fell to his knees before Marguerite, looking first at her, then at William and the steward, then back to her again. But neither of the men stirred.

“You practically tore the cloth off that poor girl’s back with your blows. I’d love to punish you myself, but I’m only a weak woman, and we certainly want the job done properly,” she told him. She threw the whip to the surprised steward. “You must have known the kind of mischief the reeve was up to here. So you can punish him.”

“But, my lady. My lord,” cried the reeve, looking anxiously back and forth between the two of them. When he saw the furious spark in her eyes, he held his tongue.

The force of the first blow caught him by surprise. He cried out, arching his back. By the third blow he was whining like a dog and begging for mercy.

“Did she beg for mercy?” asked Marguerite.

The reeve nodded, terrified.

Marguerite said nothing, but she gave the steward a sign and he let fly again.

“That will do,” William told the steward after a dozen lashes. He went over to Marguerite and put his arm around her.

The reeve lay on the ground, whimpering.

Although she had not punished him herself, fat beads of sweat stood on Marguerite’s forehead.

The steward had not held back; one almost might have felt sorry for the reeve. But the expression of relief and satisfaction on the villagers’ faces showed he did not deserve compassion.

Marguerite stood up straight and showed no sign of weakness. Nonetheless, she was grateful that William was beside her. He had given her freedom when she needed it.

Now, however, he spoke firmly. “This man has been reeve in this village long enough,” he told the steward.

The men, women, and children looked alternately at their lord and lady, in fearful expectation.

“We’ll take him away with us. Bind him,” Marguerite ordered the steward. “I’d like to go and see the girl now.”

As they were leaving the green, a young woman ran up to them. “That was wonderful,” she said, her eyes shining. “Mother would have been so proud if she could have seen it. Welcome home, my lady.” She curtsied gracefully.

“Godith?”

The young woman nodded.

Marguerite threw her arms around her neck and kissed her cheek. “It’s so good to see you,” she exclaimed, taking a step back so that she could see her milk-sister better. “I’d heard you were the prettiest girl in the village. And it was no exaggeration. You have your mother’s eyes. How is she?”

“Mum left us a long time ago. Her last child cost her her life. She was too old to be a mother again. The child was bottom downward in her womb and got stuck. She was in terrible pain, but no one could help her. The Lord took them both.” Godith pushed her straight straw-blonde hair behind her ear and smiled, though it was obvious from her eyes that she missed her mother dreadfully. “Didn’t you want to go to Ralph’s house?”

Marguerite nodded, linked arms with her old friend, and led her away. “Do you remember how we used to tremble in front of him?”

Godith nodded, grinning. “He’s my father-in-law now.”

“You married one of his sons? Which one? Thomas? Or what was his name?”

“Matthew. Thomas is certainly the handsomer of the two, but Matthew is the more reliable. I didn’t realize it myself at first, but two weeks after his wedding, Thomas was already on the lookout for another sweetheart, making eyes at all the girls. My Matthew’s different. He’s a good man, loving and hardworking.”

Godith glanced at William and grinned inquisitively. “Our new lord is good-looking. Apparently you’ve not done badly yourself, my lady.”

“I love him more than anything.” Marguerite stopped for a moment, because the world was suddenly spinning around her.

“You’re going to give him a son soon,” said Godith, laughing softly. “In the autumn, when the leaves are dry and many-colored.”

“How do you…?”

“I just know. You feel sick in the morning, don’t you?”

“Only yesterday and this morning. That’s all.”

“I’ve had two children already. Thomas was born at Christmas two years ago, Marguerite last summer. If you’re lucky, you’ll feel better in a couple of weeks.”

“Your daughter’s name is Marguerite?”

Godith blushed slightly. “I’ve always envied your lovely name.”

“And I could never bear it,” Marguerite squeezed her arm. “I’m glad you’ve named your little one after me.”

Godith beamed. “We’re here.” She stopped in front of Redbeard’s house.

“I just want to look in on your sister-in-law for a bit.” Marguerite took both Godith’s hands in hers. “I’m delighted that things are going well for you. If you ever need help, you won’t hesitate to come to me, will you?”

“Thank you, my lady. It will do Roford good to have a lord and lady again. People prefer to work for people they know, rather than a king who’s far away. I hope to see you again soon.”

Marguerite stood there for a moment, thinking. She put her hand on her stomach and tried to listen to her insides. Was Godith right to say she was with child? How wonderful it would be to have a little son or daughter. But Godith was bound to be wrong. Her milk-sister was hardly older than she was; she wasn’t some wise old woman. How could she know? Marguerite shook her head. It was too soon to rejoice about a child, or even to tell William. Just as she was making up her mind to go into the house, William arrived.

“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously. He let her go ahead when she assured him she was fine.

The young woman was on her pallet, whimpering.

Marguerite went up to her, took her hand, and stroked it gently. “My husband should have a look at her wounds. He understands these things better than I do,” she explained to Redbeard’s wife, but the latter still looked at him suspiciously as he approached her daughter’s bed.

So this is how it feels to be feared because one is a nobleman, thought William as he looked at the young woman’s ravaged back.

His mother had never made any secret of the fact that she did not think much of the noblemen, though she did her very best to forge perfect swords for them. Most barons did not use their power for the people who depended on them; instead, they used it against them. Who could blame the young woman’s mother for not trusting William? She did not know him and had no way of knowing that he had been born a commoner like her.

The lash marks glistened blue on the young woman’s skin. Blood oozed from the open welts.

“I’ll send someone over later with a pot of herbal ointment. You can put some on the wounds so they heal better.”

During his time with Enid, William had perfected the blend for the ointment he used on his foot, and since then had maintained a regular supply. It burned a little on open wounds, but it helped marvelously.

Ralph Redbeard wrung his hands and turned to Marguerite. “He would have beaten her to death. You saved her life, my lady. I am indebted to you from the bottom of my heart.”

“What did your daughter do to earn this punishment?” asked William.

“Only what decency required her to do,” her father growled angrily.

“Decency?” Marguerite wanted to know more.

“Since his wife died, the reeve has been chasing everyone’s daughters. He’s got two girls of marriageable age with child already. Who knows how many married women are carrying his offspring and keeping it quiet?” His face was so red it almost matched his beard. “And if a girl resists, well, you’ve seen what happens.”

“You’re a big man, and you’re not the only one in the village. Why hasn’t anyone stood up to him?” Marguerite asked.

“The reeve has many relatives around here. Including the steward.”

“Does the steward harass all of you, too?” asked William. He had thought the man honest.

“No, he’s always been fair,” Redbeard assured him sincerely. “But his wife is the reeve’s sister. ‘Blood is thicker than water,’ he always said in that threatening way of his. There are nine brothers, all of them older than the steward’s wife. They’ve got her under their thumb, and they stick together come what may. Everyone here knows it. So we’ve all held our tongues and hoped that God would come to our aid one day soon.”

William nodded. “It’s over—I promise you. I suggest we go out to the others now. I’m sure they want to know what’s going to happen.”

Sure enough, when they emerged from the cottage, the villagers were standing in front of the church, whispering curiously.

“What man in the village is reliable, trustworthy, and conscientious?” William said in a thunderous voice so that everyone could hear him. “Who would make a good reeve?”

The villagers hesitated. They obviously did not dare to say what they thought. But one old man was brave enough to speak out.

“Redbeard is a good man. He is honorable and has his heart in the right place.”

The villagers nodded in agreement.

“Well, let’s try him out,” said William, turning to Ralph. “Report to the steward tomorrow and he’ll introduce you to your new position.”

“Does he have children to care for?” asked Marguerite, glancing at their prisoner, who was standing beside the steward with slumped shoulders and bound hands.

“A daughter, my lady. A good girl,” replied Ralph, looking worried. “She hasn’t had it easy since her mother died. What’s to become of her?”

“Bring her to me immediately,” answered Marguerite.

Redbeard looked at her in surprise, and the villagers whispered excitedly.

A shy little girl of about ten, looking shamefaced, was pushed hesitantly toward Marguerite. “Her name is Alice.”

“Until we’ve decided what to do with her father, I’ll take her with me,” declared Marguerite, before leaning down to the girl. “Fear not, Alice. Nothing will happen to you.”

The steward pulled her up onto his horse and they rode off.

Alice looked back at her father only once; he was firmly tied to a rope and had to run along behind them.