An Endless Exile

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4The main hall at Folkingham, as befitted the home of so close a kinsman of the Count of Flanders, was a large, well-proportioned chamber, hung with rich, Flemish tapestries. The wood panels and beams, high tables and chairs and benches, were all decorated with wonderfully detailed, yet fantastically ugly animal carvings, and the high-backed chairs on the dais seemed to be studded with gold. Already, the high table had been set with fine plate and coloured glass beakers lying at every place. To me, it was a very alien mixture of luxury and grotesque barbarity; but I took a perverse pleasure in the knowledge that my mother would not approve of it. I would describe it vividly in my first letter. Tomorrow.

Now, for supper, the hall was laid out with lots of trestle tables and benches, and it seemed the entire floor was covered with people waiting to take their seats. I could no longer, with justice, accuse the company of dullness. My eyes were quite dazzled by the sea of brilliantly coloured silks and wools adorning the ladies. Much gold and silver winked in the fading sunlight that still peeped in the many windows.

I would not have been surprised to see the men sitting down to supper with swords and scramasaxes at their belts, shields and bows slung at their backs and spears propped against the tables. I hardly knew whether or not to be disappointed by their restraint. Some of the assembled noblemen certainly wore swords, but almost as decoration, and the hilts on display were all of fine wrought metal; some were even jewelled. Otherwise, the only weapons in evidence were the painted and bossed shields on the walls, much as you would expect.

No one could say our entrance upon this surprisingly glittering scene was not effective. I chose to stand for some time just inside the door, in the full glory of my violent red gown, ridiculously festooned with every item of clashing jewellery I could find; and Lucy, perforce, had to wait nervously with me, while heads turned in our direction, one after the other, more and more of them in rapid succession — including the lady Matilda’s, gratifyingly appalled before the smile managed to resurface. The babble of voices and cheerful laughter sank, paused in near silence for what seemed to be several seconds, and then rose again with renewed vigour.

The first voice I heard clearly came from a woman standing near me at the door. With a tinkling, very feminine little laugh it said to her companion, “Oh my dear, is that the bride? Well, what can one expect from the biggest swamp in Europe? Poor Robert! But what a charming couple they will make!”

I did not mind the opinion; it was the one I was seeking after all. It was the calculated malice behind it that threw me, so that although I turned my head boldly to look directly at her, I could think of no words. She was young, tall and graceful, slender and plump in all the right places, with bright, sparkling blue eyes that were used, I thought, to laughing, even if only at other people, and a charmingly full-lipped mouth. She wore amber silk, finely embroidered with green and gold leaves, and fastened with rather beautiful gold inlaid brooches. Necklaces of gold and pearls hung between her breasts. And though the veil of the matron was apparent, it hung loosely on her head to reveal the luxuriant chestnut locks beneath.

And at her side, surely, the husband: tall, dark, short-haired, good-looking. He had the grace to blush for his wife, whose smirk had become slightly fixed under my continuous stare.

Lucy whispered breathlessly, “The lady Edith. Ignore her. Her husband, Godric of Lincoln, is an important man, so the lady tolerates her. No more.”

Here she pulled me physically forward to greet with enthusiastic affection two people whom I took to be her parents — a still pretty but tired looking lady with a permanent frown, called Aediva; and Leofric, a tall, fierce man in the Saxon-Danish style, whom I thought not incapable of causing and maintaining that frown of his wife’s.

From old habit, I accepted Lucy’s introduction courteously enough. Then Aediva’s polite, “Let me present my son...” made me glance hastily at the figure beside her.

Not the golden youth from the roof, but a much younger lad, barely my own age, with hair as fair as Lucy’s — and his tongue protruding charmingly in the direction of his sister. Under my gaze, it vanished sharply, and the lips around it grinned.

“Alfred,” said Lucy with resignation, as if she had long ago accepted that she was not to be fortunate in brothers.

“Is Hereward here?” Alfred demanded by way of greeting. “Is it true he started a battle from the hall roof and split open Roger FitzGeoffrey’s head?”

Lucy cast a quick, nervous glance at her father, who muttered something under his breath and glared ferociously back at the heads that had turned sharply at the sound of his delinquent son’s name. Or perhaps at the injured man’s.

Alfred said impatiently, “Well? Did he roll Roger off the roof?”

Lucy hissed, “Alfred, be silent!”

I said helpfully, “I understand he flew off. Or perhaps he was the slitherer?” And Alfred let out a crack of delighted laughter. Aediva closed her eyes. Leofric muttered something enraged that sounded like, “White Christ!”

I was seated beside my betrothed at the high table. More surprisingly, on our hosts’ other side sat Lucy’s parents, clearly special and honoured friends. I was still digesting this when Robert sat down clumsily at my side.

“Did you win all the contests?” I enquired amiably. “Or just the archery?” In the pregnant silence, I at last spared him a glance. His weak eyes had narrowed, and there was a spark of irritation there that convinced me that this time his reply would be blistering. My breath caught.

And then, infuriatingly, the outer door burst open and someone erupted into the hall, and at once, by his very presence, caused a violent stir: the golden youth, Lucy’s brother, Hereward.

I had the feeling that this wretched boy would always draw attention to himself, even without such nefarious exploits as this afternoon’s. It was something in the powerful urgency of his step — like some unpredictable beast whose ferocity is only temporarily contained — combined with the careless pride of his tilted head. And the weird, irregular beauty, for that was there too. I had noticed no such thing this afternoon, but it was certainly glaring at me now, beneath the bruises and the half-scrubbed grime.

He had not even bothered to change his dress for the occasion. Only his slightly discoloured face and grazed, powerfully muscled bare arms appeared to have been anywhere near water, and he still wore the battered leather tunic, spattered with mud and blood and God knew what else.

Everyone looked, and everyone saw. And heard, for after a sudden upsurge in noise as he strode in, the chatter all dropped away to an expectant silence, into which we could hear his shoes thud across the floor, scattering rushes, and his sword and barbaric knives clank at his hip as he brushed past the tables. He could only have been sixteen years old.

Suddenly, Robert’s chair scraped back. I thought he rose involuntarily, appalled by the late and unwanted guest. But Hereward saw him immediately, and swung round in our direction.

It was only as I watched it vanish from his face that I realized he had been angry. Then he grinned, the same radiant, impudent grin I remembered from the roof.

In his own language, he called out, “Where is she then, Rob? Is she hideous? Does she squint like a bag of nails? Does she screech like a shrew with toothache?”

This time, the silence was definitely appalled — not least, I suspected, because there was more than a grain of truth in Hereward’s unflattering description. Only I was unperturbed, for the spite was not inspired by me but by whatever hidden anger was churning him up; I understood that perfectly.

Somewhere, somebody giggled. The lady Edith again? Robert’s hand lifted and floundered helplessly. The youth Hereward, coming to a halt before us, continued to gaze up at him innocently, the laughter slowly dying in his stormy eyes — strange, mismatched eyes, I could see now that he was close enough. One was a sharp, wintry blue, the other a definite, boiling grey; like two shades of the same violent sea.

An embarrassing scene beckoned. Deliberately, I stood up.

I said, “I believe I don’t squint. I do, however, have a facility for languages.”

The strange, intense eyes shifted quickly to me, and rested without blinking — or apology.

He said mildly, “Do you, by God?”

He had, I saw, very long, almost womanly lashes, darker than his hair and slightly incongruous in that hard, curiously asymmetrical young face. I had no way of telling if he recognized me from the afternoon.

Robert made an odd, strangled sound in his throat. On his other side, I could hear the lady Matilda furiously whispering.

Hereward, still examining me, said consideringly, “You’re very small.”

I blinked. “Yes? But then I am twelve years old. What is your excuse?”

His height, in fact, was neither tall nor short. I only picked it as a point of insult because he brought the subject up and I aimed to shock. I succeeded too, though not, it turned out, for quite the reasons I was imagining.

At my words, startlement leapt out of his brilliant face. His eyes sprang involuntarily to Robert’s, and he uttered, “Twelve?” in accents that left me in no doubt of his amazement, or of the fact that he expected Robert to share it.

And abruptly, all the tiny things fell into place. The shock of my arrival, which could hardly, after all, have been entirely unexpected; the fixed smiles of the lady Matilda; the elusive anger of her genial husband. They had been misled by my own desperate parents. They did not want me. They wanted someone who could be married now, to allow Robert, and therefore Gilbert, some real control in my father’s affairs now. The knowledge should have brought me hope; so why was it I just felt smaller and more isolated than ever?

The entire hall seemed oppressive, unnaturally dark with the sinking of the sun; and the grotesquely ugly wolves, or dragons, or whatever they were, carved into the beams above my head, and the walls on either side of me, seemed to take on expressions of extreme malevolence, as though closing in upon me for the kill. I could not imagine ever wanting anything as much as I wanted to be out of there...

I started violently as cool fingers touched my hand. They were Hereward’s, quickly and efficiently prising mine off the table. Only then did I realize I was gripping it so hard that my knuckles shone white.

And Hereward himself, vitality still blazing out of his wild eyes, was grinning at me with more amusement than anything else. I found, pathetically, that I was grateful to him.

“Lady,” he said, as he raised my hand and soundly kissed it. “Young lady — I salute you.”

Falling back into my seat, I took time to gather my breath and my wits, and what was left of my poor pride. And when I could take an interest again, I realized that Matilda was talking, lightly and easily; yet with morbid sensitivity, I sensed the nervousness behind it.

She was saying, “I have a most fitting punishment for you! I send you from my table, Hereward! You lose your place of honour as champion, and are banished forthwith to sit with — your brother! And that only on condition you greet your parents with proper respect and affection.”

Beside me, Robert muttered something under his breath.

Hereward’s eyes turned slowly, as though reluctantly, upon his mother, then quickly on to his father.

I leaned back in my chair in order to see better, but there was no visible emotion in the boy’s face, or in his voice as he said, “If my parents wish to receive it, then they have it.”

Perhaps if there had been the remotest trace of contrition or appeal, he might have got away with it, for the words themselves were not ungracious; but as it was, their coldly spoken tone acted as tinder on his father, who suddenly exploded.

“I am sick of receiving it, for it is worthless!”

“Leofric...” The word formed soundlessly on Aediva’s faded lips; but Hereward didn’t even flinch. He just shrugged.

“Then don’t,” he said carelessly, and turned away from them.

“You see?” said Leofric with contempt. “What is the point in continually forgiving him? He crowns every sin with another until this of yesterday!” His voice rose, like that of a priest pronouncing damnation. “Well, this time, I swear before you all, before God Himself, that I will accept him back now only on my conditions. Namely, his abject apology, the return of all he stole from me, and the surrender of his sword.”

There was a universal ripple, almost a gasp — of shock, or dismay, or just insatiable curiosity.

“What do you want with my sword?” Hereward said insolently into the still rising buzz of comment. “You already have everything else I own.”

“You own nothing!” Leofric flashed. “Nothing that is not given by me!”

“I do now,” said Hereward provokingly — referring no doubt to whatever it was he had stolen. I thought his father would burst. So did Gilbert, apparently, for our host said hastily, “Get to your place, Hereward. We are all hungry.”

Hereward shrugged and sauntered with deliberate impudence on his way.

“What,” I said curiously to Robert, “has he done?”

“Ask him,” said Robert shortly.

I stood up purposefully, and at once several eyes turned on me in surprise. The servants with the washing bowls paused, eyes flying to their mistress for guidance.

Robert’s hand jerked me back into my seat. “Be still, in God’s name,” he breathed.

“Then tell me.”

“I would need days to tell you all he has done!”

“I only want to know why his father won’t forgive him. He said he stole from him.”

Robert said reluctantly, “I suppose he did.” Quickly looking about him, he added low, “They have been quarrelling for years over Hereward’s behaviour. They say he provokes discontent among the lesser people, taking their sides against their lords, defending their every minuscule right. Which inevitably leads his parents into all sorts of fights with their noble neighbours. Periodically, Leofric gets fed up and throws him out.”

“Ah,” I said, pleased to have the mystery of the unchanged clothes solved at least.

“This time, “ Robert continued, getting impatiently to the point before the washing bowl came to him, “he threw out all Hereward’s friends and companions with him. Hereward had nothing with which to support them, so yesterday...” He paused and drew breath, then lowered his voice still further, so that I had to bow my head to hear him at all. “Yesterday he went and collected some of the tributes due to his father and distributed them among his own men.”

I felt my eyes widen. “An ingenious and amoral youth,” I observed.

“You know nothing,” said Robert contemptuously, submitting to the hand-washing ritual. Interestingly, Hereward’s confrontations seemed to have abolished Robert’s tolerance of me. I supposed hopefully that it was progress. Until we sat down I hadn’t even managed to elicit a mild retort from him. And supper was not over yet.

Poor Robert.