In the first week of September, Johan summoned Elise.
“God’s blessings, Johan. Brother Derrick,” she said, entering her husband’s longhouse, used by Johan in Marguerite’s absence.
Johan stood behind a table, and beside him, Brother Derrick held a small scroll in his hand, looking very young and very uncomfortable. She had never been in her husband’s quarters and made a quick note of the scattered documents, charters and writs, strewn across Johan’s table.
“My lady,” Johan said. “You have received a letter from abroad.”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise and looked from Derrick to Johan’s puzzling gaze.
“Is something amiss?” she whispered, suddenly frightened that the letter held dire news. Marie! she thought. “May I see the letter?” She held out her hand.
“I’m sorry, my lady. I cannot give it to you, but Brother Derrick will read it.” He motioned to the monk.
Annoyed and anxious, she looked at the monk.
“It is from Brittany,” Brother Derrick said. “My Dearest Sister. Roland and I married as our blessed Lord willed on the Feast of St. Christopher, July 25th. We reside in Rennes. Roland’s vassals have sworn the customary oaths of fealty and obedience to me, his countess.”
Elise clasped her hands together. Closing her eyes, she shielded the joyful tears welling behind her lids. Marie is safe! She is loved! She is free from Eustace and Arques! When she opened her eyes again, she saw Johan’s unfettered curiosity and sadly remembered that none of Alaric’s men had sworn fealty and obedience to her as was their duty and her honor.
Brother Derrick continued. “I have found, as I trust you have, that . . . that marriage is all I had hoped for and more. We humbly request of your husband permission to visit you in the spring, unless . . .” The monk hesitated and continued falteringly. “Unless . . . I am . . . with child.”
Elise laughed with delight. Her sister could be carrying a child even now, as they stood here in the longhouse. Brother Derrick and Johan exchanged glances.
“That is all, my lady,” Brother Derrick said, rolling the parchment again. Her eyes watched it greedily, knowing Marie would have said something about their lands, King Philip, perhaps Arques and Walter.
“Most gentle of men, I could demand to see the letter in my own right as your lord’s wife and lady.” She paused, knowing any show of irritation would be reported to her husband. To Johan, she said, “Please ask his lordship’s permission for my sister and her husband to visit.”
She left the longhouse abruptly, scattering chickens as she fled across the bailey to the edge of the escarpment most hidden from the courtyard. Shadowed by the tower, she looked out at the river.
Marie, dear, sweet Marie is safe! Elise blinked back the tears and whispered a prayer of thanks to the God who had abandoned her. For a brief and painful moment, she remembered the bantering and laughter shared between Marie and dear Roland.
“My lady,” Johan said softly behind her.
“Johan,” she said without facing him.
“You are distressed.”
“No.” She could barely say the word and shook her head. “I . . . I wish to be alone,” she said, aware of the irony, for she had been nearly isolated these last months.
“The news troubles you.”
“The news gladdens me.”
“But, you shed tears.”
She turned to him, tears brimming in her eyes. “You hold all rights over me as given you by my husband. Please give me the right to be alone when I so choose.”
“As you wish.” He nodded respectfully and departed. She watched him limp away, regretting her sharp words. Turning toward the river, she let her tears fall freely.
Are we too dangerous to leave behind?” Hortense wondered aloud, settling into her saddle.
Amused by the thought of a dangerous Hortense, Elise supposed her very near the truth. Given the breadth of her husband’s restrictions, Johan and Gilbert would not trust another to watch them in their absence. Then again, taking them on this much-needed market excursion might be Johan’s apology for inquiring about her tears a week ago.
As the wagons and knights took their positions, Johan and Gilbert rode up to flank the women. Elise toggled her quiver to her saddle, and the journey began. Skirting the marshes, she caught Hortense’s eye and said, “Do you remember how marshlands near Mortemer were drained to expose rich soil for crops?”
“Yes,” Hortense said loud enough for the men to hear. “The channels stopped some of the flooding. And your father built a flume for the watermill. I thought you found an old millstone nearby, half-buried in the mud.”
“I did,” Elise said as they approached the ford, “I wonder if William would encourage his lords to build mills as he did in Normandie.”
“No doubt,” Hortense said. “Mills produce revenue.” Later, Hortense asked how many beehives would be needed to provide honey, and, more importantly, a decent supply of wax. Together they discussed how many dovecotes would supply a castle the size of Tutbury, whether Norman deer could live in English woods, the reasons for establishing a fishpond, the need for a kitchen garden, and many other things to be considered when administering the castle.
It took more than half a day to reach the intersection of several roads, where Derby sat, like two villages divided by a river. The carved plaques beside the gates told Elise that the village had a hundred burgesses, a priory which would likely shelter them this night, a dozen mills, a mint, and the king’s license to host a market, held this week, as evidenced by the blue and yellow banners rippling in the wind.
Their party followed the people carrying large, deep baskets of goods strapped over their shoulders and those wheeling handcarts piled with wares. Elise marveled at the dwellings lining High Street and the two churches flanking the river. As the crowds thickened, Gilbert’s knights closed ranks, surrounding her and Hortense until they reached the open market. They dismounted and walked with Johan and Gilbert among the wagons and booths, smelling fresh-baked bread and a whiff of the swine stalls.
For the first time in months, Elise’s spirits rose as they passed poultrymen, cheesemakers, and fishers calling out their dry and live catch, and wondered if the village could host a smaller market.
“You will not interfere, my lady,” Johan warned her.
“Of course.” Johan’s comment irked but did not dampen her aim. Johan, a former mercenary, a seneschal for only three months, knew nothing about feeding the castle’s inhabitants this coming winter. But if she tried to guide him openly, he might send her to the priory where she could not help him at all. Ignoring the temptation of the spice merchants and tinkers, she tempered her irritation that she must try to influence Johan by feigning disinterest. Elise took Hortense’s arm, and they stayed close to him, commenting about the vegetables and fruits that would last through the winter. Together they speculated on the quantity of grain needed for Tutbury, and Elise explained how her seneschal bargained good prices. Soon, Elise noticed that Johan heeded their words. Once, he sent her an inquiring glance before scowling as if regretting he’d sought her opinion.
Two days later, Gilbert led them and their heavily ladened wagons back by way of the woods on a route said to be shorter. Unlike Needwood beside Tutbury, this woodland had been well tended by the villagers. The broad tracks, the open meadows and stumps left a verdant and sunny grassland between well-spaced trees, which allowed them to hunt small game easily.
Hours later, they traveled in untended, tangled woods, and hunting became more difficult. By the time they entered a particularly dense thicket, she had detected rain in the muted, wooded scents and realized it had not rained for a week. The horses became uncommonly edgy when the track narrowed and the trees closed in on them. Alarmed, Elise searched but could not see beyond the leafy walls. When the trail curved, they entered a clearing dimmed by a dense canopy. Demons, she thought, feeling the hair on her nape rise. The horses snorted, threw back their heads, and reared or tried to turn.
The sky exploded with a loud, crackling boom. Blue lightning shimmered down the mighty oak before them. The tree burst apart and flames shot up through the branches.
A sign! She struggled to keep her horse from bolting as the tree blazed. The echoing blast vibrated within and her heart pounded. Beside her, Johan helped Hortense control her mount. Elise felt the prickly sensation of being watched, of all-seeing eyes. Swallowing the acrid smoke, she imagined the metallic taste of Satan’s gaze.
As her horse calmed, she relaxed her grip, surprised to find one hand still clasping her bow and a single nocked arrow. Gilbert dismounted and fell to his knees. Other knights followed. He prayed aloud, crossing himself several times.
Slowly, as if the shadow of a giant hand descended over them, the clearing became dark as dusk, and they heard the sound of large drops hitting the leafy canopy as the tree burned. Elise scanned the ferns, the thick bushes and heavy vines obscuring the tree trunks encircling them. She breathed in the hot, heavy air—the amber wolf pendant hidden beneath her clothes sparked between her breasts.
A soft rustling beside Gilbert’s bowed head drew her attention to the tangled, dense foliage where a brownish pelt bobbed between the leaves. She released her arrow before seeing a hairy face, the glint of an axe. A scream followed.
Bandits! It was over in moments, though it seemed like hours. Elise had wounded the first: a brigand about to cleave Gilbert’s skull. Nearly a dozen raiders, intent on stealing their horses and wagons, had attacked. Outmaneuvered by Gilbert’s experienced warriors, most slipped quickly back into the woods, leaving their wounded and dead behind. The rain, now falling heavily through the leaves, began to extinguish the fire. As Gilbert’s men roped their captives together, he approached Elise.
“You shot true, my lady. Clean and quick. My life was delivered by your dispatch. I thank you.” He bowed.
“No need, Gilbert,” she said. “I merely thought it was our dinner.”