The Conqueror (Hot Knights) (20 page)

The ruddy-faced monk gave him a small, sour smile. “If you wish to show your gratitude, mayhaps you would suggest to Duke William that he leave the bishopries of England to tend their own affairs.”

“King William is a deeply religious man. I cannot imagine he would interfere with those doing noble Christian work.”

The prior gave a most irreverent snort. “You are either an innocent or a fool if you believe that, my lord. Pope Alexander has always held that the English church has too much independence. In William he sees the opportunity to punish our presumption. Already, your liege has awarded half of the priory’s farmlands to his battle companions and taken rights to the forest for his own use. When you pass this way next year, you may not find us so prosperous...” The man’s eyes glinted. “Nor so peaceful.”

Jobert nodded thoughtfully. Though sworn not to shed blood, a man like Prior Saewin could aid the Saxon cause in many other ways. “I will convey your thoughts to the king,” he said. “But I must remind you that your duty as `shepherd of Christ’ is to guide your flocks on the path of righteousness. If you encourage the local people to make war on us, they will end up suffering. King William not a man to be denied. Right or no, he will do what he wills.”

“I will think on your words, my lord. God speed you on your journey.”

The prior left him, moving with a vigorous step that more suggested a fighting man than a monk. Jobert wondered how many men there were in England like Prior Saewin. If they all combined and pursued a course of rebellion, were there enough of them to throw off the Norman yoke? His instincts told him that there was much fighting yet ahead.

He made his way to the dormitory where visitors slept and paused to gaze across the maze of buildings that separated him from the area where Edeva had been escorted soon after their arrival. So close she was, so temptingly close. His body chafed at the enforced chastity. All day, he had ridden with her lush hips between his thighs, provoking his throbbing lust. When they reached London, he would have to find an inn with a private room and slake his raging desire, else he would not have the wit to argue his case before the king.

Surely the king would, not deny him. ’Twould be no purpose to it. Why should not William want him to wed the woman who could give him complete control over Oxbury?

But something made him uneasy. Why hadn’t the king responded to his letter?

He tried to shake off the mood as he entered the guest house and began to undress before the fire. Things had progressed smoothly so far. He had won a fine piece of property, and was well on his way to mastering it. If his dream of marrying Damaris would never be realized, that was because his dreams had changed. Edeva was the one he now wished to wed. Beautiful, bountiful, golden Edeva.

He gritted his teeth at the erotic image that filled his mind. Jesu! If they rose at dawn and rode like demons could they be in London by the next night?

The bells of vespers sounded as Jobert lay down on his pallet. He might attempt it—if he could ever get to sleep, that is!

* * *

“Mother above! Have you ever seen so many people?” Edeva leaned forward on the palfrey to get a better look at the mass of knights, farmers, carts, and horses crowding the gateway into London.

“’Tis not so large as Rouen,” Jobert said. “But ’tis every bit as smelly and dirty.”

Edeva wrinkled her nose, realizing he spoke true. London did stink like a midden heap. And the clamor, the chiming of church bells, the raucous shouts, the clatter of hooves and tread of feet, it was near deafening.

“Why are they all going to London?” she asked. “Is it to see the Conqueror?”

Jobert spoke behind her, half-shouting to be heard above the din. “I fear so. I had hoped to be early, but God’s toes, this is worse than the crowds in St. Valery before we sailed. We may be hard put to find a place for the night.”

After they crossed the bridge, they were crowded into a small lane filled with horses and people. When a man passed by carrying a newly-butchered sheep’s carcass over his shoulder, their already-nervous mounts began to snort and prance. Edeva experienced a renewal of the panic she had first felt when she climbed on a horse’s back. ’Twas such a long way to the ground!

She gave a gasp of dread and Jobert’s arm tightened about her waist. “Steady now. If the mare senses your fear, she’ll grow even more skittish.”

Edeva tried to relax, but it was harder than ever. All the way from Reading they’d seen signs of the devastation the Normans had wrought after the Battle of Hastings. Although William’s victorious army train had passed through more than a year before, the countryside still lay in ruin. There did not seem to be a hamlet or a farmstead left untouched.

The wanton waste reawakened Edeva’s animosity. Now she was in London, seemingly surrounded by Norman knights on every side, and her anger was edged with fear. She recalled the horror and loathing she felt when she first beheld the enemy. Their cone-shaped helmets turning them into slit-eyed demons. The brutal glint of their heavy mail like the scales of a monstrous fish. The terror their huge warhorses inspired.

What had she been thinking of, to allow one of these bloodthirsty devils to steal her heart?

“Easy, girl.” Jobert spoke soothing words to the horse, and Edeva tried to calm herself. Jobert was not a beast. She’d seen him behave kindly and generously. If there was harshness in him, ’twas tempered by reason. He did not cause suffering intentionally.

Besides, she had no choice but to trust him. She was in a frightening, hostile city, and she was a Saxon, one of the vanquished.

Around them, vendors called out their wares, offering eel pastries, skins of wine and ribs of beef. “The people of London appear to have accepted the Normans,” Edeva said, a touch of bitterness in her voice. “One would never guess that only a little more than a year ago they rang the alarm bells warning of the enemy’s landing.”

“People in cities are different from those who make their living from the land,” Jobert said. “Over the centuries most of them have been conquered and reconquered many times. They are used to changing masters.”

“It seems so disloyal,” Edeva grumbled.

“They see Norman coin as profitable as English, and they must sell their wares or starve.”

Was she any better? Edeva wondered. She had made peace with the enemy. Did she capitulate to save her skin and keep her belly full?

Nay, she had done it because she felt it was her duty to her people, that she could not safeguard their well-being without yielding to the conquerors.

And she had done it because of Jobert. There was something about the proud red-haired knight that moved her, touched some tender woman’s place deep within. A shudder went through her as she recalled how she had felt when he had been brought to Oxbury wounded and delirious. She had been so terribly afraid for him.

“I think there are some inns down this street,” Jobert spoke close to her ear. “With luck, and plenty of your father’s treasure hoard to grease palms, mayhaps we will find one where we can get a room.”

* * *

A room, that was all it was. A single chamber with a hearth they could all bed down around. No privacy, no luxuries. And they had paid dearly for it, spending a handful of coin from the purse hidden beneath Jobert’s tunic.

They unloaded their saddlebags and found stabling for the horses—almost as dear as the roof over their heads. Then Jobert decided to visit the taverns and seek news of the king.

Edeva looked miserable as he took his leave. “London at night is not a place for a lady,” he told her. He fingered one of her golden braids, trying to make her smile. “Especially one who looks as you do.”

She seemed very unhappy, and he could not blame her. The rented chamber was already rank with the smell of sweat, horse and damp wool. “When I go to see the king, you will go with me, I promise,” he told her. “There might be ladies in attendance, and they will admire the fine needlework decorating your clothes and your fair hair.” She looked doubtful.” ‘Tis true. All Norman women wish for blond tresses. Mayhaps because so many of them have dusky skin and dark locks.”

He leaned over and kissed her, despite the crowd of knights around them. “I will return as soon as I can.”

Jobert had no interest in the strumpets and tavern girls glimpsed now and then among the horde of soldiers, but the two men he took as escort were not so particular. They reacted to the women like hounds scenting a bitch in heat. “God’s teeth, would you get your mind off your cocks,” Jobert grumbled as Hamo near-dragged him into a tavern called The Black Horse.

They were packed into the place like so many pikes in a barrel, but Hamo quickly found the object of his quest—a girl with dark hair, laughing black eyes and a face not yet careworn.

Hamo jerked his head, indicating his plans.

“Go on, then,” Jobert said, “but meet me here before vespers.”

Roald remained at his side, but looked so miserable that Jobert urged him off. “Find a wench, if you are so desperate. If you don’t mind swimming in the seed of the half-dozen men before you.”

Jobert took a seat at one of the scarred tables and struggled to find room to stretch out his long legs. He had always hated the crudeness and emptiness of bedding whores. Now he would never have to do it again. He had Edeva—beautiful, sweet-smelling, passionate Edeva.

Not that it did him a bit of good under the present circumstances. By the Rood, how was he to endure it, with Edeva so tantalizingly near and yet so inaccessible? Mayhaps they could find a quiet copse of trees beyond the city proper. An outdoor tryst would be better than nothing. But the weather would have to clear, which it was not like to do. A soft drizzle had fallen all day, growing colder as night approached.

A barmaid finally brought him a jar of wine. Blowsy and with a face disfigured by knife wounds, she smiled at him seductively after he gave her the money. He shook his head and she sauntered off. He felt a stir of pity for the unfortunate woman, and then realized that in this market, she would keep busy all night.

He took a swallow of wine and found it good, rich and full-bodied, not sour at all. Much better than anything they’d had at Oxbury. Jobert made a mental note to purchase several casks before they left London. They could strap them to one of the extra horses and take their time returning.

“Brevrienne, you ugly bastard, what are you doing in London?”

Jobert jerked around and spied a familiar countenance and a bushy head of hair brighter than his own, “Girard of Evreux, you puffed-up pig’s bladder! Well met, well met.”

Jobert stood, but soon realized he would be foolish to give up his seat, even for a moment. He waved the other knight over. “Come join me.”

Although a sturdy fighting man, Girard was half a head shorter than Jobert and moved more easily through the cramped quarters. When he reached Jobert, he seated himself on the rickety bench, then took the jar of wine the serving wench had left and poured himself a cup.

“I’m in London to see William,” Jobert said, “as it seems the rest of Normandy is. What do you here?”

“I came over with the king. I’ve been with him in Dieppe these past few weeks.”

“The king is here?”

“Should be. My ship sailed before his, but the Mora was to put in before sunset.”

“Jesu and there are a million courtiers and knights waiting to speak to him,” Jobert said in disgust. “I will be fortunate to get an audience before Christmas.”

Girard took a gulp of wine, then regarded Jobert with steady hazel eyes. “What’s your business? I thought he’d already awarded you some land. In Wiltshire, isn’t it?”

Jobert nodded. “He enfeoffed me with a fine piece of property, and now I seek permission to build a castle there and to wed the Saxon heiress who comes with the place.”

“You’d wed a Saxon?” Girard asked, his expression disgusted.

“You have not seen
my
Saxon,” Jobert said, irritated with his friend. Why did so many Normans think that Saxon women were all rough-mannered, homely wenches?

“A beauty, is she? Still, you might take her for a concubine and have all the benefits. Why buy a cow when you can get free milk?” Girard winked.

“William has encouraged his men to claim the land by legal means. Marrying the old thegn’s daughter will legitimize my right to the property and ease my acceptance with the local people.”

“The English have no say in who rules them,” Girard scoffed. “If they do not accept your authority, intimidate them until they do.”

How much he had changed, Jobert thought. Only a few months before, he had seen things much the way Girard did. Now he knew that conquest was more complex than subduing the natives with brute force.

“’Tis not that you wed a Saxon that surprises me,” Girard said “but that you wed at all. I thought you’d given your heart to Damaris and were prepared to die celibate.”

“Damaris was the fancy of a green boy. I believe my passion for her burned so long and so bright because she was forbidden to me.”

“Well, she is forbidden to all men, now. She went into a convent this summer, St. Mary’s in Caen.”

“I had heard that. I am surprised Valois relented. I thought the greedy whoreson was determined she would make a rich match.”

“He did not accept the situation graciously. Indeed, I heard that he went to William and accused you of ruining his daughter.”

Jobert brought his cup down on the table with a thud. “That’s a lie! Damaris and I did naught but kiss, and that only once!”

“Valois obviously thinks there was more to it.”

“Why, that puling, cowardly...” Jobert took a deep breath and wondered if he could find an epithet foul enough to use against his enemy. “And what does the king think?” he asked quickly. “Does he believe Valois?”

“I’m hardly privy to royal opinion. You will have to ask him.”

Jobert gave a long, drawn-out sigh. This was the ill news his instincts had warned him about. Valois was a powerful, wealthy Norman baron, and the king needed his loyalty. Even if he could convince William that Valois accused him unfairly, that did not mean the king would take his part.