May 1067, Tutbury, Staffordshire
Johan found Alaric in the common room of High Tower. After the steep climb, he leaned against the timbered wall, short of breath, his leg aching as Alaric and two of his builders discussed the castle’s fortifications. Unarmed, wearing a faded wadmal tunic, Alaric looked as he had the night Malet had told them of William’s claim to the throne.
At the time, Johan never thought Alaric would have a castle of his own, much less that he would have built and garrisoned seven of the thirteen border castles erected during the last three months. Soon, Alaric and Dreux would survey the interior, establish garrisons at key inland towns, rivers, and crossroads. Before leaving, Alaric had turned his full attention to securing Tutbury—especially after the recent fire, which had consumed the first tower and inner palisade.
As Alaric leaned over the trestle table marking a section of defense walls on a cloth, Johan approached the table. He looked over the drawing and assumed the half-circle represented the main body of the castle grounds. A straight line ran north to south along the western edge, arrows indicated the steep slope which fell more than two-hundred feet to the marsh. At the southern corner of this line, a spiral represented the tower. Crosses showed the ditch, which would arc the edge of castle rock on three sides. Ovals marked where to deposit soil from the trench to build flats north and south and an earthwork ramparts for the palisades.
“Watchtowers and gates here, here, a barbican at the bottom of Castle Road,” Alaric said, placing charcoal x’s on the cloth. “Timber walls.” He added double lines and looked up at his builders, who nodded. He rolled up the map, handed it to one of the men. “Gilbert will answer your questions should they arise.”
“We must talk,” Johan said, glancing at the men leaving the chamber.
“Your journey was quick.” Alaric tossed his charcoal into the brazier. “Where is she?”
“Still in the valley. I left Gilbert to escort her.”
“So repulsive you could not stand another moment, I venture.”
“Let’s go up to the gallery,” Johan invited, although his leg would scream at the climb. Alaric frowned, and as if recognizing Johan’s sacrifice, nodded. He blew out the oil lamp, pitching the chamber into gloom.
They climbed from the hollow room and stepped out into bright afternoon sunlight. Alaric circled the walkway behind the parapet and spoke a few words to each man.
Through a notch built into the battlement, Johan looked at the approaching cavalcade and scanned the troops where Roderick prepared the men, regretting again that he would not join them. Alaric came over, leaned against the timber, and also gazed at the encampment.
Reunited with Alaric for less than a month, Johan had been too preoccupied with the trip from Hereford and recent events to ask him about his impending marriage. The moment he met the Countess de Fontenay, Johan wondered why rumor painted her as an ugly, ancient shrew with a pockmarked face, and why some claimed she was masculine or diabolically tempered.
About to tread on dangerous ground, Johan braced himself. He knew Alaric well. Usually calm and controlled, Alaric, when enraged, became violent and lashed out viciously. And Alaric was stubborn. Once he made his mind up, rarely could anyone change it.
Johan ran his fingers over slashes carved into the wood by bored soldiers. “We have been friends a long time, you and I,” he began carefully. “We are more than lord and vassal.”
Alaric turned toward Johan as if bemused by this solemn preface.
“I have fought at your back many times, even took a sword for you once,” Johan continued, seeing Alaric’s eyes spark at the reminder. “You have honored me with land and position. I will serve you as diligently as you serve the king. In your stead, I will manage your lands and honor your wife.”
“Honor my wife?”
“Yes,” Johan said. “As custom dictates.”
“Not if you serve me.” Alaric spoke the words slowly, deliberately.
“Then explain to me why I must not.” Johan shifted his weight from his bad leg.
“You need no explanation. You need only obey my orders,” Alaric said.
“Yes, my lord,” Johan said, teasingly, hoping to remind Alaric of their childhood friendship and that their formal allegiance and responsibilities were new to them both. Alaric stared at him, clearly unimpressed with his attempted humor.
Johan scratched his eyebrow with his thumbnail, giving himself time to arrange his thoughts. “I intend to obey you fully, my lord. But now I’ve met the countess—” Johan raised his hands to prevent Alaric from interrupting. “I must understand why you intend to subject her to Marguerite’s authority, to set her beneath we who are her inferiors.”
“One meeting,” Alaric said sardonically. He leaned back against the parapet, a condescending stance Johan recognized. “A few words passed between you. How long did you ride with her, Johan?” He glanced at the woman’s retinue. “An hour?” His voice hardened as he straightened from his relaxed pose. “And in all that time, you have come to know her well enough to champion her cause.” He shook his head. “She must be a witch to have turned your head so quickly. I wonder what spell the old hag used to influence you so.”
“She is not old,” Johan said. “She is gracious and comely. She—”
“Comely!” Alaric said. “Appearance has little to do with a pure heart, Johan, and is a great weapon for villainy—as you, of all men, must know.”
“That was four years ago.” Johan resented the reminder of his disastrous marriage, begun when he was nineteen. His black-haired, wild and vicious beauty, a Welshwoman, had stirred his lust. When she died within months of their wedding, he felt intense relief, not sorrow.
“A low blow to raise the flag of my folly,” Johan said. “But your attack will not divert my question. Why do you detest her?”
“It matters not if I detest her. Whether she’s beautiful, wrathful, foolish, proud, or deformed, it’s too late. We must wed.” He glared at the travelers. “We try out a horse, our clothes and armaments before we accept them. But a wife we take unseen, unmet, at the command of our overlords. This marriage exceeds anything previously within my grasp. I question the motives behind it.”
“You question a marriage that enriches you?” Johan asked incredulously.
Alaric looked through the notch. “I am not privy to my king’s intensions. But William is shrewd. This marriage has import to him. It ties me to the duchy and assures my loyalty.”
“He distrusts you?” Johan asked.
Alaric turned back to Johan. “One can never be sure, can one? Born in Ewyas, I am an outlander. William’s advisors believe English water taints my loyalty. They claim my allegiance remains with the English and that I would turn the king’s army and my local knowledge to aid Harold’s pups.”
“And when you marry the countess,” Johan said, “you accept Eustace’s wergeld, the blood price paid for the death of your family. The marriage forestalls a feud.”
“So it would appear,” Alaric said, giving Johan pause. “The king needs unity among his followers and obedience from his kin—despite my family’s death. Disregarding William’s ban against private wars would have challenged his authority, days after his coronation. William gave me a choice: death or marriage.”
Johan started.
A bitter smile twisted Alaric’s lips. “Nothing less than death would have made me take Eustace’s niece.”
“He paid far beyond the customary guerdon,” Johan said. “Her carts bring coins, gold plate, and jewels.”
“And every coin is an insult to my family, to my honor. By accepting her, I profit from their death. I pardon Eustace and dismiss his crime as a mishap—not the deliberate murder of his foes.”
“Her wealth will extract riches from this land and build Tutbury.”
“And provoke William’s enemies,” Alaric said. “Think, Johan!”
At a loss, Johan frowned and shook his head.
“Kingdoms throughout Christendom have suffered famines nearly every other year. But here, the last famine was long before our time. English grain will strengthen William. Normans hold Apulia and control Sicily. Under William, we belong to a Norman empire with markets extending now from York to the Middle Sea, from Gibraltar to Byzantium. We are despised. Even Rome seeks our military might. And William’s enemies will strike to cut him down.”
“Who would dare?” Johan said.
“King Philip. His dukes and counts, Brittany, Anjou, and Maine.” Alaric shook his head. “The countess is King Philip’s kin. Her wealth could support any challenger to William—here or in Normandie. And if Eustace ever plots against William, she will surely join her uncle.”
“Would he? Would she?” Johan asked.
“Would they not?” Alaric said. “A few months ago, William and Eustace quarreled bitterly, and Eustace left abruptly for Boulogne. What if Eustace turned against William? What if she stood with her uncle?”
“That would be treason,” Johan said.
“Yes. You and I, Roderick and Gilbert, would be caught in the middle of it by mere association.”
Johan studied Alaric, a nameless soldier less than a year ago, now raised by this marriage to the highest levels where power and intrigue ruled. “But—”
“—Suppose the king anticipates a future plot?” Alaric looked expectantly at Johan.
“Then, this marriage is meant to check Eustace,” Johan said.
Alaric smiled. “I think he gave me her wealth and borderlands to nullify such threats. If she were kept here, a hostage of sorts, guarded, isolated near the center of the kingdom, it would be impossible for Eustace to reach her or for her advance his cause. This castle could easily imprison anyone who displeases the crown.”
Johan nodded. He accepted Alaric’s suspicion of Eustace and the king’s possible motives, but that did not explain why Alaric vehemently despised the woman herself and why he intended a bleak existence for her. “It is completely possible she is innocent of all plots.”
“Not likely. Noblemen knowing her family and history claim she shares affinity with Eustace and is uniquely attuned to kingcraft. If she has only one sliver of Eustace’s character, she’s dangerous, and even if she were the most beautiful woman in the world, her charm would be deadly.”
“I don’t believe she schemes.”
“You might not, but Dreux,” Alaric said softly, “reported how she twisted the betrothal negotiations to her advantage.”
Johan cringed. Tension between Alaric and Dreux had been unbearable since Clare’s death. Johan followed Alaric’s gaze to the charred huts and remembered the rebel attack. No one was sure how the fire began, but everyone saw flames roaring swiftly through more than half of the cottages nestled at the foot of the scarp, up the wooded slope to the tower. And Johan remembered Alaric’s return from his foray, his discovery of Clare’s death, and Dreux in a stupor—soot-streaked, burns on his face and hands—delivering Alaric’s betrothal documents.
“Dreux,” Johan said, “may have wronged the countess in his anguish. Besides, she will be your wife for eternity.”
“We won’t be married long,” Alaric said, scratching his stubble.
Alarmed, Johan said, “Murdering her will betray God’s sacrament and condemn your soul!”
Alaric barked a bitter laugh. “Think you I won’t roast for all those I have killed for William’s cause? Papal banner or not, my soul will feed Lucifer’s fire. One more will not matter.”
“You need sons.”
“I will beget sons, but not on her. Although I will consummate this marriage, beyond the barest legal requirement, I shall have no wife.”
Johan recalled how the countess had greeted him, her warmth, and suddenly he was angry. “You must give her a chance! She’s—”
“Johan! The woman carries the blood of the man who murdered my family, who bragged about raping my mother. He even ridiculed her memory when he learned of her death. How could I ever let my sons bear the blood of such a man?”
Johan watched the throbbing along Alaric’s jaw. “You want to exact vengeance on her, whether innocent or guilty.”
“Ease your concern. I will not strangle her in the wedding bed.”
“And if you are wrong about her?” Johan said.
“If?” Alaric said. “I cannot stop this marriage. All I can do is use all the rights accorded me by law. It is my duty to thwart treason, even if only suspected. I am required by my oath to protect the king and his realm. No law prohibits me from prudently limiting the woman’s freedom, from revoking her authority to rule my home and vassals or restricting access to her wealth. Until we confirm she is innocent, subjugating her to the rule of my vassals and my mistress is a fitting compromise. And in the meantime, if Eustace plans to use her as his pawn, I will use her as mine.”
Before Johan could respond, Alaric spoke. “Enough! I am about to leave you with all my possessions, with the power to protect or destroy me. You can return to Hereford and administer my estates from there, without penalty. But if you stay here, at the seat of my tenancy and with the countess, you must be my agent and imprison her, have her beaten or shackled as I wish. Decide now. Do you serve me?”
“You doubt me?” Johan asked.
Alaric looked at Johan for a long, measured moment. “Yes. Once, you jeopardized an entire garrison by trusting a beautiful woman.”
Johan nodded and looked away from Alaric’s intense eyes. He could not deny the past. Upon meeting the countess, her smile, her sapphire eyes sparkling without guile had struck him nearly speechless. He would have been far less trusting if she looked like the village goose girl. Recalling the countess’s questions and observations, he realized she saw all with an intelligent eye. Beauty and intelligence were dangerous. With a sweet smile, a soft word, a flirtatious eye, she could extract information from obedient servants and careless, lonely soldiers.
Suppose she were adept at intrigue and subterfuge, he thought, recalling Brian Dubec’s mocking grin. Dubec, Eustace’s man. Suppose, like Dubec, she obeyed Eustace without question. Johan knew nothing about her, whether she would beat her servants, how long she would haggle over the price of onions, whether she would whine and complain, talk incessantly, or if she would drink the blood of her enemies.
“Don’t look so forlorn,” Alaric said. “Few men are immune to a comely face.”
Johan winced. Though not very courageous, he was his own man. “I grant you that I do not know what kind of woman she is. But neither do you. Until there is proof of her culpability, you will not harm her person—else you face my sword.”
Alaric grabbed Johan by his tunic and pulled him against his chest. “You betray your oath!”
“I swore fealty to you before witnesses and will do so again,” Johan babbled quickly to forestall Alaric’s fist. “I will do as you command, even if it displeases me. I will remain cautious and suspicious, alert for any schemes the countess may pursue, and if you wish to imprison her, I shall. But I will not be senselessly cruel to her, and until there is evidence she is the duplicitous woman you believe her to be, I will protect her against your violence.”
Alaric released Johan abruptly, nearly shoving him into the wall. “So easily she drove a wedge between us.” Alaric turned to look out at the distant horizon, and after a long silent moment, he said, “I’ve not seen you so spirited since you insisted we wait for Edo.” The memory broke the tension between them. He turned to Johan, “Know this: I hold you responsible for the countess—as Conan was held responsible for Clare.”
“Yes, my lord,” Conan’s misjudgment and quick execution were fresh reminders of one’s responsibility to his liege lord.
They walked around the ramparts and stood together, watching the countess’s traveling party, her banners fluttering in the light breeze.
“She wears blue and rides the white horse,” Johan said.
“I will send orders from the field,” Alaric said. “Greet her in my stead, Johan. No civilities. I have no desire to exchange pleasantries. The wedding is a mere formality accepting Eustace’s reparations. It will take place tomorrow night. If she objects to a night ceremony, proceed with the wedding immediately, you as my proxy.”