Once Upon a Historical Christmas, page 17
“Reminds me of my Tante Marguerite,” Barr quipped in an effort to hold on to his patience. He immediately regretted the unkind words about his father’s sister, although there was a certain similarity.
“She’s usually more docile,” Axel claimed, “but the long journey has upset her.”
“We’ll buy you a horse,” Barr replied.
“But I can’t leave Marguerite,” Axel protested.
Barr knew what it was to be attached to an animal, and the pained expression on the youth’s face betrayed his fondness for the stubborn beast. In the event, no opportunity arose en route to purchase another steed.
They dismounted only once to water the animals, eat the victuals purloined from de Moreville’s provisions by the resourceful Axel, and see to their needs. Seeking privacy in a copse, Barr unexpectedly spotted a holly bush laden with bright red berries. Chuckling at the coincidence, he dusted the snow off its leaves and used his dagger to prune off a sprig. He fastened it to his gambeson with his mother’s clan brooch.
Axel noticed it immediately. He smiled, but asked about the brooch.
“It’s a talisman my mother insists I wear wherever I go, though, in truth, it belongs to my half-brother.” He saw from Axel’s frown he would have to explain further. “Henri Dunkeld is my mother’s son from a first marriage.”
“I knew that. I wish I had some keepsake from my parents,” the youth replied sadly.
His words sobered Barr. He fingered the brooch with renewed appreciation. “My mother is a courageous woman.”
“I know the story of how she came to Normandy with her children, claiming to be their nanny and not their mother. Everyone at Alensonne knows of the Scottish king’s trickery. It’s part of your family’s lore.”
They remounted and continued sharing reminiscences about King David’s ploy to fool Geoffrey of Anjou and his wife Matilda by sending his illegitimate grandchildren as good-faith hostages. “It’s strange to think Matilda’s son is now our monarch,” Axel noted.
Barr agreed. “My parents didn’t hold Geoffrey and Matilda in high regard, especially after the Angevin set fire to our orchards. The trees have recovered, but it has taken years.”
“So, I’ll still get a cask of fine apple brandy?”
Barr laughed. “I guarantee it.”
At length, they arrived at the Ouistreham docks. After a great deal of ineffective coaxing and several near misses from vicious kicks, the donkey was loaded on to the Montbryce galley, one of three moored there.
“Never seen such an obstinate creature,” a sailor muttered.
The rest of the crew voiced loud agreement, earning a withering look from Marguerite’s huge brown eye as she bared her teeth and brayed loudly enough to wake the dead.
Barr gritted his teeth. He’d hoped to catch up on lost sleep during the voyage to England, but…
“We’ve made good time, despite the weather,” Axel remarked as they shoved off and set sail into the sunset.
“And despite the donkey’s best efforts to delay us,” Barr replied, hunching his shoulders against the wind. “Come on, we’ll take shelter under the canvas.”
Axel shook his head. “I’ll stay with Marguerite. She’s never been on a boat before. She’ll be afraid.”
The determination in the lad’s eyes indicated it would be churlish to insist. Axel obviously loved his donkey, and Barr had often gone to extreme lengths to ensure the well-being of his faithful Trogen.
He found a spot out of the wind beneath the canvas. A sailor brought him blankets. “It’s calm, milord. We’ll have a peaceful crossing.”
He tucked the wool up to his chin and folded his arms across his chest. His thoughts drifted to the FitzRam boys. Wherever they were on the Narrow Sea, it was inevitable they’d be thinking of the great-grandparents who’d drowned in the White Ship disaster. The bodies had never been recovered. The immense loss to the Montbryce-FitzRam clan was keenly felt, even today.
His last thought before he dozed off was the hope that Hollis de Moreville was warmer than he was and that she too was enjoying a peaceful crossing. He’d never been a deeply religious man, but it was Yuletide after all, so he touched his fingers to the holly sprig and offered up a silent prayer. “Lord, keep her safe from her brother’s plotting.”
~~~
For Hollis, the one advantage of being inside the wagon in the middle of the Narrow Sea was that she could tell herself she wasn’t aboard a battered vessel that had seen better days. This illusion would hold true provided the howling wind didn’t snatch the canvas from the wagon.
The FitzRam twins huddled in one corner, wide awake. Hugh’s boys took turns puking into a wooden bowl she’d had the presence of mind to bring. Their father snored loudly, sprawled atop the only comfortable surface in the wagon—a pile of blankets she’d brought to keep everyone warm on the crossing. So much for that notion.
Even these uncomfortable circumstances were preferable to being outside, watching the ragged crew, most of whom appeared besotted with drink before they cast off.
If they survived this journey, she planned to kill her brother.
She fussed over what had become of Reginald Fitzurse who’d mysteriously disappeared once they reached the docks at Le Havre. They were heading for Kent, so Hugh’s claim that his friend had decided to travel by a different route didn’t make sense. It was almost as if he was pointedly letting her know they were all going to different places—which she was beginning to doubt. Her brother deemed himself clever, but she’d learned over the years to see through his ploys.
Wiping her nephew’s fevered brow, she smiled weakly at William and Martin FitzRam, hoping they found more reassurance in her smile than she felt.
Lulled by the rocking motion of the boat, she eventually dozed off and dreamt she was in the comforting arms of a strong man—her long-lost betrothed.
Hugh shook her awake some hours later. “England,” he informed her gruffly.
She sat bolt upright, rubbing her eyes, startled to remember it wasn’t Gareth of Hexham who’d seen her safely to shore in her dream. It was Sir Barr de Montbryce in whose arms she’d found solace.
The Holly Bears A Berry
Anna Markland
ENGLAND
Sunday, December 27th 1170
Barr was standing at the prow with the captain when Battle Abbey came into view.
“It looks even bigger than it actually is in the early morning light,” the captain remarked.
“You’re right,” Barr agreed.
“Our Conqueror built the abbey many years after Hastings,” Fallon said, “to commemorate the victory, but I always wonder what it was really like for those Normans and Bretons, landing on foreign shores.”
They’d had this same conversation more than once since discovering they both had ancestors who’d fought at the pivotal battle. Barr thought of his great-grandfather, the famous Ram de Montbryce, a trusted confidant of Duke William, a decorated cavalry commander from a family with an illustrious military history. Courageous as he was, he must have been as apprehensive as the lowliest infantryman about what lay ahead. “But they were brave warriors who carried the day for their duke and secured the English throne for him.”
“And now,” Fallon exclaimed, spreading his arms wide, “we are subjects of the Conqueror’s great-grandson who rules England and Normandie.”
“And a lot more besides,” Barr replied.
Fallon tapped the side of his nose. “For now, but just between me and you, once Henry’s greedy sons…”
“Good morning,” Axel interrupted from behind.
Barr nodded his understanding of the captain’s intent and turned back to his servant. “You look a little green. How’s Marguerite? You managed to keep her quiet and I thank you.”
Axel rubbed his eyes. “I have to earn my apple brandy. I see your holly sprig survived the night.”
Barr ran a finger over the sharp points of the leaves. “Hardy.”
“The berries look a bit wrinkled though,” Axel said with a yawn.
Barr eyed him. How could the lad know the wayward direction his thoughts had taken? He quickly dismissed the notion and turned back to scan the oncoming shore. His mission in England wasn’t as fraught with danger as Ram de Montbryce’s, at least he hoped not. However, preventing an attack on the Archbishop of Canterbury by a group of misguided knights might well spare King Henry a political and religious upheaval that had the potential to topple him from his great-grandfather’s throne.
~~~
Loud voices woke Hollis. Her brother was arguing with one of the crew. She raised her aching head, panicking when she realized the children were gone. She was alone in the wagon.
She scrambled to her feet, bracing her legs against the movement of the boat. They were still at sea, though it was fully light. She noticed gratefully that someone had emptied the contents of the sick bowl—probably one of the FitzRams—but the acrid smell of mal de mer hung in the air.
Steadying herself with whatever was at hand, she made her way like a drunkard to the rear of the wagon and peered out, narrowing her eyes at the unusual sight of Hugh holding hands with his sons. Both boys were looking up at him as if listening to our Lord Jesus scolding the disciples for keeping the little children away.
Hypocrite, was her first thought. Where was their loving father when they were vomiting?
The rancor fled when she realized the crewmen were scrambling to bring the boat to shore mere yards away. It was unfamiliar territory, but it was England.
“Aunty Hollis,” her nephew John exclaimed when he noticed her.
She climbed down from the wagon and joined her brother on deck. “Where are we?”
“Hythe,” he replied curtly, passing the boys’ hands into hers. “The captain insisted we sail on to Folkestone, but I want to disembark here.”
This explained the argument, which Hugh had evidently won. She wasn’t surprised the sailor hadn’t wanted to come ashore here. There was no dock. He’d be obliged to run the boat up on the sands if they were to unload the wagon.
She doubted Hugh would lend a hand getting it free of the beach once they disembarked. “Is this closer to Barham?” she asked.
He pointed to a castle visible about a mile inland. “Change of plan. We’re going to Saltwood instead.”
He was a poor liar. The edifice in the near distance had been the destination all along, though she didn’t understand the necessity for subterfuge. “Are you acquainted with the family that owns Saltwood?” she asked.
“Sir Ranulf de Broc,” he replied. “A knight whose loyalty to King Henry cannot be questioned.”
“Why would…?”
As the boat shuddered and groaned onto the shore, Hugh unexpectedly launched into a loud tirade about the castle having belonged to the Archbishops of Canterbury for hundreds of years. “They allowed it to fall into disrepair. When the traitor Becket requested it be made into an ecclesiastical palace, Henry snubbed him and gave it to Ranulf.”
Hollis was aware many blamed the archbishop for the current troubles between him and the king—a seemingly endless disagreement whose complexity was beyond her comprehension—but she’d never heard Becket accused of treason. “Those are strong words,” she murmured, afraid the sailors may have overheard, but her brother was already stalking away to lead the horses off the boat.
Martin FitzRam took hold of the harness of the drayhorses. “Where’s the driver?” she asked William.
“Lord Hugh left him in Le Havre,” he replied. “Martin and I can manage it to the castle. Doesn’t look far.”
Struggling without success to comprehend why they’d left the driver behind, she muttered, “My brother is certainly in a huff about Thomas Becket.”
William nodded his agreement. “He has been like this since the king lost his temper the night before last.”
A chill raced up her spine. Hugh had denied angering Henry, but…
“Why was His Majesty angry?”
The knot in her belly tightened as William told of the message brought by Sir Barr and the king’s resulting fury. The tale explained why the Montbryce knight was in Bures.
Hugh de Moreville wasn’t a man to have his loyalty questioned without doing something about it, but surely the king hadn’t meant to incite his knights to violence. Everyone was aware of the monarch’s inability to control his temper.
However, this wasn’t the time or place to challenge Hugh. Once he set his mind on something…
But what part did he hope to play in bringing an archbishop to heel?
She helped the children back into the wagon and held on to the baggage as the conveyance lumbered its way down the boat ramp. Hugh swore loudly when the wheels sank into the wet sand.
“Cover your ears,” she told John and Arthur. “Your father tends not to think ahead to consider the consequences of his actions.”
They giggled gleefully like fellow conspirators, but she doubted they understood her meaning.
~~~
The weather in England was surprisingly warmer and the skies brighter than in Normandie and Barr and Axel made good progress, until dusk. Then it became evident Marguerite disliked the dark as much as the snow. As a result, it was very late when they arrived in Canterbury.
The cathedral and its precincts were in complete darkness, including the monastery, but a lighted torch still beckoned travelers to the Benedictines’ house of hospitality.
A lone monk carrying a small candle eventually opened the door to their knock. “Beneficia ad vos,” he intoned, making the sign of his Savior over them. “Welcome and the Lord’s blessings be upon you. I am Brother Philip.”
He eyed Trogen and Marguerite. “Brother Jairus will take your…er…steeds to the stables. Come in, come in.”
Axel chewed his bottom lip, obviously worried about how Brother Jairus would fare with the donkey.
Barr shrugged and prodded Axel ahead of him. He didn’t want the youth sleeping in the stable.
The monk ushered them into a dimly lit corridor. “Not many on the roads for the next day or two. You can each have a cell. What brings you to Canterbury?”
Barr was reluctant to voice his concerns and the reason for their visit. As the day had worn on he’d started to think he was imagining danger where none existed. “We have a message for Archbishop Becket,” he began.
Brother Philip looked heavenward. “I doubt that will be possible. I’m not privy to the archbishop’s schedule, but he has only recently returned from Normandie and as you can imagine this is a busy season in the liturgical calendar. I could possibly see to passing on the message.”
Barr had expected as much, so he made no objection as the monk opened the door to a tiny cell. “It’s of a personal nature. But Becket is in Canterbury?”
“Indeed,” he replied, handing each of them a candle which they lit from his. “You may occupy this cell and the one next to it. Goodnight.”
The Holly Bears A Berry
Anna Markland
IMPENDING DOOM
Monday, December 28th 1170
At Saltwood, Hollis rose at first light and hurried to the narrow window of the chamber allotted to her and the children. Relief surged. The wagon was no longer on the beach—unless it had been carried out to sea by the tide.
They’d been obliged to walk from the shore to the castle after the FitzRams’ fruitless efforts to dislodge the conveyance from the sand. Hugh’s contribution had been to offer sarcastic comments about their lack of strength. It apparently didn’t occur to him that the task would have been accomplished more easily if he’d helped. She sometimes wondered if she was actually his blood kin.
Upon their arrival, a wide-eyed Sir Ranulf greeted Hugh heartily and assured him he would send servants to free the wagon. Then he and her brother disappeared into his solar and she hadn’t seen either of them since.
A pouting maidservant brought food to their chamber, but she had no idea if the FitzRam twins had been fed and housed. Still, they were resourceful youths who certainly merited a better mentor than Hugh de Moreville. Someone like Sir Barr de Montbryce, for example. Now, there was a noble knight—handsome, tall, well-muscled, with a hint of mischief in his blue eyes—the epitome of the kind of man she’d dreamed of marrying. But that was before her parents had betrothed her to Gareth of Hexham, and she’d become resigned to spending her life with a pleasant young man, not fair of face, but honest and true.
She hugged herself to ward off the morning chill, though a peculiar warmth seeped through her veins when she thought of Sir Barr’s hands at her waist. Gareth had never given rise to such wanton feelings.
She wondered where the Montbryce knight was now. Probably tucked up in a warm bed with a willing wench somewhere in Bures Castle. She gritted her teeth. “I’d scratch her eyes out,” she muttered under her breath, astonished at the depth of anger constricting her throat. It was folly to be preoccupied with a man who was heir to a rich and powerful dynasty.
A tap on the door heralded William and Martin FitzRam, their arms laden with clothing. “Lord Hugh bade us bring these from the wagon in the courtyard. He and his companions await us in the Great Hall to break our fast.”
Awakened by the sound of voices, John and Arthur jumped up and down on their bed and demanded the twins give them rides on their backs. Happy to see the little ones laughing and squealing with glee at the FitzRams’ horsey antics, it took Hollis a few moments to recall what they’d said. “Companions? You mean Sir Ranulf.”
“Aye,” Martin replied breathlessly, “and Sir Reginald.”
Gooseflesh crept across her nape. “Fitzurse?”
William nodded. “It seems he arrived during the night.”
He and his brother reared up, neighing like spirited horses, and dropped their giggling riders onto the bed.
Her nephews’ laughter quickly turned to pouts when the twins left, and Hollis had her hands full getting them washed, dressed and ready to join the others.
