CHAPTER NINE
‡
The Humanity Beneath
Two days later
Outside of Chipstead, 52 miles north of the battlefield
Ghislaine didn’t mind travel, for she was heartier than most women. She was used to traveling with men and suffering hardship of cold and weather and limited food, but traveling with over two thousand Norman soldiers and nine Norman knights was something of an experience for a woman who thought she was well-seasoned for such things.
Dressed in one of the cotes that Gaetan had given her and wearing a cloak that one of the men had loaned her, a heavy thing that wasn’t very clean but it was very warm, she rode a shaggy stout mare and was relegated to riding just behind the knights at the front of the column. There were soldiers behind her, mounted cavalry, foot soldiers behind them, and the provisions wagons bringing up the rear with a small contingent of soldiers to protect them from behind.
There was crisp organization to the movement and the structure of the army, something Ghislaine found quite fascinating. She’d been a warrior most of her life but the Normans had a different type of philosophy when it came to their troops than her people did. She would admit that her people weren’t nearly as organized in some aspects, nor as well-armed. The Normans seemed to bring everything with them – smithies, leatherworkers, quartermasters, cooks – everything to possibly keep an army of this size going.
Then, there were the knights themselves. That was where Ghislaine’s attention was most of the time, on the elite knights who served de Wolfe. Gaetan. That was where it all started; she’d spent two days watching the man from the rear, his proud posture as he rode his charcoal-colored beast and the way he commanded his men with such ease. There was something hugely impressive about it and she was coming accustomed to her fluttering heart when it came to Gaetan de Wolfe. The man did nothing but make her heart flutter.
She was finished being angry at herself for it. Now, she was actually coming to enjoy the sensation. It wasn’t as if Gaetan had given her any encouragement or even anything suggestive; far from it. Maybe that was the most attractive thing of all about him. He was a challenge in every sense of the word. And in her world, he was forbidden. Perhaps that was the most appealing thing of all.
An enemy knight who made her heart lurch.
But there were other knights around him, men who were clearly powerful and seasoned in their own right, men she’d been exposed to from the beginning of her association with Normans, but now she knew their names even though they didn’t have much to do with her. These were all friends of Kristoph, the man she’d come to know briefly, the man who had started her entire association with de Wolfe, and she knew their drive to rescue Kristoph was as strong as Gaetan’s was. She could see it in their eyes.
Casually, her gaze drifted over to her right. A knight named de Reyne was there, a big man with shaggy dark hair and eyes that were a murky shade of blue. He was somewhat quiet but when he did speak, it was loud and booming. Nothing he did was soft of volume. To her left was a knight named Aramis de Russe, a seriously frightening specimen of a knight. He simply had a look about him that suggested great pain and destruction to his enemies, so Ghislaine tried to stay clear of him. Even now, she was afraid to look at him.
Riding slightly behind her, back with the cavalry, were two more knights, Marc de Moray and Denis de Winter. De Moray was terrifying like de Russe was, with black eyes and an angular face, while de Winter had that same handsome look about him that Gaetan did and seemed a bit more friendly. At least he would dip his head politely at her when their eyes met.
The rest of the knights were somewhere back behind her with the rest of the army, men she’d only become acquainted with as far as their names were concerned – Luc de Lara, a titled knight as Count of Boucau. Kye St. Hèver was blonde and pale but perhaps one of the most muscular men she had ever seen. Then there was the Welsh mercenary, Wellesbourne, who was quite possibly as frightening as de Russe and, finally, Téo du Reims, the only knight other than Gaetan who had actually spoken to her. He was polite but distant, a handsome man with copper curls and dark eyes.
And there was Gaetan….
He’d hardly said anything more to her since that day in his tent where they’d battled to the death. Well, not exactly the death, but certainly to her submission. He kept himself at the head of the pack, away from his men for the most part, riding alone except for his big gray hound because that was the way he preferred it. His squires, and other squires, also rode near their masters and, every so often, Ghislaine would see a squire rushing up to de Wolfe, who would speak briefly to the lad before sending him back to his men or back to the rear of the convoy. Strict protocols were observed at all times.
Unfortunately, it made for a boring journey because there was very little conversation between the knights that she could overhear to amuse herself. The priest, Jathan, rode directly behind her but he did not strike up any conversations with her although he had smiled at her once or twice during the course of their journey, smiling at the woman who had put her food on his head and shoved a knife into his back.
Ghislaine would have liked to have spoken to him, at least, just to pass the time, but there were no such opportunities, so she spent the time gazing up at the sky, watching the birds, or the clouds, or the scenery in general. They were still south of London by several miles but they passed near a cluster of several small villages grouped together off to the east. Smoke from the villages hung in the sky in a brown layer, haze from a thousand cooking fires.
As they moved further north, the road narrowed and the foliage around them began to thicken and become more wild. Ghislaine knew this road since it went between Edwin’s holdings and London, and she knew the area slightly only because there was a great lord’s house not far ahead where Edwin had often stopped to rest during his travels. It was later in the day at this point and the clouds, which had stayed away since they began their journey two days ago, were threatening to return and dump their watery load on them. Ghislaine could see the clouds off to the east.
“My lady.” One of the squires was suddenly beside her, his young face flushed with urgency. “Sir Gaetan wishes to speak with you.”
A little surprised, and more than a little concerned, Ghislaine spurred her horse forward, pushing between de Russe and de Reyne as she went. Her animal had a rather bumpy gait as she bounced around on the fat horse until she reached Gaetan. Reining the beast to a walk, she looked at up Gaetan expectantly.
“You wished to speak with me?” she asked politely.
He was wearing a great helm with a band of metal that went down the length of his nose. He had on a mail hood so most of his face was covered with mail, but the eyes were exposed. He turned to look at her and, once again, she could feel her heart lurch. She was coming to expect that reaction to the man as of late.
“When we are in the presence of my men, you will address me as ‘my lord’,” he told her. “You seem to be rather relaxed on the respect you show those above you.”
Ghislaine blinked in surprise. She hadn’t expected a tongue lashing, nor did she like it. “If that is the case, then you will address me formally as well, my lord,” she said, unwilling to submit to the man’s pride. “I am the sister of two earls and the sister-in-law to a king. I do not believe I am beneath you in rank.”
Something flickered in those bronze eyes. He suddenly remembered that he had a suspicion of her true identity when they first met. He had a feeling that those suspicions were about to be confirmed. He decided quickly that he wouldn’t let on. “What king?” he asked, dubious.
It took Ghislaine a moment to realize that, in fact, she hadn’t told him anything about her relation to Harold. She had purposely not told him, but his ego-driven scolding had brought forth her tongue which, at times could be unrestrained. But she realized there was no point in trying to deny it. In fact, it was probably better if he did know so he didn’t go on thinking she was “beneath” him.
“My sister is married to Harold Godwinson,” she said, somewhat softer. “Was married to Harold. Now, she is his widow.”
Gaetan had a strange look on his face. “Your sister is Edith the Fair?”
Ghislaine nodded. “Aye,” she said. “She is my older sister.”
“How many sisters do you have?”
“One.”
Now his expression became suspicious. “Edith the Fair has a sister only known as The Beautiful Maid of Mercia,” he said. “At least, that is all I have ever heard about her. Pulchra ancilla Merciae, they called her.”
Ghislaine nodded, not at all impressed with the name. “I was given that moniker as a young girl, but people still use it,” she said, looking away. “It remains with me.”
Now it was Gaetan’s turn to be surprised. Even beneath the helm, Ghislaine could see his eyebrows lift from the shape of his eyes.
“Why did you not tell me any of this?” he asked, somewhat aghast. “I have heard of The Beautiful Maid of Mercia but I never heard a name associated with it.”
“I am curious as to why a Norman should hear of me.”
“Much as I know your language, it is wise to know one’s enemy, and that includes family members. We Normans are not so ignorant as you would like to think.”
“I never said you were. But you seem to know a lot about us.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Mayhap that is so, but I did not know enough to know that you were The Beautiful Maid of Mercia.”
Ghislaine wondered if he was on the edge of ridiculing her the way he said it or if he had already known her identity. “I am,” she said, then quickly added: “My lord.”
Gaetan stared at her a moment longer before finally shaking his head. “Now I can see why you have been given that name,” he said. “You have beauty that is beyond compare, but your manner of dress and behavior leaves something to be desired. You could command the finest husband in all of England if you would only brush your hair and dress like a woman should.”
It was a compliment and an insult at the same time. Ghislaine felt more than a little self-conscious. Reaching up a hand, she touched her hair as if to feel how messy it was; it was plaited into several braids that were gathered up at the base of her skull by a strip of leather. Her hair was very long, and somewhat thick, so she often braided it up tightly to keep it out of the way. But from the way Gaetan spoke, he made her feel as if she did nothing at all to make herself attractive, as a woman should. Not that she’d ever really cared… until now.
“I was married,” she said before she could stop herself. “I do not wish to be married again, so you need not be concerned over how I dress.”
Gaetan’s attention lingered on her. “What happened to your husband?”
She was feeling embarrassed at her outburst, even a little wounded. “I thought you knew everything about my family.”
“I did not know you had a husband. What became of him?”
She thought she heard some concern in his tone. Was it even possible that he would be concerned with such a thing? Even so, she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer him but she supposed it didn’t much matter. Hakon was gone and talking about him would not make the longing for him any less.
“He drowned,” she said simply. “But surely you did not call me up to the front to ask me personal questions. Did you have business to discuss with me?”
There was a rebuke in her statement. Snappish, even. Gaetan would have dismissed her immediately for such a thing but he didn’t and he truthfully had no idea why. Any snappish woman deserved to be sent away. But he’d sent for her because he wanted to discuss their surroundings and any potential allies or enemies up ahead, but now they were on the subject of her relationship to the dead Anglo-Saxon king and the fact that her husband was dead.
Gaetan wasn’t a man to get too close to people and especially not too close to someone he considered the enemy, but he couldn’t help his curiosity about Ghislaine. The Beautiful Maid of Mercia. He’d spend two days not talking to her, trying not to look at her or think about her, but he found that she lingered heavily on his mind no matter what he did. Even when he rode at point as he was, knowing she was back behind him, his thoughts lingered on the woman with the perfect buttocks. But it was more than his obsession with that body part; it was an interest in the woman herself.
It was foolish and he knew it.
It could even be deadly.
“I summoned you to discuss the area we are in and to ask what you know of it,” he said, reining in the curiosity of her that had gotten the better of him. He felt foolish for it. “We are east of London now and this is the Roman road you have indicated we follow. What can we expect from here on out?”
He was back to business, away from a personal conversation, and Ghislaine wasn’t sure how she felt about it. It was true that she essentially told him that her life, her past, was none of his affair, but the truth was that it felt rather good to have someone interested in her for once. Even if he thought she didn’t dress like a lady should, or even if he had made remarks she considered rude, there was still something about the man that didn’t make him completely boorish. She’d seen glimpses of the humanity beneath.
“This is the road that runs between Edwin’s holdings and London, so we have traveled it many a time,” she said. “Up ahead, there is a great lord known as Lord Boltolph and his domain is Westerham. He has a large home and a very large hall.”
Gaetan was interested in this lord. “Did he go to war with Harold?”
Ghislaine shook her head. “I did not see him there,” she said. “The last I heard, he went to fight in the north with Harold when the Danes were causing trouble, but I do not know if he has returned.”
The thought of sleeping in a home and not a tent or on a moving ship was appealing to Gaetan but he had over two thousand men with him and accommodating such a crowd by a generous lord would be difficult and expensive.
“Is he a powerful lord?” he asked.
Ghislaine nodded. “He has a great house that has tiled floors, left from the Romans, and there is a large village that he both supports and protects.”
“How many men does he have?”
“Five hundred, mayhap. I do not exactly know.”
Gaetan pondered that. It would be a good opportunity for him to try to make an alliance with a local lord, something that would benefit William in managing the land that would soon become his kingdom. He had come north for a reason, after all, and that was to help subdue the natives for William. He may as well start with a local lord.
“Then mayhap we shall call upon him,” Gaetan said. “Mayhap he shall accept my offering of peace if he will support William.”
Ghislaine cast him a long look. “And if he does not?”
Gaetan was looking at the road ahead. “Then I have two thousand men to raze his home, kill his people, and steal his wealth. It would be in his best interest to cooperate.”
It wasn’t a threat, simply a statement of fact. Ghislaine knew the Normans had come to conquer but, still, it was difficult to hear that conquest put into words. It was the scorched earth mentality she was coming to see.
“Then let me go ahead and tell him of your approach,” she said. “He knows me, as Edwin’s sister. Perhaps I can convince him to cooperate so you do not have to destroy the man. His daughter has always been very kind to me. I would hate to see her fall to your men.”
Gaetan looked at her, then, seeing the woman in the weakening light of the day and his thoughts began to wander again. She was wearing one of Adéle’s cotes, too baggy on her frame, but she looked markedly better than she had since he’d known her. At least she was out of that tunic and men’s hose she liked to favor. Her face was a little dirty but, on her, it looked rather charming.
He had to shake himself of those thoughts, however, and remind himself that she was the enemy. She had made an offer to contact a local lord, a Saxon nobleman, on behalf of the Normans but he didn’t entirely trust her. Men who were too trusting often ended up dead.
“I will send you with Jathan,” he finally said. “Convince this lord that being a pleasant host to me and my men will only be to his benefit.”
Ghislaine pondered his words. “He is a good man, my lord,” she said, deliberately addressing him formally because she wanted him to soften a bit. “In fact, he is known as Boltolph the Sane. He is known for his just and fair ways, so you need not threaten him. Show him a man of good will and I am sure he will react in kind.”
Gaetan wasn’t used to be questioned or lectured, which was what Ghislaine seemed to be doing. Part of him wanted to listen to her because she made sense but the other part of him was incensed. “Men of too much good will often end up dead,” he told her flatly. Turning to the nearest squire, he had the lad summon Jathan. As the boy went charging back into the column, Gaetan returned his focus to Ghislaine. “How far ahead is this lord’s home?”
Ghislaine could see that he wasn’t apt to take her advice. She sighed sharply. “Less than an hour ride, I think,” she said, looking at their surroundings. “We should start seeing the outskirts of the village shortly.”
“Then waste no time. Tell Boltolph the Sane that Harold Godwinson was killed three days ago and that William, Duke of Normandy, is now the king. Tell him that I come in peace but if he thinks to dispute me, I will burn everything he owns to the ground.”
Ghislaine resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Is that how you make peace? By threatening a man with death unless he submits?”
There was an unexpected twinkle of mirth in Gaetan’s eyes. “How else should I make peace?”
Ghislaine could see the mirth and it both confused and infuriated her. Was he making light of her concerns? “Not by threatening men with death and destruction,” she said. “Can you not simply be polite?”
“No.”
It was such a stubborn answer that, now, Ghislaine was in danger of grinning. She looked away before he saw it.
“I am not surprised,” she muttered.
“What did you say?”
She cleared her throat, noticing that Jathan was coming forward on his old hairy horse. “I said that you are wise,” she said, lifting her voice. “I shall do my best to convince Boltolph to give you and your men shelter for the night.”
That was the last thing Gaetan heard from her as she dug her heels into the side of the horse, spurring it down the road with the priest following. Camulos was, too, rushing after the pair as they tore off down the road.
Gaetan let the dog go, knowing the beast had developed something of a great affection for Ghislaine over the past couple of days.
Truth be told, he didn’t blame the dog in the least.