May 1067, Boulogne
Elise’s goods had been packed, carted down to the dock, and loaded onto three ships. Each ship had enough food and wine for the travelers and crews, including extra nuts, dried fruits and meats, and hard bread. The journey required more than one hundred people, including the principles, the men-at-arms, and the crews.
Elise and Marie knew they might not see each other for years—if ever again. The night before Elise left, they said their goodbyes alone, with tears and laughter, with reminiscence and silence, and finally with tight hugs and whispered vows never to forget each other. Elise gave Marie her best arm bracelet.
“You may need this,” Marie said, clutching her baptismal ring to her bosom.
“Keep it safe, and send it to me when you marry Roland.”
They laughed at their shared hope for Marie’s future.
The morning after May Day, Walter watched Elise and Hortense descend the stone steps for the last time. He and his father waited in the hall beside the fire. Elise dropped to an elegant curtsey before his father, a salute to his former rank. Arques, in a rare expression of grandeur, took her hand in his, held it silently, and bowed before leaving the room without a word.
Walter took her hands and smiled down at her, his eyes warm. “If there is ever anything I can do for you, Elise . . . ” He hesitated, embarrassed. He shook his head, knowing he could do nothing for her. He caught Dubec watching him intensely, ready to spear him with a final insult.
“Thank you,” she said and squeezed his hands. She hoped he would never discover the arrangements she’d made to help him. She had intended to give him a small estate or an innocuous position among her garrisons. Hortense reminded her that she could not support someone Duke William had disinherited, for doing so would violate her own duty to her lord. Instead, at Christmas next, Walter would receive an anonymous packet she’d left for him. The coins and a patent would allow him to travel and help him find a place somewhere. “Watch over Marie until she weds?”
“Indeed I shall,” he smiled broadly, glancing at Roland talking to one of his soldiers in the courtyard. “Good journey, Elise, and to you, Brian.” He released her hands, dipping his head to them both. Ignoring Dubec’s speculative eyes, Walter grabbed Hortense around the waist, lifted, and whirled her about. She demanded to be set down as all laughed.
“Behave yourself, Walter!” she hissed, slapping his arm.
“You, too!” he teased, kissing her on the cheek.
As Elise rode out of the bailey and beyond the castle gates, Walter watched with a despair he’d never felt before. He balled one fist into his other hand and cracked his knuckles. The future stretched ahead of him dark, dismal . . . empty.
The very mention of your name sends roses to her cheeks,” Elise said, glancing at Tristan sideways from her horse as they entered Boulogne.
His startled eyes pinned her.
She nodded. “Lesceline is waiting for you to pledge for her.”
“Shush! Elise,” Hortense scolded. “You’ve no privilege to speak so, even if it’s true.”
“He’s shy,” Giles chuckled. He won a scathing glance from Tristan.
“The fair Lesceline,” Yves teased, “the most beautiful woman in Rennes, pines away for this simpleton. Still, he says nothing! And worse, he does nothing.”
“You did not ask for Emmaline,” growled Tristan, turning on Yves.
“Think you not?” Yves challenged.
“Well, well,” Giles said. He sniffed at his Lady Anne’s scarf just enough for Tristan to see it. Tristan’s brow furrowed, and they laughed.
Ahead of them, Roland and Brian led the way through the crowded streets to the docks. Elise neared the piers with growing excitement. Dozens of large open boats sat ashore on timber rollers ready to be hauled into the water. Hundreds of sailing vessels bobbed and rolled, waiting for a favorable wind. She looked out at the sea beyond and saw colorful sails coming into the port. Further out, other ships lay at anchor in the broad mouth of the river. At the dock, ships were being loaded and unloaded. Men, bent from huge bundles on their backs, trailed like ants crisscrossing through and among carts. Seamen shouted, and priests moved up and down the piers offering prayers and blessings for the journey. Roland pointed out their ships lashed together at one end of the pier. None was fitted for oars, and all would rely solely on the wind.
She and Hortense boarded their ship and placed their personal bags beneath a canopy sheltering their pallet and personal items. Afterward, they leaned against the bulwarks and watched the activity on the dock. Elise spotted a partially built ship across the wharf. The ribs had been hewn from timbers and its skeletal frame tilted at an odd angle upon wooden blocking. A shipwright wielded an adze over a long, squared timber of pine. As she watched, he hacked away at this log with such speed wood chips seemed to fly about like brown moths fluttering around his head. A group of ragged little children tried to collect the chips, for kindling, no doubt. They scattered and swirled like autumn leaves around a tree when the shipwright chased them away.
Again, the shipwright bent over his timber and swung his adze. Before her very eyes, he drew out a perfectly round, smooth tapered pole—a mast. He ran his hands over the wood and chipped another piece away. Finally, he bent down and, closing one eye, he sighted down the pole, turning it ever so slightly, and chipping a little here and a little there until he was satisfied. He called to another worker. Together, each took one end of the mast, hoisted it up onto their shoulders and walked it through their building yard. Her gaze traveled over the stockpile of uncut logs, some nearly the diameter of a man with outstretched arms.
She recalled asking Brian about the number and size of the ships built for William’s invasion. Now she thought about those six hundred vessels, and, with her abacus packed away, she made a rough mental calculation. Ten thousand trees, she thought, aghast, understanding for the first time, why the monks decried the patches of decimated forests in the Brotonne.
A shout from Roland grabbed her attention. Suddenly, the entire dock erupted in a charged frenzy. Elise looked at the rippling pennons. Hortense noticed the shifting wind. Brian ran across the deck, jumping over bundles and skirting barrels and down the plank to join Roland on the beach, which suddenly seemed more crowded as word of the wind spread.
Hortense bumped up against Elise and began chattering: “My, these ships heave in the water. Look! The little ones are already heading toward the channel. Roland must be excited. Look, a blue sail! Oh, the sun feels good against this wind. Cover your face, Elise. My, that is a huge sailing ship! Oh . . . this ship is certainly rocking! Are you sure we brought everything, Elise?”
Soon the priest arrived to bless the ship and travelers. After a final flourish of holy water sprayed over bowed heads, the passengers and crew crossed themselves and rose. The priest ran down the plank, his robes a flurry as he rushed to the next ship. The crew pulled up the plank, cast off the ropes, and poled the vessel from its mooring. Square sails began to rise, flapping and snapping, as pulleys squealed and gulls squawked overhead. Slowly, the ship drifted with the tide away from the pier toward the river mouth. Elise and her companions watched the large, rust-colored sail fill and billow.
“How long will the crossing take?” Hortense asked Tristan, her voice unsteady as she clutched the rail.
“It depends on the wind,” he said.
“Days? Weeks!” Hortense quivered, paling.
Seeing her expression, he quickly reminded her that William had made the crossing in one night, and their crossing would be quick if the wind held.
“I’ll go to our quarters, Elise. No, no need to follow me,” she said, waving her hand. She wobbled along the planks and might have fallen if Giles had not grabbed her arm and escorted her to their shelter. Hortense stopped there, turned, and fluttered her hand weakly just before dipping down under the awning flaps and easing herself onto the straw pallet.
Elise smiled to herself and pulled her thick cloak tighter against the cool breeze, colder now they were moving. She watched their ship quickly slip down the mouth of the river and to the sea. Within a short time, they felt the first surge of the Narrow Sea.
A couple of hours later, Elise shielded her eyes from the sun and looked back toward the port. She offered a silent prayer for Marie, and let her gaze drift to her companions. It pleased her to see Roland and Dubec’s men working in small groups together without the usual tension among soldiers eager to prove their manly strengths. Instead, they tended their armor, sharpened their swords, teased the crew, or traded jokes. Well, she thought, their journey is young. Plenty of time for boasts, taunts, contests, and bitter rivalries to emerge.
Turning away, she squinted at the sunlight reflecting off the water and peered into the gilded distance toward her new life.