The Winter Mantle (45 page)

'But if she had said yes, you would have taken her to wife?'

'Yes, I would have done it,' he said, and, withdrawing from her, rolled over and drew her side to side against him. 'I doubt we would have made each other happy, but we would soon have arranged separate households.'

'And do I make you happy?' She played with a loose thread on the throat decoration of his tunic.

'Have I not just given you the proof of that?' he said and kissed her again.

It was an answer and it was an evasion. But she was afraid to push him, lest his pleasure in her was indeed no more than masculine lust for a nubile female body What she had was enough. It was greedy to seek more. But she had never been good at suppressing her appetite.

The next morning the ram had stopped and the work could go forward again on the new walls and castle of Northampton. Matilda rode out with Simon to observe the progress of the builders. Workmen's huts and shelters were clustered on the site and straw had been thrown down to absorb the worst of the slurry from yesterday's heavy rain. The sky was grey and there was a cutting wind from the north. Matilda blew on her fingers and watched Simon go among the men. He had a way with them, was swift to comprehend, and allowed neither his rank nor his disability to stand in his way - especially the latter. She winced as he began climbing the scaffolding with one of the masons. Small wonder that his leg required so much tending when he would not rest it. Indeed, he seemed determined to prove that he had more power of endurance than any man in his retinue.

What her father would have made of the Norman keep rising above Northampton town, or of the encircling walls, she did not know. In the ten years of her mother's widowhood, Northampton had grown as the presence of the dowager Countess and the frequent visits of her illustrious family-attracted traders. It had been much smaller when Matilda was a little girl and her father alive. Now the place warranted a castle. Simon said that the King had sanctioned its building because he did not feel secure on the throne and was ensuring that men loyal to him had every means of holding their lands. Castles were the Norman method of exerting control over each other and the English. They were here to stay, no matter the opposition to their building. At least, she thought, Simon had compensated the occupants of the twenty-three houses that had been pulled down to make space for the foundations of the keep. She had made sure of that by encouraging him when he had seemed in doubt. He had accepted the conscience-nudging with patience, the sexual bribery with enthusiasm and finally admitted with a grin that both were superfluous since he had been intending to compensate the people from the start.

Matilda spoke to her groom and he helped her to dismount. Holding her gown above the mud, she moved among the workmen at the foot of the scaffolding. One eye cocked to the antics of her daredevil husband, she joined the mason's wives who were standing around the warmth of a cooking fire. Broth and a pease pudding in a cloth were boiling in the same cauldron over the flames, and one of the women was frying griddle cakes. The savoury, smoky aroma made Matilda's stomach growl. Tentatively one of the women offered her a cake, and seemed both delighted and surprised when Matilda gratefully accepted.

At first Matilda was puzzled by the woman's attitude, but when she thought about it realised that until recently her mother had been the highest female authority here and would not have deigned to dismount from her horse, let alone join a group of artisans' wives at their domestic fire. Matilda, however, had an affinity for such gatherings. They gave her a sense of companionship, of belonging. All the affection she had ever received in her life had come from folk of lesser degree than her exalted mother and she instinctively gravitated towards them.

The griddlecake was smoking hot with a crisp brown outer crust and a tender white centre. Matilda did not think she had ever tasted anything so wonderful, lest it be the fried fat bacon and toasted wheaten bread that the gardeners shared with her on early summer mornings outside their hut.

'The changes come quickly, my lady,' ventured a woman whose husband was one of the trench diggers. She spoke in English but Matilda understood her well enough, for she had her father's ear for language and although her mother had disapproved of Matilda speaking the tongue she had recognised the usefulness of comprehension.

'Indeed they do,' Matilda said between mouthfuls.

'Your mother was a fair mistress, I'll give her that,' the woman said, holding her hands out to the warmth of the fire. 'Exacted every penny that was her due, but we always received justice.' She tilted her head to one side and studied Matilda out of rheumy eyes. 'But it was your father we loved, God rest his martyred soul.' She crossed her scrawny bosom. 'And since you are his daughter, we love you also.'

Matilda had crossed herself too at the mention of her father. Now she blinked to stem a sudden rush of tears. 'You are my people. I will do my best for you… and so will Lord Simon.'

The woman pursed her lips. 'He will do his best for himself,' she said boldly but without insolence. 'But a woman of English blood who can gentle him and who understands us is a boon. Some say as you are overly young to the task, but you have been well schooled, and you have learned to shoulder burdens early.'

'And what do the people say of my husband, other than that he will do his best for himself?' Matilda asked, a note of challenge in her voice. She was almost but not quite offended.

Her companion shrugged. Taking an iron poker leaning against the spit bar, she riddled it among the flames. 'That he is a Norman and one of the new king's supporters. That he is like a cat and that folk should not think that just because he treads softly he has the gentle ways of the old lord.'

Matilda thought that the assessment was probably right, although she was stung by the way the woman said 'Norman' as if the word alone was an insult. She drew herself up and dusted the griddle cake crumbs from her hands. 'My father loved Lord Simon as a son,' she said. 'He gave to him his own cloak on the eve before he died, and it is a sign of my husband's right to this earldom that he has brought it back to me. Lord Simon will make this place great and prosperous. The town walls will protect you all. More people will come and trade will flourish.'

The woman smiled and rested the poker back against the spit bar. 'Aye, my lady,' she said. 'I am sure that it is fitting. May you always look upon him the way that you do now.'

Was that a word of warning? Matilda narrowed her eyes, but the woman had lowered her gaze and would not meet Matilda's scrutiny.

There was a sudden flurry of curtseying among the other women. Turning, Matilda found Simon standing at the entrance to the shelter. His hands and clothes were muddy, stone dust smeared one cheek and his eyes were bright with relish.

'Well?' she said, holding out her arm so he could curve his around it and lead her out among the buildings. 'What will you have to report to the King?'

He looked smug. 'That this town will be the equal of York in size when it is done - which is fitting, since York bears tribute to your ancestors, does it not?'

'My grandfather Earl Siward is buried there,' Matilda said. 'Your white bear cloak was originally his.'

'Well then, I will lay another York at your feet.' He glanced at her sidelong. 'Why do you smile like that?'

Matilda walked carefully through the mire, trying not to slip while keeping the hem of her gown from trailing in the mud. 'Because I have never seen York to know what it would look like at my feet.'

Simon's gaze widened in astonishment. 'Never?'

She shook her head. 'Indeed, I have never seen any place larger than Huntingdon or Northampton. When I was a child, if my mother travelled to Winchester or London she would leave Jude and I with our nurse. This is our world.' A defensive note crept into her voice. She knew how strong Simon's desire was for new experiences and places. The only time he was still was immediately after making love. Even in sleep he was restless and as often as not would steal all the covers. Matilda, however, was as happy toiling in the tranquillity of her garden as she was going about grander business. 'You have been the companion of kings,' she murmured. 'You are accustomed to the large towns and grand palaces. I may be the daughter of an earl, but my life has been simpler '

'Mayhap so,' Simon said, 'but I would enjoy showing you different places.'

'And I would enjoy seeing them,' Matilda said, and felt a qualm of excitement and a larger surge of misgiving at the notion.

He smiled. 'Good, then you can attend the Christmas court at Westminster with me.'

'The court!' Matilda's voice became a squeak.

'Why not? It is true that the King is a bachelor and keeps other bachelors around him, but at Christmastide there will be barons present with wives and daughters. After all, you are the King's kin within the third degree. It is only fitting that you should be seen at court… and Jude too.' He gave her hand a squeeze. 'It is time you saw something of the world around you.'

'Well?' Simon grinned. 'What do you think to the royal palace of Westminster?'

Matilda's eyes were at full stretch and still she laboured to take everything in. They had arrived as a frosty winter dusk was falling over the city, whitening the buildings with a glitter of silver rime. The cold weather had gripped for several days, and the air burned as she drew it into her lungs.

'It is big,' she said inadequately, as she faced the many buildings that made up the precincts of palace and church. Here the Saxon King Edward was buried in the cathedral that had been his life's work. Here too were his royal apartments, now the domain of King William Rufus, blazing with torches to light the way of visitors and guests.

Simon grinned. 'Is that all you can say?'

She dug her elbow in his ribs. 'Does it have a garden?' she asked sweetly.

'I… umm…'

'You don't know,' she pounced, and her own lips curved at having jolted him out of his smugness.

'I was always too much occupied on my lord king's business,' he said loftily.

Matilda laughed and wagged her finger at him. 'In that case you might as well have been anywhere, and you have no advantage over me.'

Simon was spared from finding a suitable answer by the arrival of the grooms to attend to their horses and a steward to show them where to pitch the tents they had brought with them. The sward outside the King's hall was already a mass of coloured canvas, but a space had been reserved among the ranks that were closest to the hall.

As Simon's men set to work with canvas, rope and tent pegs, a fair-haired knight emerged from one of the erected tents. His genial expression was compounded by large hazel eyes and a wide, good-natured mouth.

He greeted Simon with a hefty slap on the back and an ear to ear smile. 'Well, my lord,' he said, 'is an English earldom to your taste?'

'Very much,' Simon replied and, drawing Matilda forward, introduced her to Ranulf de Tosny. 'A friend in arms and in wine cups,' he said ruefully.

'My lady.' The knight bowed to her, and Matilda encountered admiration and amusement in his eyes. 'Simon has ever managed to land on his feet. I had heard rumours of his marriage, but not that his wife was quite such a beauty.'

Matilda reddened. Until she had wed Simon compliments had seldom come her way, and when they had her mother had frowned on them, saying that vanity was not to be encouraged. She was still unaccustomed to dealing with praise and to seeing open appreciation in men's eyes. Her growing awareness of her feminine power was only matched by the fear that she was climbing too high too swiftly. Her husband said, 'Dare.' She obeyed him, and then was terrified to look down.

'And he did not tell me that he had such gallant friends to call upon,' she responded, finding the words from the uncertain depths of her new confidence.

Ranulf de Tosny laughed. 'Mayhap he does not want too many rivals,' he said. Then his gaze fell upon Jude, who was standing modestly at Matilda's side. And the focus of his attention changed.

'This is my younger sister, Jude,' Matilda murmured.

Jude dipped a curtsey and De Tosny bowed. 'You didn't tell me that your wife had a sister either,' he said softly to Simon.

'A good shepherd is always prudent when wolves are sniffing around.' Simon was smiling, but there was a warning note in his voice.

'Is that an insult?'

'Common sense when I remember some of our days and nights at court - or should I say some of your days and nights?' Simon retorted.

Ranulf snorted. 'Then you do not remember your own now that you stand on the other side of the stockade?' He winked at Matilda and Jude. 'I could tell you some tales.'

Simon cleared his throat. 'Tales would be all they would be,' he said, although Matilda was fascinated to see that his colour was high. Thinking of their marriage bed, knowing his penchant for exploration, she was certain that there was no smoke without fire.

Ranulf de Tosny fiddled with the handsome buckle of his belt. 'Tales are the language of the court,' he said. 'A whisper here, an insinuation there. Always in the background, no matter the loudness of what you hear on the surface.'

Simon raised an eyebrow. 'And what tales would be rife at the moment?'

De Tosny shrugged. 'I will leave the tellers to spin their stories themselves. Suffice to say that Bishop Odo is stalking the court and casting his web as he goes.'

'Ah,' Simon nodded as if that explained everything. 'The old spider is still at his tricks then?'

'More than ever. The old king was his brother, but that did not stop him from intriguing. Now he has nephews to manipulate, and he thinks them considerably more malleable than his iron fist of a brother.' De Tosny looked around. There was no one to hear, but still he drew in his horns. 'I will talk to you later once you have settled in.' He slapped Simon on the shoulder. 'I would not like your sheep to freeze. Lamb always tastes sweetest when it is warm.' He bowed again to the women, smiled incorrigibly for Jude's benefit, and, blowing on his hands, vanished into the deepening blue twilight.