The Outlaws, page 36
Eustace pulled the sword free, and said to le Bec, “Let’s go.” They went down to the hall.
As Robert and Giselle descended to the landing, Matilda leaned against the wall, her face in her hands.
The mob had already gathered about the door to the Red Lion when Eustace and his men emerged. They drew their swords and the mob pulled back a pace.
“That’s him!” Alice said, pointing to Eustace. “He’s the one!”
“Out of the way, before anyone gets hurt,” Eustace said.
A shiver of indecision swept the mob. Although most of the men were armed with staves and well outnumbered Eustace and his four men, the prospect of fighting against swordsmen was not something anyone relished.
Matilda appeared at the door to the Red Lion.
“Are these fellows causing trouble?” the working man asked Matilda.
“The trouble is passed now, sir,” she said. “They’re leaving. We thank you for coming. It helped a great deal.”
The working man nodded. If the victim of the crime was willing to let it pass, the neighborhood would not interfere. “Very well, then. Off you go, before there’s further disturbance.”
The crowd melted back again and made a passage toward the west.
Eustace and his men mounted their horses. He rode off without a backward look, back straight and head high.
CHAPTER 5
London
March 1184
“We ran them off good, didn’t we!” Brian Attebrook gloated as they turned from the door. He was half a head taller and more muscular than Robert, who grinned at him and clapped him on the shoulder, and he hefted his sword and buckler with practiced ease. They looked so alike, those two, shocks of blond hair, innocent faces, and graceful with their weapons.
“Don’t be stupid,” Giselle said, irritated at their confidence. The Attebrook boys thought they could whip the world, did they? They wouldn’t have stood long against Eustace’s band of trained knights if there had been a fight. With a shiver, she remembered the glimmer of Eustace’s sword on the stairway and the casual way he had thrust it at Robert just because he was in the way. Eustace crushed everything that opposed him.
Brian shot her a hard glance and opened his mouth to reply. He had long since got over being intimidated by her.
But his mother cut him off. “It’s time you got to work, isn’t it?” Matilda said.
“Right,” Brian said. With a sharp look at Giselle, he pounded up the stairs to get his boots and toolbox.
Matilda, for whom business always came first, seemed to have put the incident behind her. She and her partner Margery started going about opening the inn, rekindling the fire, throwing open the shutters to the street, dispatching a maid to the baker’s to fetch rolls and bread. Alice and Agnes went out and came in with a barrel of ale on a trolley.
Giselle was supposed to help, but she settled on a bench, her heart desolate. She felt Matilda throw a glance at her and expected a “Get on with it” but Matilda left her alone. Giselle would have welcomed the rebuke. The fact there was none made her feel as if she did not really belong. That hurt. She had come to think of the inn as home. It had become as comfortable and welcome as an old shirt.
The fact was, she didn’t belong. She had felt twinges of that otherness from the moment Robert had returned, but she had forced those feelings from her mind. He made her uncomfortable, a walking indictment of failure. She had hoped he would go away, but it looked as though he intended to remain for a long time.
She had thought just to wait him out. But now it was clear she could not. And her presence here put their lives in danger.
“He’ll be back,” Giselle said to the room.
Matilda paused in front of her. “Who, dear? Eustace?”
Giselle’s head bobbed.
“She’s right,” Robert said. He took a seat on the other side of the table. Matilda put a bowl of hard boiled eggs in front of him and he began peeling an egg. “Once he decides on something, he never gives up. He could even turn to the law.”
Giselle hated to agree with him, but she nodded bitterly.
Matilda frowned. “Women run away from their husbands all the time. The law doesn’t do anything about them.”
“Those are ordinary women,” Giselle said. “I’m just like property. I can be locked up if I don’t obey him.”
Matilda’s face fell. “Then you’ll have to go.”
“The sooner the better,” Giselle said.
“When?” Matilda asked.
“This morning. Right away.”
Matilda looked stricken. “Where will you go?”
“My uncle in France. I should have gone there in the first place.” Giselle had intended that when she fled Hafton. She had stopped at the Red Lion to pay Matilda a visit. But she had never left.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Harold, who had dropped his drawers in the yard. Alice raced out, swatted his behind, grabbed his hand, and marched him to the latrine.
Giselle nearly burst into tears.
Matilda wiped her hands on her apron, a business-like gesture. She had a practical mind, and once she saw the way of things, she put misgivings aside. “You’ll need money, then.” Matilda headed toward the stairs and her bedroom, where she kept the strong box with the inn’s receipts.
“No!” Giselle said. “I have enough.” Even the Attebrooks didn’t know about the buried box of pennies. She’d used up all she’d brought: the large sum she’d given to Wulfric had exhausted her reserve. She’d have to go back to get the rest now. Her Uncle Helmo would be more likely to take her in and to protect her if she had money. As much as she wanted to see Hafton again, the thought was frightening. Eustace might be there; certainly his men were. She might be caught.
Matilda looked surprised.
Giselle rose and strode toward the stairs, trying to be brave. “I’ll fetch my things.”
Matilda stopped her with a hand on her arm. “You can’t travel alone. It isn’t safe, especially for a woman.”
“I’ll manage,” Giselle said. “There are always people on the highways.” Many people chose to travel in groups against the possibility of robbers. She’d attach herself to one.
“No. Robert will go with you.”
Once Matilda had made up her mind, there was no arguing with her. Their horses were saddled and loaded within the hour, and the family and servants clustered at the back gate to see them off, for Robert, who seemed to have a very suspicious mind, would not go out by the front in case Eustace had an agent watching the premises.
Giselle embraced Matilda and the girls, and strained to lift Harold up one last time. He squirmed and demanded to be put down. She kissed him on the cheek and complied. Alice seized his hand before he could run away. Giselle said goodbye to the servants and turned to Robert.
He nodded, opened the back gate, and led his horses out into the alley that ran behind the house. It was empty except for a half dozen boys playing football down the way. Giselle followed him. He helped her mount, led them through a maze of back alleys and across vacant lots that Giselle didn’t even know. It was surprising that he could find his way so easily having been here but a month. In a short time, they emerged on Lyverne Lane, and she realized where she was. Giselle would have turned south toward Holborn, but Robert instead headed north toward the open country she could see at the end of the lane, which petered out in a field.
“Where are you going?” she demanded.
“Better to go around the city than through it,” Robert said.
It struck Giselle that this route was more in keeping with her plans, but there was an obstacle if they were to go south, which she did not intend. “But how will we get across the river?”
“We’ll go up to Westminster and cross at the ferry.”
“But the ferry is more expensive than one of the city bridges.”
“Eustace will not expect it. When he finds you’re gone, I doubt he’ll ask for you there.”
“Oh.”
After about three-quarters of an hour of slow riding through pastures and fields and crossing a number of streams, they came out onto Watling Street. Robert crossed the road and turned south, but Giselle turned right toward the forest that stood on a long slope ahead.
Robert reined up and called out, “That’s not the way to France.”
Giselle answered him without turning around, because she didn’t want him to see her smile, “But it is.”
“No, it’s not.” He sounded exasperated.
“It is for me.”
He caught up with her, and slowed down to match her pace. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I have business to take care of first.”
“What do you mean? What business?”
“I left something in Hafton. I have to collect it first.”
“You’re mad. You can’t afford to get within twenty miles of that place.”
Giselle shrugged and said nothing.
“What did you leave that was so important?”
“When I ran away, I stole the manor’s receipts. It was quite a lot of money, so much that I couldn’t carry it all. So I buried it.”
“Leave the money — or tell me where it is, and I’ll get it for you. No sense going yourself. It’s too dangerous.”
“It’s just as dangerous for you.”
“I’m used to that sort of thing. You’re not.”
“Don’t tell me what I’m not used to!” she shot back. “I’ve been in tight spots before and done well enough, thank you.”
“I was only thinking of what’s best for you.”
“I don’t need your protection, and I can decide for myself what’s best for me.”
She gave her horse her heels and trotted north up the road without looking back.
Stokenchurch
March 1184
They reached Stokenchurch in the evening after a ride of more than forty miles, a long way to go in a single day. There were two inns in town. The one with rooms available that did not have to be shared with another traveler was a large house at the north edge. Giselle was so grateful to dismount that she nearly cried out, except she didn’t have the energy to more than grunt. Her thighs and calves were rubbed raw and her back was sore. She held onto the barn’s wall to keep from falling over as the grooms trotted out to take the horses. Robert held out his arm to escort her to the inn. She hesitated, then accepted it. He was, after all, her brother, and such a courtesy from family did no harm.
The innkeeper, a stooped little man, wasn’t so eager for their business. He met them in the hall, which was crowded with travelers just finishing supper. Giselle let Robert deal with him; the innkeeper would expect the man to do the talking.
She tottered out to the stable to check on the horses and to see that their packs were stored under lock and key.
When she returned, she found Robert at a corner table sitting in front of a tankard of ale, bread, and a bowl of stew. He had ordered the same for her. She slid onto the bench opposite him and broke off a piece of bread, which she dunked in the stew. The stew was a lumpy gray mess, but defied expectations by tasting good. Perhaps that was because she was so hungry she could have taken a bite out of the bowl.
She was piqued that Robert had not shown any concern about their valuables. “Everything could have been stolen while you haggled with that little man,” she said.
“I knew you’d take care of it,” he said and fell silent.
They had said little to each other on the long ride, but now that they were face to face across a table, the silence between them had to be filled. “How much was the room?” she asked to make conversation.
Robert grimaced. “Two farthings each.”
“Each!” Giselle was scandalized. It was double the normal rate. “I could have done better.”
“Rooms are dear. The town is full of people on pilgrimage to Canterbury. A very large party, it seems.” He indicated the others in the hall.
“The sharps will be glad to see them,” she said. The Canterbury merchants lived off the gullibility of pilgrims. She had never been there, but she had heard enough about them from others.
Robert said nothing. He stared at a spot on the wall over her shoulder, and didn’t seem inclined to talk any further. He had taken to ignoring her, and it got under her skin.
She was plotting ways to get under his when she discovered she had reached the bottom of her bowl. A servant girl cleared the table. It was now dark inside and out, except for the fire on the hearth, which had burned low. A boy came in and put a clay fire cover on the coals. Giselle realized the hall was empty. Everyone had gone to bed.
She stood up. “Do you think they’re trying to tell us something?”
“I suppose so.”
“Show me my room, please.”
Robert smiled faintly and bowed. “That way, my lady.” He indicated the stairway at the rear of the hall.
Giselle swept toward the stairway. The innkeeper met them coming down and gave them his candle so they could see their way. “G’night, my lord, my lady,” he said, bobbing his head.
“Good night, sir,” Giselle said for them both.
As with most such large houses, the front was open clear to the ceiling to let out the smoke through a hole in the roof. The rooms on the upper story were to the rear, and her room proved to be the farthest at the back.
Giselle tipped the latch and was turning to say good night to Robert when he pushed open the door and entered the room. She was stunned speechless for a moment at this audacity and suffered a twinge of alarm. He didn’t mean to do anything . . . untoward, did he? She wouldn’t have imagined it of him.
He crossed the room to the bed, sat down, and began to take off his boots.
“I asked you to show me my room,” Giselle said.
“This is your room.” He tossed the boots into a corner. She saw they landed beside his pack, where his sword and shield stood against the wall. Then she saw her own pack in the opposite corner.
“You’re not sleeping here too,” she said.
“It’s the only room left.” Robert swung his legs around and lay on the bed with his hands behind his head. He wiggled his toes.
She stamped her foot in anger. “Get up this instant!”
“I’m not sleeping on the floor. Not while there’s a good feather bed available.” He patted the bed beside him. “There’s plenty of room for the both of us.”
“I’ll not share a bed with you,” Giselle said. “What will people think? I’m no harlot.”
“No one will think you’re a whore. I let the innkeeper think you’re my wife.”
That made her livid. “You had no right!”
“It’s a harmless lie.”
She saw there was nothing she could do. Appealing to the innkeeper would cause public embarrassment.
Seething, she said, “You’ll have to turn away while I change.”
“Of course.” He rolled on his side and faced the wall.
She blew out the candle and kept her eyes on him while she slipped out of her dress into a linen shift in case he dared to sneak a look. But he did not move.
“You might want to close the shutters,” Robert said. “It smells like horse manure in here.”
It was true. The window overlooked the stable and the stench was palpable. Giselle latched the shutters and fumbled in her bags for a stick of incense. She held it out to Robert. “We need a light for this.”
He rolled over to see what she wanted. Reluctantly, he stood up and took the stick.
“You can light it on the coals at the hearth,” she said.
“Right,” he said as if he had already thought of that and went out. “Shouldn’t have blown out that candle.”
“How thoughtless of me.” She closed the door behind him and listened to his footfalls as he went down the corridor. Then she took the end of her belt and jammed it into the door latch. It had no lock and her belt was the only thing she had that was slender enough to fit into the slot. When she jiggled the latch, she found that, as she hoped, it would not open. She admired her handiwork with a smile, proud of her ingenuity.
Then she got under the covers.
Presently, she heard the latch.
“Open the door, Giselle,” Robert said.
“A married lady does not share her room, nor her bed, with a man who is not her husband.”
She half feared he would make a scene himself now, but there was quiet beyond the door. She had guessed right. He would not make trouble.
“All right,” he said. “At least give me a blanket. It’s cold out here.”
He had her there. She could let him sleep on floorboards, but it was unfair to deny him a blanket.
She threw off the covers, snatched up his blanket roll, and opened the door. She held out the roll to him. “Very well, here you go.”
He took the roll and said, “They’ll think we had a fight.”
“I don’t care what they think.”
“They’ll laugh at us.”
“It’s your fault.”
“I’m used to being laughed at. Are you?”
“Go away.” She tried to close the door, but his foot had got in the way.
It wasn’t much of a struggle for him to push open the door, even against her best resistance. He came into the room carrying the now relighted candle and the burning incense stick, closed the door behind him, and crossed to the bed.
Giselle wanted to cry out in anger and frustration. She hated to be beaten. In the end, it was always seemed that the person who could wield the greater force was the victor. It was so unfair. But she held her tongue.
Robert put the bedroll in the middle of the bed. “There,” he said. “How’s that? Your half and my half. When you roll over in the middle of the night and bump something, you won’t think it’s me.”
Giselle crossed her arms. “And what do you mean by that?” She could imagine he believed she lusted after him. All men seemed to think that if a woman just spoke to them, she wanted him.
