The Outlaws, page 23
Eustace carried Giselle into the house and deposited her in front of an angry FitzWalter and a distressed Blanche. “Make her ready,” Eustace ordered the servants standing behind the earl, and went past them into the hall, where his friends were waiting. He plopped onto a chair and called for a flagon of wine.
The ladies’ maids bustled Giselle upstairs to the bridal bedchamber, where they stripped off her gown, dressed her in white linen bedclothes and unbraided and combed her hair. The burnt strands evoked some sharp looks, but no questions. They all knew about Eustace’s temper and were afraid to ask her what had happened. Giselle ignored them anyway, her eyes shut tight.
When they were done, they lifted her into bed. One of the maids scattered rose petals on the bed and floor, while another went downstairs to summon the groom.
Eustace came up followed by his closest friends, wine cups in all hands and bawdy jokes on their lips, trailed by a trio of minstrels with pipes and lute singing lewd songs. Earl FitzWalter, wearing an absurd-looking garland that rested askew on his salt-and-pepper head, brought up the rear. The garland had been Eustace’s but he had bestowed it on his father on the stairway and FitzWalter for some reason had not taken it off, despite the injury it did to his dignity. Eustace’s friends removed his clothes and helped him into a night shirt. FitzWalter returned the garland, which Eustace removed from his head with a laugh and spun to one of his friends. Giselle sat on the bed with her back to these proceedings. Reginald le Bec offered her a drink, which she refused with a shake of her head.
“It will dull the pain,” le Bec said.
“Go away.”
“Well, don’t worry,” le Bec said into her ear. “It will be over in a minute. He never lasts long.”
Eustace threw a shoe at le Bec, who dodged out of the way. The shoe bounced off Giselle’s shoulder. She flinched but did not look around. “You don’t have permission to talk to my wife,” Eustace bellowed.
“She’s not properly a wife yet,” le Bec said.
“Well, I’m about to make her one, now get out.”
But nobody took the order seriously, for it was the local custom among the gentry that consummation of the marriage had to be witnessed, the failure of consummation being a major reason for annulment. Le Bec moved over to the window sill and crossed his arms. Earl Roger leaned against the door frame. Blanche and the other women gathered at the foot of the bed. Only the minstrels left. FitzWalter shut the door behind them.
Eustace pulled Giselle to him and forced her on her back. Then he drew her nightshirt up over her breasts and paused to look at her. His stare made her skin crawl. She lay rigid, her legs crossed at the ankles, and put her hands over her breasts. Eustace pulled them off. When she put them back, he slapped her.
“Spread your legs,” he said. When she did not comply, he leaned close and said, “If you don’t I’ll have le Bec and the others hold you down. Do you want that?”
“Let it be so.” She glared at him and, finding a last drop of courage she did not know she had, slapped him as hard as she could. The impact rocked his head back and he roared, surprised at its force and that she had dared to hit him. For a moment she was certain he would beat her again. But instead, he called for Reginald, Alexander, Quinton and Gerald to hold her arms and legs.
When the men had pried her legs apart, Eustace knelt between them, continuing to stare at her body. His eyes seemed to lick her from collarbone to ankles. She wondered how he could find her body so fascinating. It was such an ordinary body, small breasted, narrow-waisted and narrow-hipped, thin arms and legs. She had heard the other ladies referring to her as boney. “Won’t be good for bearing children,” one of the ladies had said.
Eustace had his penis in hand. It had grown to an astonishing size. She closed her eyes and waited for him to have it done, praying, as le Bec had said in jest, that it would be concluded soon.
When he put himself to her, at first he could not enter: she was dry and unready. But one of the young men poured oil from a lamp on her for lubrication and that helped a bit. After several thrusts, Eustace penetrated all the way and settled his body upon her, his face against her neck. The pain was sharp at first but faded, and his breath was warm and ticklish and repulsive. His thrusts began slow and even, but grew more quick and violent, so hard and bruising that she thought he would lift her from the feather mattress. She kept her eyes closed and tried to imagine being somewhere else. This is not happening to me, she repeated to herself over and over.
Presently, Eustace had his climax and he climbed off the bed. What should have been a moment for jovial congratulations was muted and somber. Eustace’s friends went out, silenced by the look on Eustace’s face if they ever had any intention of speaking, while the maids changed the soiled bed sheets. Then they left too. Eustace saw them to the door. FitzWalter paused at the threshold. “She’s not properly broken, I see. Well, you have some work yet to do.”
Eustace shut the door and leaned against it. Giselle sat up in bed, trembling at the thought that he intended to sleep here, repelled by the prospect of having to spend the night with him beside her.
“Are you going to hit me again?” she asked.
“No. I’m too tired now.”
There was a faint rap on the door. Eustace opened it. Aelfwyn peered through the crack. Eustace took her hand.
“Sleep well,” he said to Giselle and went out.
Giselle bounded to the door and latched it. There was no lock, so Eustace could come back whenever he liked and she could not stop him. But the latch gave her a small symbolic comfort. Then she found a rag and wiped the oil, Eustace’s fluids and her blood from her thighs. She thought: If I have a baby in me I will find a way to kill it.
CHAPTER 2
Hafton
June 1180
Giselle heard the singing and the banging of the drum even before they reached the crest of the hill south of Hafton. It was far away yet, just a suggestion that might have been dismissed as imagination. But the wind changed and it came again.
For the first time in months, her spirits rose. She sat straighter in the saddle. Her eyes came off the horse’s neck, where they had remained during almost the entire journey from Hereford. She leaned forward; the horse took this as a signal to pick up the pace, and she had to rein the mare back so as not to give herself away.
At the front of the column, Eustace looked back at her, and she dropped her eyes. No good showing him that she was feeling better.
Then they topped the crest, and there was Hafton before her in its little valley by the river — gray thatched roofs among the birch and elm, the regular patterns of wattle fences enclosing back gardens, and the old square tower at the manor house.
In the south field, a line of men swung scythes to the beat of the tune and the drum, carving a path through the grass, while other men, women and children collected the cuttings and bound them into bundles which they leaned against each other to dry. Almost the entire village was there, a hundred people at least — men, women, and children, most working, but the younger ones playing.
As Eustace drew near, people stopped what they were doing and stared, hands over their eyes against the glare of the sun for a moment. They could see it was his company and no one stopped work any longer than it took to be sure of this.
Giselle noticed that many people seemed thin, as if they were not getting enough to eat. Almost everyone she could see was barefoot. While it was not unusual for people to go barefoot in the summer to save shoe leather, there were always a few proud ones who wore boots throughout the year to show off their prosperity.
She almost said something about this, but Eustace tugged her bridle and led them forward to Baldwin, who had walked to the roadway from his folding chair under the big oak. His legs seemed more bowed than she remembered, and the wart under his left ear seemed to have grown.
“My lord, my lady,” Baldwin said. “Welcome home.”
Eustace settled into her father’s high-backed chair by the hearth and propped his feet on a stool. A maid rushed to take off his boots and another to serve him wine. Aelfwyn took a seat beside him in another chair, its back not quite so high, and looked at Giselle, daring her to make a scene, while another maid hurried up bearing a tray with a pitcher and a cup for drinking and a bowl and towel for washing. Whatever need there had been to maintain appearances upon their arrival no longer seemed to apply.
“Thank you, my dear,” Aelfwyn said to the maid as she dabbed her face with the towel. She sipped from her cup and leaned back as if this was her house and not Giselle’s.
Giselle had been about to let things lie and retire to her room, but the sight of Aelfwyn reclining in the chair that should be hers and that simpering thank you made her temper flare. She didn’t care a whit if Aelfwyn was Eustace’s chief bed pony, but being shoved aside in her own house, the place where she grew up, in front of people she had known all her life, was more than she could stand, even if it meant another caning. She threw her gloves on the floor. The maid who had accompanied her, Eanfled, reached for her arm to restrain her, but was too late. Giselle marched over to Aelfwyn, and batted the cup from her hand. Wine sprayed on Aelfwyn and she leaped to her feet.
“Get your harpy out of my house,” Giselle snapped to Eustace.
Eustace regarded Giselle over the rim of his cup. He looked irritated. “Reggie,” he said to Reginald le Bec, “take my wife to her chamber.”
“Of course, my lord,” le Bec said. He sounded irritated too.
Giselle almost burst into tears. She had thought marriage to Eustace might bring a little more freedom. And Aelfwyn had provoked this tantrum. Deliberately. Giselle could see the gloating in her eyes.
Le Bec rose from his bench and took her arm. “Come on.”
He directed her toward the stairs.
Giselle halted there. “Thank you, Reginald, I know my way.”
Le Bec hesitated and looked to Eustace for direction.
Eustace waved a hand, signifying that le Bec had done enough. Le Bec returned to his place by the fire.
“Good evening, husband,” Giselle said.
“I hope you sleep well,” Eustace said.
As Giselle climbed, Aelfwyn settled onto Eustace’s lap.
Eustace remained at Hafton for three days. Giselle spent the entire time in her room, even for meals, which Eanfled delivered on a tray.
Eustace came about midnight on the second evening. He rattled the latch, and when he found it wasn’t locked, he entered the room and halted a step or two inside the door. He stood there for a few moments while Giselle pretended to be asleep. Then he went away without a word or any explanation.
On the morning of the third day, she awoke to the clamor of voices and the thumping of many feet moving about. The commotion made its way downstairs and then outside to the yard. Giselle cracked her door and checked the hallway. Seeing and hearing no one, not even a maid, she tip-toed across to the room opposite hers, which had been given to le Bec. She cracked that door. No one was inside and it was bare. Le Bec’s trunk was gone and there was no sign he had ever slept here. Giselle crossed to the windows, which overlooked the yard and peeked out to see what was going on. Eustace and le Bec had their horses saddled. Aelfwyn was with them, looking a peeved at something. They were leaving.
It took several moments for this to sink it. They were leaving — and leaving her behind!
Giselle stumbled out to the head of the stairway, where she could see down to the hall. It was empty, the front door standing open. Baldwin could be heard talking from the stairs outside.
Then le Bec entered. Giselle wanted to run at the sight of him. He must have come back to fetch her. She had not been forgotten after all. The horror of that thought froze her feet to the floor. He crossed the hall and mounted the stairs.
“It’s about time you got up,” le Bec said.
“What’s going on?” Giselle managed to ask, glad that her voice sounded far more calm and reserved than she felt.
“We’re going to Harleigh,” le Bec said. “He likes it better there.” Harleigh was another of the FitzWalter manors a few miles south of Hafton. Earl Roger had given it over to Eustace to manage.
Le Bec brushed by her and went into the lord’s chamber, where Eustace and Aelfwyn had slept. He emerged with a mirror and a comb. He noticed Giselle staring at the comb and mirror with some amazement.
“She sent me back for a fucking comb,” he said. “I’m not her fucking servant.”
“She’ll make you one if you let her.”
“Like hell.” Le Bec went by, descended the stairs, and went out.
Eustace called for them to move out.
Giselle slipped down to the door, careful not to let herself be seen through it. She peered around the jam. Eustace was just passing through the gate with Aelfwyn at his side, followed by his mounted retinue, such as it was, le Bec, two men-at-arms on loan from the earl, and most of the servants. Within a minute, they had gone, and a hush settled on the yard. It was a warm summer morning, the sun was out, the sky was blue, and the air was full of hope and all sorts of possibilities.
Giselle drew a breath and let it out.
They were gone. He was gone.
She was free — as free as she was ever likely to be in this marriage.
And she was at home.
Eleanor and Baldwin came in from the yard where they had gone with what remained of the household staff to see off Eustace.
“Mary!” Eleanor barked to one of the two maids who had stayed behind. “The hearth needs cleaning out. And you —” Eanfled “— the floor needs sweeping.”
Mary dashed for the bucket and shovel in a corner, and Eanfled, a resigned look on her face, crossed the hall in search of a broom.
“I require them to help me dress,” Giselle said.
Eleanor turned as if she had just now become aware of Giselle’s presence. “I say, you are dressed.”
“You shall address me properly,” Giselle said.
Eleanor hesitated. “Of course, my lady. Your pardon.”
Giselle reached the foot of the stairs. “Girls! Come!”
Mary and Eanfled put down neither shovel nor broom. They glanced at Eleanor, who nodded, before they followed.
Giselle climbed to her chamber and began to go through her trunks. Since her arrival, she had worn the same simple brown woolen gown. But she wanted something more than that now. The FitzWalters had not lavished her with fine clothes or playthings, just enough to keep her from being an embarrassment at social gatherings, which meant she had had a wardrobe of second quality material. That had changed when the earl obtained the right to wed her to Eustace. She had been given over to tailors, and two week’s worth of furious dress-making had resulted in a modest but fine wardrobe suitable for the wife of a member of the lower gentry. She had two elaborate silk gowns for formal occasions and half a dozen each of linen petticoats and heavier, embroidered surcoats to go over them. She had another half dozen simple gowns that varied in color and in the length of their sleeves. She chose one of the simple gowns, a high-necked red one with long sleeves that almost dragged on the floor if she let her arms fall to her sides. It was impractical for hard work on the manor, but that was one reason she chose it — ladies weren’t supposed to do hard physical work; people worked for them.
After indicating her choice, she held out her arms so the maids could remove her clothes and then she let them dress her in the red gown. She wished there was a mirror to look at the effect, but her father had not had one. Eustace had made off with the sole one within miles.
Then she sat down so the maids could comb and braid her long black hair, which they coiled in a great bundle at the back of her neck. Now that she was married, she couldn’t let her hair hang loose. Then the maids covered her hair with a tasteful round hat and white linen headdress.
She finished by selecting a gold pendant in the form of a cross on a delicate gold chain. Blanche had given it to her as a wedding gift and so she despised it, even though it was very valuable. But wearing it now would make a nice point.
The transformation complete, she swept out of the room and went down to the hall.
Eleanor was not in sight, but Baldwin was seated at the table working on documents with Evrart. He looked at her sourly when she told him to come along, and for an instant she thought he would refuse. It occurred to her that a man in his prime would not find it easy taking orders from a fifteen-year-old girl, but she was the lady of the house now and he had no choice. With an irritated, “We’ll finish later,” to the clerk, Baldwin rose the trailed her out the door to the yard.
They started with the undercroft: the timber house sat on top of a stone foundation that provided a storage area beneath the floor of the hall. It was filled with barrels and boxes and various tools, all neatly stowed. Marks had been chalked on the sides of the barrels and boxes to indicate what they contained — wine, ale, nails, candles, drums of wax for candle making, butter, lard, hides of leather bound in rolls, salt, cinnamon, dried beans, bolts of linen, spools of wool, bars of iron, and a host of other sundries. There was a cart and a ladder as well.
After that she toured the barn and granary, the dovecot and kennel, the chicken coop, the stables, the pigsty, the forge, and the kitchen and storehouse. All the buildings were in good repair and several had been painted in bright blues and yellows.
The last thing she looked at was the garden. It was a smaller version of the vast vegetable garden outside the walls to the west: bursting with spinach, cabbages, leeks and onions, radishes, beans, peas, and carrots, all in their neat rows with hardly a weed in sight. The broad beans and cabbage were ready for harvesting, but the rest would not be for a month or two. Strolling through the rows at the edge of the herb garden, where the fragrance of marjoram and fennel was in the air, she flushed a pair of rabbits which dashed off in zig-zags, pursued by the boy assigned to tend the garden.
