The outlaws, p.46
The Outlaws, page 46
“No, they’ll catch us.”
“What are they doing?” Hereward, one of the drivers, asked.
“Not getting ready for a picnic,” Robert said. “They’re putting on their armor, those who have any.” He did not add that the archers in that company were stringing their own bows.
He did not have to mention the last point, for his alarm that the enemy was donning its armor sent a tremor through the carters. While they might have traded arrows with the archers from behind the cover of the wagons, they had no enthusiasm for shooting at armored men who could crouch behind their shields as they rushed. Robert could see they were within an inch of flight. He didn’t blame them. No one wanted to face an armored man with a sword at close quarters, given a choice.
“Don’t run yet,” Robert said, pulling his gambeson and mailed shirt out of their bags and struggling to get them on. “Let’s see what they do first.”
“They’re going to come through that gate in a dead run, that’s what they’re going to do!” one of the drivers declared.
“We haven’t a prayer,” said another.
“Robert, your honor,” Osgar said, “there’s a village not far off.” He pointed to the east, where a pall of smoke too great to come from a single house hung over the treetops. “I think it’s Bewdley.”
“Take my horse,” Robert said. “Ride for it. See if anyone will help. As for the rest of you, what happened to that axe?”
Robert found the axe under bags of oats meant for the horses. He tossed it to Hereward. “Cut the axles on the carts.”
“That’s the maddest thing I’ve ever heard!” Hereward exclaimed.
“Hurry. Before they come.”
“My cart! My poor cart!” lamented Hereward as he swung at the first cart, chopping through the portion between the bed of the cart and a wheel.
“Keep hacking. Broken carts can be mended,” Robert snapped.
The others — Bernard and his son Pim — had their bows strung and the flaps of their arrow bags open. They stood there looking as through they’d rather run than fight. Robert ordered them, “You two, one on either side of the gate.”
“By the hedge?” Bernard asked.
“Exactly right. Shoot anyone in the back who comes through. But especially try to hit their leader. If you can put an arrow into him, the others will leave us alone. Everything depends on you.”
“Right. And how will I know him?”
“He’ll have the best armor and he’ll be doing all the talking.”
Bernard did not seem convinced. “Be careful with your aim. If you shoot me,” he said to Pim, “it will upset your mother.”
“Just make yourself small,” Pim grinned. “I can’t help but miss then.”
“And you do the same.”
When they were in position, each about thirty yards from the gate, Robert hopped down from the provision cart so Hereward could disable that one too. At that moment, the men-at-arms, crouching behind their shields, appeared in the gate, the archers behind them.
Rather than charging, however, they stopped and gaped at the sight of the carts, leaning precariously, axles cut, nearly spilling their contents. No one noticed Bernard or Pim kneeling by the hedge, because they had not come in far enough and their attention was on Robert.
“What have you done?” Stokesay cried.
“Eustace can’t have our wool and neither can you.”
Stokesay stood rigid with anger. “Build me a fire!” he snapped to the men behind him.
“With what, lord?” one of the archers asked.
“With something, anything! Just get it done!”
“There’s no wood.”
“Goddamn it, quit making excuses. If we can’t take the wool, we can at least burn it. That’ll be worth something. Or do you want to come away with empty palms for all our trouble?”
The archers shuffled and began to back away. The men-at-arms at Stokesay’s side also took a step backwards, but he stopped that retreat. “Not you. Hold by me.”
There was a delay while the archers searched for firewood. They collected several armfuls from a nearby wood, but Robert heard one of them cursing that it was wet, which provoked more cursing from Stokesay, who seemed to think that the fact wet wood did not desire to burn was a personal insult.
While Stokesay stamped and cursed, a crowd appeared on the road, streaming toward them, with Osgar and another mounted man at the head. Stokesay stopped cursing as they came up. The mounted man had the appearance of a lord with maroon tunic and knee-high boots. The rest were villagers armed with bills, staves, and bows and arrows.
The mounted man looked across the hedge at Robert and then at Stokesay. “I am John, lord of Bewdley. What is going on here?”
“I am Edmund de Stokesay,” Stokesay said. “I am trying to recover stolen wool.”
“Are you, now?” John said. “The way this man tells it,” he indicated Osgar, “it is the other way around. You are the robber.”
“The clip belongs to my good friend, Eustace FitzWalter, earl of Shelburgh. They are taking it to market without his permission.”
“That’s odd. Most people want their wool at market.”
“His wife sent it in defiance of his orders.”
“Ah, his wife. I’ve heard about her.” John looked at Robert. “And you must be that Attebrook fellow, the one who’s cuckolded the earl. Is he Attebrook?” John asked Osgar.
“Yes, sir, that’s Sir Robert.”
“There’s been no cuckolding,” Robert said.
“There hasn’t? Well, it makes a good story. And you, Stokesay, I take it you are FitzWalter’s man?”
“Not exactly.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I am his friend.”
“Such a mighty earl couldn’t spare a liege man for this task?”
“He asked me. As a favor. I insist that you turn these goods over to me.”
“But how can I know you are telling the truth?”
“You have his word!” Stokesay waved at Robert. “He’s as good as admitted that he’s doing the work of that evil woman.”
“Hmm,” John said. “Well, it is generally the law that the property of a wife, even one who dislikes her husband, and God knows, there are quite a few such women, can be disposed of by the husband. But the law is full of exceptions, too many for ordinary mortals like us to keep track of. That’s what lawyers and judges are for.”
“You’ll not hand it over, then?”
“It is too complicated a thing for one poor man to decide in the middle of a field. I think your friend FitzWalter must take up his claim with the crown. If his wife has violated the law, she’ll have to compensate him for it.”
“That could take years!”
“Yes, that’s an unfortunate thing about the law. And so expensive, too.”
“I insist that you impound these goods, until a decision can be made.”
“I think not. If I act wrongly in doing so, the wife will have a claim against me. I don’t think I want to get involved in claims and counterclaims and lawsuits. It is best to let them go and have others sort out the mess.”
“If you let them go, you’ll be seen as an accomplice in this theft!”
“Be careful, Stokesay, not to threaten me on my own lands. I think the fact that you, a stranger, seek this property rather than FitzWalter himself, creates enough doubt to absolve me of any complicity. I am merely a humble man trying to do justice. No one will care if I am mistaken in my judgment in the end.”
Stokesay’s lips worked but he said no more to John, lord of Bewdley. “Let’s go,” he barked to his men, and they made for their horses.
John rode through the gap in the hedge now that Stokesay had cleared the way. He glanced at Bernard and Pim, arrows still nocked, and then at the carts. “You have made a mess of your carts, Sir Robert.”
“I’m afraid so, my lord,” Robert replied. “I’ll need some help repairing them so we can be on our way.”
“I’m afraid that Stokesay would object to any assistance I might give you, though I think we can find suitable wood for your axles, at cost of course. How long do you think it will take to repair them?”
“The day only, I’m sure. If we get the wood promptly.”
“I’ll see to it. I’d like you to be off my land straightaway.”
“Thank you.”
John smiled. “He’s an unpleasant fellow, that Stokesay. I did not like him.”
CHAPTER 19
Hafton
July 1184
Robert arrived back from Gloucester on the day of the monthly manor court. A manor court could be almost festive, since it meant a morning off work for those who cared to take it, and often the bailey of the house was full of people taking their leisure in gossip and games of wrestling, archery, and football. Eustace had not liked the fact that many people took off work and had moved the court to Sundays, despite the Olof’s protests that courts were work and work was not to be done on a Sunday. (“I’m the one doing the work, and I’ll bear the sin,” Eustace was reported to have said.) There was general rejoicing when Giselle announced a return to Thursdays.
For those with business before the court, it meant a time for the airing of grievances and settling disputes which, while of no significance to anyone else, were matters of great moment to those involved, and often of great amusement for the observers. Today there was a dispute about boundaries in the fields, one family accusing another of moving a boundary stone a full ten feet; a complaint about a sow and her piglets getting through a garden fence and wreaking havoc with the lettuce and cabbage and peas; an accusation of spitting into the village well; complaints about a privy that was in need of burning so that the neighbors couldn’t go outside without choking or their eyes watering; a dog which had crept into a house and made off with a cutlet from a pan on the fire, a problem that might not have come to the lord’s attention except the dog brought the cutlet to his master, who ate it himself rather than returning it to its rightful owner, which led to a demand amounting not merely to compensation but revenge; and what to do about a lip split in a fist fight over a fishing pole that had not been returned.
When the matter of the filched cutlet came up for hearing, word spread out to the bailey, and since this case had excited popular opinion even more than the boundary stone dispute, everyone who could manage it crowded into the hall.
This created a hubbub that Robert heard from beyond the gate, and when he limped into the yard, leading a horse which was so loaded down with large canvas bags that it was impossible to ride her, none of the people clustered about the door and upon the stairs, or in one case upon a ladder at a window, gave him any mind, so consumed were they by the question whether the dog’s master had sent him in after the cutlet.
Robert tied the horse to one of the posts at the foot of the stairs, and eased the canvas sacks to the ground. They were very heavy, he was very tired, and he almost dropped one.
“What’s going on?” Robert asked a girl at the bottom of the stairs. She was one of the women hired to milk the ewes so they could have cheese and butter.
“Oh, your honor!” the girl said with some surprise, suppressing her irritation at the interruption. “You’re back!” Her eyes wandered to his soiled, bare feet as she explained about the matter of the cutlet.
“Keep an eye on those, will you?” Robert asked, pointing to the canvas sacks. “Don’t let anyone run off with them, or open them.”
“Certainly, sir,” the milkmaid said, not altogether happy with this assignment, since she could not now give her full attention to the cutlet controversy. “That wouldn’t be —?”
“Hay, but expensive hay.” There was indeed hay in the sacks. It was there to prevent the coins they contained from clanking together and attracting too much attention.
“Hay, you say,” she said, not convinced.
“Yes, I know, leaving hay lying around like this is just asking for trouble, and if anyone fingers so much as a stem without my leave, I’ll be very peeved. See the seals there? None should be broken.”
She knelt by the bags and poked one. “It’s not really just hay, is it, sir?”
“Stop that.” Robert put a finger to his lips. “Let’s just pretend for now. Is Hugh about?”
The girl had to think a moment before she realized Robert meant their guest. “Inside, sir.”
“I’ll send him out for the sacks.”
“I’ll defend them with my life until he arrives.”
“You’d better. If anything happens to them, your neighbors will probably skin you alive.”
Robert climbed the stairs. The people upon them were so engrossed in the proceedings, which were quite loud, with a lot of shouting from the parties to the lawsuit who could not be contained once things got going, that no one paid him any mind and would not get out of the way. He tapped on one shoulder after another, slipping between the bodies, to the doorway, with an occasional “’Scuse me, sir,” “pardon me,” or “your pardon” to ease his passage.
Having attained the doorway, he saw that the hall was packed more densely than sheep in a sheep fold. But there was a better class of spectator here, for as soon as Robert was recognized, gasps and cries of “He’s back!” went up and a lane parted for him to pass through to the high table. Even the litigants fell silent.
“You’re a sight,” Giselle said, looking him up and down, eyes lingering on his soiled feet. “Do you have it?”
“It’s outside. Where’s Hugh?”
“Here, I am!” Hugh’s head appeared from behind a shoulder in the front row.
“Our money from the clip is at the foot of the stairs. Be so good as to have it fetched, will you?”
“Of course!” Hugh cried, his voice almost drowned out in the shout that went up from those in the hall, for the arrival of the money meant profits to those fortunate enough to own even a single sheep, which was most families in the manor.
“Took you long enough,” Giselle said as things quieted down.
“What? You thought I might have run away with the money?”
“There was a rumor to that effect, but I scotched it. What happened, anyway?”
“I had to walk. It’s a long way.”
“Are you doing penance for something?” she asked, still gazing at his feet.
“My boots fell apart just before Hereford.”
“And you didn’t buy another pair?”
“I was out of money. I’d used up our expense funds by then.”
“Spent it all on food and wine, and soft beds, I suppose.”
“No, there were no boats at Bewdley. Only ships. They cost more than boats. Come on, now. You can at least offer me a chair. My feet are killing me.”
“I daresay, I’m sure they are. Let’s have a chair for Sir Robert!” Giselle said as Hugh superintended the delivery of the sacks of money, which were put on the table before her. “And court is suspended for today. We have more important business at the moment than missing cutlets.”
Giselle had the accounts brought from the chapel, and based on Robert’s assertion that they had received eight pence a fleece for good wool and five pence for middle wool, she counted out what was due each person on the list, and paid them off.
The usual hour for supper had come and gone before the last person received his due, and all who remained in the hall were the servants of the house. Supper was served, leftovers of swan, a soup that had once been warm but was now cold with carrots and peas floating in it, and the usual bread and cheese; and everyone ate under slanting curtains of golden light given off by a setting sun.
“I never thought I should have to have money washed,” Giselle said as she finished her supper amid piles of coins and hay, which had not been removed from the table. “This money is filthy. What were you thinking, to disguise it?”
“It worked well enough. I told people who showed any curiosity that it was fodder for the horse.”
“And they believed you?”
“I am a believable fellow, even when I lie.”
“I don’t know about that. Here, let me see your feet.”
“Thank you for your concern — at last.” Robert swung a foot to Giselle’s lap.
“Money is more important than sore feet. First things first. You walked all the way from Hereford like this?”
“If you’re worried that I’ll soil your gown, they’re all scabbed up now. It wasn’t too bad till the end. But English roads have more stones in them than most people appreciate. I think I stepped on every one in my path.”
Giselle returned Robert’s foot to the floor. “We’ll need to do something about these. Gangrene might set in otherwise. Hugh! Help Robert to his chamber, if you will. Heloise, I’ll need warm water — warm you hear, better than what the cook called soup tonight, and fresh linens.”
“Yes, my lady,” Heloise said and rushed for the kitchen, the main place for heating water.
Having had the chance to sit down, it was now harder than Robert expected to stand and walk, and he did need Hugh’s support.
Hugh deposited Robert onto his bed and stood back, uncertain what to do now, but ready for any further orders that came his way.
Heloise entered with a basin of water and linens over a forearm. She put the basin on the floor and gave the linens to Giselle, who came in after her.
“All right, then,” Giselle said. “I think he can manage on his own.” She eyed Heloise and Hugh.
“All right, then,” Hugh said, in echo. “I wonder if there’s any ale left?” He went out. Heloise followed and shut the door.
Giselle regarded Robert with crossed arms. “The last person I saw as dirty as this was a beggar at Broad Gate in Ludlow.”
“It’s hard to stay clean when sleeping in barns and in the woods.”
“I can see that. I doubt you’ve even so much as washed your face since you left, what, almost three weeks now!”
“I did so, at least twice.”
“Huh. Well, let me have those feet.”
She knelt, dipped an end to the linen cloth in the water, and grasped one of his feet. “They are worse than I thought. I’m surprised you can even walk.” She applied the linen to the bottom of his foot with more vigor than seemed called for by the amount of dirt upon it.
“What are they doing?” Hereward, one of the drivers, asked.
“Not getting ready for a picnic,” Robert said. “They’re putting on their armor, those who have any.” He did not add that the archers in that company were stringing their own bows.
He did not have to mention the last point, for his alarm that the enemy was donning its armor sent a tremor through the carters. While they might have traded arrows with the archers from behind the cover of the wagons, they had no enthusiasm for shooting at armored men who could crouch behind their shields as they rushed. Robert could see they were within an inch of flight. He didn’t blame them. No one wanted to face an armored man with a sword at close quarters, given a choice.
“Don’t run yet,” Robert said, pulling his gambeson and mailed shirt out of their bags and struggling to get them on. “Let’s see what they do first.”
“They’re going to come through that gate in a dead run, that’s what they’re going to do!” one of the drivers declared.
“We haven’t a prayer,” said another.
“Robert, your honor,” Osgar said, “there’s a village not far off.” He pointed to the east, where a pall of smoke too great to come from a single house hung over the treetops. “I think it’s Bewdley.”
“Take my horse,” Robert said. “Ride for it. See if anyone will help. As for the rest of you, what happened to that axe?”
Robert found the axe under bags of oats meant for the horses. He tossed it to Hereward. “Cut the axles on the carts.”
“That’s the maddest thing I’ve ever heard!” Hereward exclaimed.
“Hurry. Before they come.”
“My cart! My poor cart!” lamented Hereward as he swung at the first cart, chopping through the portion between the bed of the cart and a wheel.
“Keep hacking. Broken carts can be mended,” Robert snapped.
The others — Bernard and his son Pim — had their bows strung and the flaps of their arrow bags open. They stood there looking as through they’d rather run than fight. Robert ordered them, “You two, one on either side of the gate.”
“By the hedge?” Bernard asked.
“Exactly right. Shoot anyone in the back who comes through. But especially try to hit their leader. If you can put an arrow into him, the others will leave us alone. Everything depends on you.”
“Right. And how will I know him?”
“He’ll have the best armor and he’ll be doing all the talking.”
Bernard did not seem convinced. “Be careful with your aim. If you shoot me,” he said to Pim, “it will upset your mother.”
“Just make yourself small,” Pim grinned. “I can’t help but miss then.”
“And you do the same.”
When they were in position, each about thirty yards from the gate, Robert hopped down from the provision cart so Hereward could disable that one too. At that moment, the men-at-arms, crouching behind their shields, appeared in the gate, the archers behind them.
Rather than charging, however, they stopped and gaped at the sight of the carts, leaning precariously, axles cut, nearly spilling their contents. No one noticed Bernard or Pim kneeling by the hedge, because they had not come in far enough and their attention was on Robert.
“What have you done?” Stokesay cried.
“Eustace can’t have our wool and neither can you.”
Stokesay stood rigid with anger. “Build me a fire!” he snapped to the men behind him.
“With what, lord?” one of the archers asked.
“With something, anything! Just get it done!”
“There’s no wood.”
“Goddamn it, quit making excuses. If we can’t take the wool, we can at least burn it. That’ll be worth something. Or do you want to come away with empty palms for all our trouble?”
The archers shuffled and began to back away. The men-at-arms at Stokesay’s side also took a step backwards, but he stopped that retreat. “Not you. Hold by me.”
There was a delay while the archers searched for firewood. They collected several armfuls from a nearby wood, but Robert heard one of them cursing that it was wet, which provoked more cursing from Stokesay, who seemed to think that the fact wet wood did not desire to burn was a personal insult.
While Stokesay stamped and cursed, a crowd appeared on the road, streaming toward them, with Osgar and another mounted man at the head. Stokesay stopped cursing as they came up. The mounted man had the appearance of a lord with maroon tunic and knee-high boots. The rest were villagers armed with bills, staves, and bows and arrows.
The mounted man looked across the hedge at Robert and then at Stokesay. “I am John, lord of Bewdley. What is going on here?”
“I am Edmund de Stokesay,” Stokesay said. “I am trying to recover stolen wool.”
“Are you, now?” John said. “The way this man tells it,” he indicated Osgar, “it is the other way around. You are the robber.”
“The clip belongs to my good friend, Eustace FitzWalter, earl of Shelburgh. They are taking it to market without his permission.”
“That’s odd. Most people want their wool at market.”
“His wife sent it in defiance of his orders.”
“Ah, his wife. I’ve heard about her.” John looked at Robert. “And you must be that Attebrook fellow, the one who’s cuckolded the earl. Is he Attebrook?” John asked Osgar.
“Yes, sir, that’s Sir Robert.”
“There’s been no cuckolding,” Robert said.
“There hasn’t? Well, it makes a good story. And you, Stokesay, I take it you are FitzWalter’s man?”
“Not exactly.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I am his friend.”
“Such a mighty earl couldn’t spare a liege man for this task?”
“He asked me. As a favor. I insist that you turn these goods over to me.”
“But how can I know you are telling the truth?”
“You have his word!” Stokesay waved at Robert. “He’s as good as admitted that he’s doing the work of that evil woman.”
“Hmm,” John said. “Well, it is generally the law that the property of a wife, even one who dislikes her husband, and God knows, there are quite a few such women, can be disposed of by the husband. But the law is full of exceptions, too many for ordinary mortals like us to keep track of. That’s what lawyers and judges are for.”
“You’ll not hand it over, then?”
“It is too complicated a thing for one poor man to decide in the middle of a field. I think your friend FitzWalter must take up his claim with the crown. If his wife has violated the law, she’ll have to compensate him for it.”
“That could take years!”
“Yes, that’s an unfortunate thing about the law. And so expensive, too.”
“I insist that you impound these goods, until a decision can be made.”
“I think not. If I act wrongly in doing so, the wife will have a claim against me. I don’t think I want to get involved in claims and counterclaims and lawsuits. It is best to let them go and have others sort out the mess.”
“If you let them go, you’ll be seen as an accomplice in this theft!”
“Be careful, Stokesay, not to threaten me on my own lands. I think the fact that you, a stranger, seek this property rather than FitzWalter himself, creates enough doubt to absolve me of any complicity. I am merely a humble man trying to do justice. No one will care if I am mistaken in my judgment in the end.”
Stokesay’s lips worked but he said no more to John, lord of Bewdley. “Let’s go,” he barked to his men, and they made for their horses.
John rode through the gap in the hedge now that Stokesay had cleared the way. He glanced at Bernard and Pim, arrows still nocked, and then at the carts. “You have made a mess of your carts, Sir Robert.”
“I’m afraid so, my lord,” Robert replied. “I’ll need some help repairing them so we can be on our way.”
“I’m afraid that Stokesay would object to any assistance I might give you, though I think we can find suitable wood for your axles, at cost of course. How long do you think it will take to repair them?”
“The day only, I’m sure. If we get the wood promptly.”
“I’ll see to it. I’d like you to be off my land straightaway.”
“Thank you.”
John smiled. “He’s an unpleasant fellow, that Stokesay. I did not like him.”
CHAPTER 19
Hafton
July 1184
Robert arrived back from Gloucester on the day of the monthly manor court. A manor court could be almost festive, since it meant a morning off work for those who cared to take it, and often the bailey of the house was full of people taking their leisure in gossip and games of wrestling, archery, and football. Eustace had not liked the fact that many people took off work and had moved the court to Sundays, despite the Olof’s protests that courts were work and work was not to be done on a Sunday. (“I’m the one doing the work, and I’ll bear the sin,” Eustace was reported to have said.) There was general rejoicing when Giselle announced a return to Thursdays.
For those with business before the court, it meant a time for the airing of grievances and settling disputes which, while of no significance to anyone else, were matters of great moment to those involved, and often of great amusement for the observers. Today there was a dispute about boundaries in the fields, one family accusing another of moving a boundary stone a full ten feet; a complaint about a sow and her piglets getting through a garden fence and wreaking havoc with the lettuce and cabbage and peas; an accusation of spitting into the village well; complaints about a privy that was in need of burning so that the neighbors couldn’t go outside without choking or their eyes watering; a dog which had crept into a house and made off with a cutlet from a pan on the fire, a problem that might not have come to the lord’s attention except the dog brought the cutlet to his master, who ate it himself rather than returning it to its rightful owner, which led to a demand amounting not merely to compensation but revenge; and what to do about a lip split in a fist fight over a fishing pole that had not been returned.
When the matter of the filched cutlet came up for hearing, word spread out to the bailey, and since this case had excited popular opinion even more than the boundary stone dispute, everyone who could manage it crowded into the hall.
This created a hubbub that Robert heard from beyond the gate, and when he limped into the yard, leading a horse which was so loaded down with large canvas bags that it was impossible to ride her, none of the people clustered about the door and upon the stairs, or in one case upon a ladder at a window, gave him any mind, so consumed were they by the question whether the dog’s master had sent him in after the cutlet.
Robert tied the horse to one of the posts at the foot of the stairs, and eased the canvas sacks to the ground. They were very heavy, he was very tired, and he almost dropped one.
“What’s going on?” Robert asked a girl at the bottom of the stairs. She was one of the women hired to milk the ewes so they could have cheese and butter.
“Oh, your honor!” the girl said with some surprise, suppressing her irritation at the interruption. “You’re back!” Her eyes wandered to his soiled, bare feet as she explained about the matter of the cutlet.
“Keep an eye on those, will you?” Robert asked, pointing to the canvas sacks. “Don’t let anyone run off with them, or open them.”
“Certainly, sir,” the milkmaid said, not altogether happy with this assignment, since she could not now give her full attention to the cutlet controversy. “That wouldn’t be —?”
“Hay, but expensive hay.” There was indeed hay in the sacks. It was there to prevent the coins they contained from clanking together and attracting too much attention.
“Hay, you say,” she said, not convinced.
“Yes, I know, leaving hay lying around like this is just asking for trouble, and if anyone fingers so much as a stem without my leave, I’ll be very peeved. See the seals there? None should be broken.”
She knelt by the bags and poked one. “It’s not really just hay, is it, sir?”
“Stop that.” Robert put a finger to his lips. “Let’s just pretend for now. Is Hugh about?”
The girl had to think a moment before she realized Robert meant their guest. “Inside, sir.”
“I’ll send him out for the sacks.”
“I’ll defend them with my life until he arrives.”
“You’d better. If anything happens to them, your neighbors will probably skin you alive.”
Robert climbed the stairs. The people upon them were so engrossed in the proceedings, which were quite loud, with a lot of shouting from the parties to the lawsuit who could not be contained once things got going, that no one paid him any mind and would not get out of the way. He tapped on one shoulder after another, slipping between the bodies, to the doorway, with an occasional “’Scuse me, sir,” “pardon me,” or “your pardon” to ease his passage.
Having attained the doorway, he saw that the hall was packed more densely than sheep in a sheep fold. But there was a better class of spectator here, for as soon as Robert was recognized, gasps and cries of “He’s back!” went up and a lane parted for him to pass through to the high table. Even the litigants fell silent.
“You’re a sight,” Giselle said, looking him up and down, eyes lingering on his soiled feet. “Do you have it?”
“It’s outside. Where’s Hugh?”
“Here, I am!” Hugh’s head appeared from behind a shoulder in the front row.
“Our money from the clip is at the foot of the stairs. Be so good as to have it fetched, will you?”
“Of course!” Hugh cried, his voice almost drowned out in the shout that went up from those in the hall, for the arrival of the money meant profits to those fortunate enough to own even a single sheep, which was most families in the manor.
“Took you long enough,” Giselle said as things quieted down.
“What? You thought I might have run away with the money?”
“There was a rumor to that effect, but I scotched it. What happened, anyway?”
“I had to walk. It’s a long way.”
“Are you doing penance for something?” she asked, still gazing at his feet.
“My boots fell apart just before Hereford.”
“And you didn’t buy another pair?”
“I was out of money. I’d used up our expense funds by then.”
“Spent it all on food and wine, and soft beds, I suppose.”
“No, there were no boats at Bewdley. Only ships. They cost more than boats. Come on, now. You can at least offer me a chair. My feet are killing me.”
“I daresay, I’m sure they are. Let’s have a chair for Sir Robert!” Giselle said as Hugh superintended the delivery of the sacks of money, which were put on the table before her. “And court is suspended for today. We have more important business at the moment than missing cutlets.”
Giselle had the accounts brought from the chapel, and based on Robert’s assertion that they had received eight pence a fleece for good wool and five pence for middle wool, she counted out what was due each person on the list, and paid them off.
The usual hour for supper had come and gone before the last person received his due, and all who remained in the hall were the servants of the house. Supper was served, leftovers of swan, a soup that had once been warm but was now cold with carrots and peas floating in it, and the usual bread and cheese; and everyone ate under slanting curtains of golden light given off by a setting sun.
“I never thought I should have to have money washed,” Giselle said as she finished her supper amid piles of coins and hay, which had not been removed from the table. “This money is filthy. What were you thinking, to disguise it?”
“It worked well enough. I told people who showed any curiosity that it was fodder for the horse.”
“And they believed you?”
“I am a believable fellow, even when I lie.”
“I don’t know about that. Here, let me see your feet.”
“Thank you for your concern — at last.” Robert swung a foot to Giselle’s lap.
“Money is more important than sore feet. First things first. You walked all the way from Hereford like this?”
“If you’re worried that I’ll soil your gown, they’re all scabbed up now. It wasn’t too bad till the end. But English roads have more stones in them than most people appreciate. I think I stepped on every one in my path.”
Giselle returned Robert’s foot to the floor. “We’ll need to do something about these. Gangrene might set in otherwise. Hugh! Help Robert to his chamber, if you will. Heloise, I’ll need warm water — warm you hear, better than what the cook called soup tonight, and fresh linens.”
“Yes, my lady,” Heloise said and rushed for the kitchen, the main place for heating water.
Having had the chance to sit down, it was now harder than Robert expected to stand and walk, and he did need Hugh’s support.
Hugh deposited Robert onto his bed and stood back, uncertain what to do now, but ready for any further orders that came his way.
Heloise entered with a basin of water and linens over a forearm. She put the basin on the floor and gave the linens to Giselle, who came in after her.
“All right, then,” Giselle said. “I think he can manage on his own.” She eyed Heloise and Hugh.
“All right, then,” Hugh said, in echo. “I wonder if there’s any ale left?” He went out. Heloise followed and shut the door.
Giselle regarded Robert with crossed arms. “The last person I saw as dirty as this was a beggar at Broad Gate in Ludlow.”
“It’s hard to stay clean when sleeping in barns and in the woods.”
“I can see that. I doubt you’ve even so much as washed your face since you left, what, almost three weeks now!”
“I did so, at least twice.”
“Huh. Well, let me have those feet.”
She knelt, dipped an end to the linen cloth in the water, and grasped one of his feet. “They are worse than I thought. I’m surprised you can even walk.” She applied the linen to the bottom of his foot with more vigor than seemed called for by the amount of dirt upon it.
