An Earthly Knight Page 2

  “Leave?” Galiene cried. “No, and why should they? The old king gave them so much, you can hardly find a scrap of land that pays no tribute to them now. That fine forest across the glen, haunted by the wee folk it may be, but it now belongs to Broomfield Abbey.” Galiene never used the word fairies if she could help it. She told Jenny it might make them angry.

  “Well, none of our folk will set foot in that wood, so what should it matter to us?”

  Galiene snorted but fell silent. It was true. The forest just across the glen stood unused while everyone went to more distant woodlands on this side of the river for firewood and timber.

  “Come into the bower now, honey,” Galiene said after a moment. “We have work to do.”

  Jenny followed Galiene into the family’s private quarters. Even in a noble household, every woman with time to spare helped make cloth. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, the loom came into focus. Taller than Jenny herself, it was braced against a stout roof beam near a window to catch the daylight. She sighed as she took up the shuttle. Jenny’s cloth was never as even as Isabel’s, but Isabel had not touched the loom for weeks.

  Galiene’s eyes were no longer fit for weaving, but she was so skilled at spinning she could work with scarcely a glance. She picked up her spindle whorl and a tuft of clean, carded wool. Jenny paused to watch the spindle twirl as the wool spun into a long, even thread of yarn in Galiene’s capable hands. The old nurse walked back and forth, plucking new wool from the basket without pause, without looking, while the spindle twirled. This was one of Jenny’s earliest memories, watching Galiene expertly tease raw wool into yarn. Jenny’s own yarn was full of lumps when it didn’t break. She turned to the loom and shot the shuttle between the warp threads, then lifted the hettle bar to change the warp. As she did, the round, grey river stones that weighted the warp threads clacked softly together near her feet, a comforting sound.

  “When can we expect Isabel to go to the sisters, then?” Galiene asked after they had worked some time in silence. Jenny had expected this question for weeks. The knights who wintered with them must have spread Isabel’s story everywhere, but it was seldom talked about within the household. It was not like Galiene to curb her curiosity for so long. This showed, as much as anything, how very serious Isabel’s troubles were.

  “Brother Turgis says she must first confess her sins.”

  Galiene was so shocked she sputtered. “What would she have to confess? Poor lamb. What she did to Bleddri was surely no sin.”

  “It was not. But she left my father’s hall taking all her tocher they could carry and two of his best horses. That was theft of my father’s property. Even Isabel was his to give. She must confess to taking what was not her own.”

  “That seems a small enough thing for her to do.”

  “Aye, Galiene. But she will not confess. I think there must be more.”

  The old nurse clucked. “At least enough time has passed now that we know she does not carry that monster’s child.”

  Jenny winced but said nothing. The same thought had troubled her for weeks. Even now that it was no longer a worry, it was too painful to consider. She quickly changed the subject.

  “Galiene, what do you know of the Lin family?”

  Galiene sounded happy to be asked. “All this land belonged to Lins since the beginning of time.” Jenny smiled into the loom. Galiene could leave no truth unadorned. “I first saw Andrew Lin when your mother was a wee lass. A group of young highborn lads chased a stag over your grandsire’s land. The hounds lost the scent, so they stopped for a few days to pass the time. As fine a lad as ever carried a falcon on his wrist was Andrew Lin. He married the Earl of Roxburg’s only daughter. They had just one son, and they died not a year later.”

  “How did they die?” Jenny asked. She was not surprised. More died young than lived to see old age.

  “Bad beef,” Galiene said. “Or bad ale. Whatever it was, it killed everyone at Carter Hall, excepting the bairn in his cradle and one stable lad who was being punished for stealing food and had only bread and water for his supper. He rode for help, but by the time help came, death had taken everyone. Only Tam Lin was alive.”

  Jenny pictured an entire household lying dead around one screaming baby. She shuddered. “What became of the stable lad?”

  “Oh, he is still about somewhere,” Galiene said in a tone of voice that Jenny knew well. It meant she should ask no further questions.

  But Jenny could not let the story go. “Galiene, why did you never tell me this before?”

  “Carter Hall will be yours one day, and what a picture is that for a bride to carry into her home? I never would have told you, but now Tam Lin is here. If he thinks of the place as his, you should know why.”

  “But it is my father’s to give me, is it not?” Galiene nodded. “The land is certainly your father’s, Jenny. But in Tam Lin’s eyes? That would be another matter.” She paused. “Strange stories are told about the lad by travellers who passed through Roxburg.”

  Jenny stopped working and turned to Galiene. “How do you mean?”

  “Something happened when he was a boy. Tam Lin went out hunting alone. His horse came back with no rider. They found his hawk, but not the lad. Not for days.”

  ‘“What happened to him?”

  “Well, the folk in Roxburg tell one tale, his household quite another,” Galiene said, and she fell into a satisfied silence.

  Jenny almost stamped her foot with impatience. “Then tell me both stories, for you know you have me hanging on your words now, Galiene.”

  Galiene chuckled. She loved to play out a story, like a cat with a mouse. “At Marchmont, the Earl of Roxburg’s bailey, they say Tam Lin fell from his horse and had the sense knocked out of him. He wandered the woods for days. When he was found, he knew no one, not even his own kin.”

  “How horrible.” Jenny felt an unexpected stab of sympathy for this young man who had somehow lost his entire family twice, forgetting for a moment that he might want Carter Hall.

  “Oh, the other story is worse,” Galiene said, her voice full of cheer. Jenny knew the old nurse was waiting to be begged. Instead, she gave Galiene a dark look that brought the story forward quickly. “The folk say the lad was taken. By them, you know.”

  “The wee folk?”

  “Aye, the very same. They say he stayed with them years, for time passes differently in their world. The folk say Tam Lin has never been the same, that he is with the wee folk still, even when he walks the world of men. They say other things too, things not fit for a maiden’s ears.” Galiene plucked another tuft of wool from the basket and clamped her mouth shut.

  Jenny turned back to her work. If she could feign complete lack of interest, Galiene might tell her more than she ought to hear. But Galiene’s silence held until Jenny knew the ploy would not work this time. The rumours about Tam Lin must be dark indeed. She made one last attempt to draw Galiene out.

  “How it is that you know so much about Tam Lin?”

  “I asked anyone who came from Roxburg way, my honey, ever since Carter Hall became your tocher. I always hoped to hear the lad was betrothed to someone far from here, to a lass with land. But then the strange stories started. Somehow I feared he might come this way.”

  Jenny shivered in spite of herself. Galiene’s unexplained “somehow”s were not to be ignored. “But how could he even feed himself here? Do you think he might fall in with the freebooters?” Jenny had only heard stories of the men who refused to accept the Normans as their lords and lived in the woods as outlaws.

  Galiene lowered her voice. “The freebooters would take him, if need be. Everyone remembers the Lin family. But you must say nothing of that to the others within this household, Jenny. Not even your sister.”

  Jenny nodded. She knew folk helped the freebooters when they could even though they pretended to be outraged by the young bandits. They would come to her father, begging recompense for the loss of a sheep that Jenny suspected had been free
ly given. Some of the freebooters were, after all, their own sons.

  Jenny was a good weaver only when she kept her mind to the task. Galiene’s stories had distracted her, and now she realized she had shot the weft too tightly, pulling the cloth in on either side. “Oh, look, Galiene, the selvedges are spoiled. Should I undo it?”

  Galiene came over to examine her work. “What are you making?”

  “A blanket for the new bondsman, the cripple from Rowanwald Abbey.”

  Galiene peered at the imperfect cloth on the loom. “Why are you wasting your time? There are plenty old blankets about, mended and clean, that will do for a beggar.”

  Jenny took up her shuttle again and sighed.

  “My father says, if the queen of England could wash and kiss the feet of lepers, I can weave a blanket for a cripple.”

  “Eleanor of Aquitaine wash and kiss the feet of lepers!”

  Jenny laughed. “Of course not. He was speaking of good Queen Maud, sister to our old King David, who was queen of England when my father was a boy. He told me she would care for lepers with her own hands as an act of charity. But he forgets that I know the end to the story, which he sometimes tells when he is in his cups.” She turned and gave Galiene a mischievous grin. “Queen Maud summoned her younger brother, David, so that he might learn by her example how to treat the poor, but he said, ‘Be careful, sister, where you put your lips, or the king may hesitate to kiss them.”

  Both women laughed.

  “Weaving a blanket is certainly nicer than kissing the feet of lepers.” Jenny dropped her voice in case anyone was passing outside. “But the almoner is too important a man to be bringing us a beggar. Brother Bertrand may hold Isabel’s fate in his hands, so we must be sure to please him. Did you not notice how much fuss went into the food for tonight’s meal?”

  Galiene nodded. “Aye, but I thought you were having trouble filling your sister’s shoes. You never had to act the lady of the house before.”

  “I do find it hard to take Isabel’s place, but I fear for her fate as well.” After a pause, Jenny smiled. “Besides, if the almoner is pleased, perhaps he will take pity on us and say the daily Mass tomorrow morning. Brother Turgis puts me to sleep.”

  Galiene shared her smile, then asked, “Has this lad always been a cripple?”

  “No. He was a stonemason’s apprentice. He worked at the abbey until a stone block crushed his foot last winter. The canons nursed him, but the foot did not heal.”

  “And he has no family?”

  Jenny shook her head. “They say he came from Tewkesbury with the master mason’s men when work on the chapterhouse began. He would not be able to travel so far now, crippled. I hear he has no family, in any case.”

  “Well, he could do worse than to find himself here. Your father’s table is generous and his hand is light. I heard a stranger earlier. Have they already arrived from the abbey?” Galiene asked.

  Jenny smiled. She had almost forgotten this one bit of good fortune. “No, that was a harper. From Galloway.”

  “Galloway? One of those baby-eating savages?”

  Jenny made a pass with her shuttle and tamped the cloth firmly with the wooden weaving sword. She smiled at the selvedge ends, which now looked even. The blanket would be flawed, but only a little.

  “Galiene, that man had better manners than most of my father’s men. Have you never noticed how folk always say the same bad things about anyone they fear?” Jenny burst out laughing as Galiene frowned.

  “How you will ever find a husband with that sharp tongue is beyond my ken,” the old nurse grumbled.

  Chapter Three

  While she finished the blanket and took it from the loom, Carter Hall stayed in the back of Jenny’s mind. Falling asleep at night, Jenny often thought about restoring the old stone ruin. She saw the men so vividly she could hear them grunt as they pulled the massive oak roof trusses into place. She could even smell the fresh heather thatch that would be tied over wattle frames to make her roof snug against the weather. Sometimes, she decorated the walls with hangings, and joined her unknown husband by the fire.

  Did she want the place now, knowing what tragedy had befallen the Lin family there? Jenny asked herself as she supervised the setting up of the trestle tables in the great hall. She did. Plenty of halls had seen bloodshed. Enemies invited to a banquet in the name of peace might suddenly prove murderous. Brothers had been known to turn against one another. What had happened to the Lins was different. Many had died, but no one had raised a hand against them. Now that she feared Tam Lin might lay claim to Carter Hall, Jenny wanted it more than ever.

  It was almost dark, late for the evening meal, when the party from Rowanwald finally arrived. Unlike the harper, they did not slip into the bailey unnoticed. The commotion they caused was enough to alert Jenny in the great hall, even though it was far from the bailey gate. She slipped from the hall and followed the crowd, curious to see the important visitor.

  Jenny approached just in time to see Brother Bertrand dismount from a magnificent black stallion. Even those in holy orders could not resist the Norman passion for horses. The priest was a tall, strongly built man with greying hair who looked as if he might have been a warrior as easily as a priest. He went directly to Brother Turgis, embracing his fellow canon in greeting. Although he tried to hide it, Brother Turgis shrank from this display of affection. Jenny smiled in spite of herself. Galiene was right. Brother Turgis had no love for anyone.

  Brother Bertrand had never been to Langknowes before. As almoner, he supervised all the charity dispensed to the poor within the abbey and in the town of Rowanwald as well, a huge responsibility. He looked around with undisguised curiosity and an open, generous smile. He stepped past Brother Turgis to greet Jenny’s father, clasping his arm with both hands.

  “Vicomte Avenel, you will be blessed for your charity.”

  Jenny could not hear her father’s reply, his back was to her, but Brother Bertrand said, “Thanks be to Heaven, the trip was without event. We did have to stop a few times. Brother Jean kindly gave us one of the abbey’s ponies for the boy, but the journey was painful for him nevertheless. Armand, help the boy down.” Brother Bertrand issued commands with the air of someone who had been giving them all his life. Jenny guessed he was, like her father, a younger son of an aristocratic household. Such men brought money and ambition to their offices, and the Church welcomed them.

  Jenny slipped quietly back into the hall just as the steward at the door sounded the assemblée on a hunting horn: three short blasts, one long, that echoed wildly over the glen. From their kennel on the other side of the bailey, the hounds responded with excited baying, for the same call was used to assemble hunters and their hounds before a hunt. Now, even those in the most remote buildings of the bailey would know the meal was ready, and Jenny’s father would bring the important guests to the great hall.

  Jenny was pleased to see the harper seated near the high table and ready to play. Her father must have arranged this. The timing of his arrival was excellent. The music would make her household seem elegant and well prepared. She smiled but only nodded as she passed him. For the next few hours, she must play the lady of the house, speaking to those of lower rank only to give commands.

  As her father brought Brother Bertrand into the hall, servants arrived with ewers of warm water, basins and towels. Since much of the food would be eaten with fingers, washing was no small detail.

  Jenny sat at the high table with her father and Brother Bertrand. Brother Turgis took his place awkwardly beside the almoner. As the first dishes were brought into the hall, Jenny felt a flutter of anxiety. She was responsible for the quality of everything on the table, and feeding Brother Bertrand was a delicate business. Someone of his rank would normally be served the best meats—venison, a pie filled with songbirds, at the very least some roasted chicken if the hunt had failed. But those in holy orders ate meat only when they were ill. Instead, they ate grains, pulses and greens, food that was cooked ev
ery day without care. At least cheese and eggs were allowed, so there was hope for a few fine dishes. Jenny had saved eggs for a week and had agonized in the kitchen, trying to draw a suitable menu out of Hawise’s limited repertoire.

  She tried to calm herself by taking a quick sip from the horn cup at her place and had to suppress a grimace. The cup contained a sour red wine, heavy with sediment. Of course, it would. Wine was the drink of France, the only suitable drink for such an occasion. But wine did not keep. Both money and luck were needed to find good wine this far from France, and her father rarely had enough of either.

  It was a joke among the Scots. Jenny had heard it all her life. The Normans favoured bad wine over good ale. Luckily, the folk said, they kept it all for themselves. Jenny, true to her mother’s people, favoured the good barley ale made in her father’s brew house for daily use. She silently wished for it now.

  After Brother Bertrand blessed the food, he turned to Jenny’s father. “Sir Philippe, I bring you greetings from your son. He sends his love and respect.”

  Both Jenny and her father leaned forward to hear the news. “How is my lad? I have had no word of him for months.”

  “He came to Rowanwald some weeks ago with a party from Lilliesleaf. He seems a great favourite in Sir Robert’s household.”

  The Vicomte smiled. “Everyone is found of Eudo. He was home last Christmastide. I hear he has earned his knight’s spurs now.” He sighed. “I wish we had news of him more often.”

  Jenny knew it pained her father to be separated from Eudo, but sons of nobility were always raised in the households of other noble families. Eudo had not lived at home since he was ten.

  It might be easier on her father if another family would send them a son to raise, but Jenny knew no one would. A household headed by a widower was simply too odd to be entrusted with a son. Only the wandering knights who were free of family control stopped here.