Gwendolyn's Sword Read online

  “A lifetime in battle and a soul as soft as rain,” she murmured quietly, then released his hand and turned to Gwendolyn. She extended her hand and stood patiently while Gwendolyn paused and looked at William, noting the deep crimson that had spread up his neck to his cheeks.

  “It’s all right, my dear, I don’t tell fortunes. But not being able to see people’s faces has loosened my tongue. I have a habit of saying the first thing that comes to mind.”

  Gwendolyn reached forward and took Lady d’Aubigni’s hand into her own, and Matilda startled and looked confused for a moment.

  “Oh!” Matilda reached forward with her other hand and touched Gwendolyn’s cheek gently with her fingertips, then relaxed again.

  “And here’s the one with the soul tough as iron, inside the shell of a woman,” she said lightly and laughed. “I would guess from your grip that you’ve a sword nearby that you call your own.”

  “Yes, madame,” Gwendolyn answered, slightly abashed.

  “Fascinating,” Matilda murmured again, then swept about to lead them through the hall and called out behind her, “Follow me!”

  Gwendolyn strode swiftly behind Matilda, struggling to keep up. For a woman without sight, Matilda moved around her home with grace and speed that was hard to match. Gwendolyn ignored the muffled comments and stares from the arrayed lords and ladies and men-at-arms as they took in her appearance, dressed and outfitted as well as any knight. The novelty of her presence among them would wear off soon enough. In a few days they would forget to notice her at all.

  Matilda led them to a trestle table set up on a raised dais, where they found Walter de Coutances and William d’Aubigni deep in conversation near the hearth. William d’Aubigni’s back was to her, but she could see de Coutances’s grave expression clearly by the glow of the firelight. William nudged her elbow, and she joined him in taking a seat at the table beside the earl.

  William d’Aubigni turned around and started when he saw her, then flashed a half-smile that seemed entirely lacking in humor.

  “So it’s true! A woman carrying a sword who fancies herself the descendant of King Arthur himself!”

  Gwendolyn did not return the smile. She noted the insult behind the earl’s words, and her fatigue had left her long past any attempt at courtly pretense. She responded curtly, “The first bit’s true. The rest is rubbish, except that it may be useful to stop John.”

  She set her cup down in front of her and stretched her neck and arms, ignoring the earl’s frozen expression and narrowed eyes. De Coutances continued the conversation before the earl could respond.

  “I’ve filled the earl in on the queen’s request that he guard you while she negotiates with John. As you’ve seen, the castle is already in a state of war readiness. Our arrival doesn’t change anything d’Aubigni wasn’t doing already.”

  Gwendolyn turned to the earl and nodded.

  “I am indebted to you. Thank you.”

  Matilda d’Aubigni had seated herself beside Walter de Coutances, and her husband noisily shifted a plate of nuts across the table in front of her so that she would hear their location and could help herself to them. Gwendolyn noticed the gesture; despite his rough manners she realized that she liked the earl.

  “I would like to train with your men while I’m here, if that’s acceptable to you,” she said.

  The earl turned his face to her in shock.

  “Don’t be absurd. You’ll be killed.”

  William laughed from the other side of her, and the earl frowned and leaned forward to peer around Gwendolyn at him.

  “You’re her constable?” She thought that his question held a hint of accusation in it, and she wondered if William was about to pick an argument with the earl on their first meeting. De Coutances seemed to be growing increasingly flustered across from her.

  “I am, my lord.” William stared forward into his cup, but the corner of his mouth was pulled back in a faint smile.

  “And you think it funny that she proposes risking life and limb just for show?”

  “It’s no show,” he replied soberly.

  The earl stared a moment longer at William, then sat back again, shaking his head.

  “Take her hand, my love,” Matilda urged gently.

  Gwendolyn offered her near hand—her sword hand—to the earl, and he took it into both of his, which were warm and strong. Both her palm and her fingers were larger than the earl’s. Years of hard work had swollen her knuckles, and callouses from hours spent in training lined her grip and the heel of her palm. These were not the hands of a pampered lady. They bore all the marks of a seasoned man-at-arms.

  “I don’t understand,” he said quietly, letting go of her hand.

  “There’s nothing to understand,” William said, turning to the earl. “She is what she is. I trained her myself.”

  The earl hesitated, looking between Gwendolyn and de Coutances for some sort of explanation, and finally shook his head in surrender.

  “I’ll be damned. Never thought I’d see the likes.”

  “She killed one of those beasts last night,” de Coutances added.

  She felt the earl’s gaze survey her closely.

  “And what do you think they were?” he asked her. “The devil’s own mongrels? Or just wolves, as Walter here insists?”

  “Neither,” she answered, turning to look at the earl. She was taller than him and his white hair had thinned on top of his head, but his eyes, small and bright, pinned her with his question. She thought of Tristan, of the good men who had lost their lives already to Prince John’s obsession and cowardice, and felt her hands tighten into fists in her lap. She spoke freely, her voice bitter. “I believe it was a new kind of dog, bred solely to hunt and kill men.”

  She watched the earl lean back thoughtfully and ponder her explanation as his mind ran through the implications.

  “There are few who would have the means for such an undertaking,” he said, stroking the bristle on his chin.

  “Exactly,” she replied, and raised an eyebrow at him suggestively.

  “What? You believe Prince John is behind this?” The earl’s eyes were wide.

  “Until I hear a better explanation.”

  D’Aubigni looked to the other men at the table who had also witnessed the beasts, neither of whom appeared persuaded by Gwendolyn’s suggestion.

  “William, you were there. What is your opinion? Has John found another means of waging battle without risking his own neck?”

  Gwendolyn scoffed under her breath at the question; the earl had lit upon the other reason she found it likely that the beasts were the work of Prince John. Breeding dogs to do his fighting for him was exactly the sort of craven behavior she would expect from a man with John’s reputation.

  William exhaled and turned his gaze toward de Coutances.

  “The queen mentioned a sorcerer…” he said in a low voice.

  At the mention of the queen’s rumor Matilda gasped and the archbishop slammed his cup down onto the table, causing the contents to spill and those nearby to startle at the outburst.

  “She said John believed he had found a sorcerer,” de Coutances growled. “For that belief alone he could be excommunicated for heresy. For the love of the saints, William, I’m surprised at you.”

  Gwendolyn watched William purse his lips together and nod, staring down at his cup again. He would say nothing more of it.

  D’Aubigni turned back to de Coutances and thrust his chin at him. “Then what say you, Walter?”

  “As I’ve said, wolves. Nothing more than that.”

  “They ignored the horses and came only for the men,” Gwendolyn said quietly.

  D’Aubigni scanned their faces, but no one appeared interested in carrying the conversation any further.

  “Well. All that really matters is that they can be killed,” he finally said.

  “And by a woman.” The remark came from over her shoulder, and everyone at the table looked up to the dark-haired young man sta
nding behind her.

  “Edmund, my boy! Join us!” The earl stood up with a broad grin and slapped the youth on the back as he moved around the table to take his seat next to his mother, Matilda d’Aubigni.

  “Thank you,” Gwendolyn answered, emptying her cup.

  Edmund pushed a dark lock of hair out of his eyes and settled into his seat. “I meant they can’t be that ferocious, if a woman could kill one of them.”

  There was an awkward pause at the table, but Gwendolyn laughed aloud. The youth sitting across from her was her age and wore a knight’s belt as she did, but his belt carried adornments of pressed silver and his hands seemed as battle-hardened as his mother’s. He was a young trifle, testing with hard words to provoke a challenge that she felt confident he could not meet.

  “Well said, young Edmund,” she said lightly and turned to her hosts. “And, if it’s all right, I’d like to head back out to the grounds below to my tent. I would guess the guard gets an early start in the morning.” She had felt the telltale twisting in her lower belly and knew she would want to be close to her small stash of rags in the morning.

  “You’re staying up here in the keep. After last night’s attack, I’m not taking any chances with you,” D’Aubigni said, and Walter de Coutances nodded in agreement from across the table.

  She opened her mouth to protest, but William spoke up ahead of her.

  “I agree. I’ll stay up here as well.”

  “The men have already carried your things up, and your maid has arranged your room,” Matilda added.

  Gwendolyn sighed. There was no point in arguing. As Eleanor had said, for now her life was not her own.

  “Very well,” she said, pretending at least to herself that her assent in the matter had been necessary. As she rose, William stood beside her.

  The earl waved to the woman who had assisted Matilda earlier and signaled to her to come join them.

  “Agnes will show you to your room. And William,” he added, “there’s a boar that’s been terrorizing travelers, charging out of nowhere like a mountain with knives. My warden has found his tracks, so we’re heading out after him tomorrow. You and Walter will join us.”

  William smiled and thanked the earl, although Gwendolyn was certain that the distraction and pageantry of a boar hunt held no interest for him. But it was an honor to have been invited; his new position as the captain of the Tower guard required that he participate in such formalities. They both made their farewells and followed Agnes out into the center of the keep, in the open air. Gwendolyn noticed as they left that her time at the earl’s table seemed to have already improved her standing among the men and women of Arundel, as no nods or whispers accompanied her exiting passage back through the hall.

  “There’s the privy,” Agnes said as they passed a small hut against the wall to their right, “and that’s your room, there,” she added, pointing across to a row of guestrooms on the first floor that jutted out over the ground-level storage area where grain and supplies for a siege had been neatly stacked and counted. The room at the end of the row had one window with its shutters open, and the soft glow of a tallow candle faintly illuminated the inside of the room. Gwendolyn excused herself to the privy then rejoined William to climb the smooth timber stairs. As they entered the doorway they found themselves in a welcoming, if sparse, room.

  Fresh herbs of lavender and horsemint had been scattered across the floor planks, and a tin brazier stood on its iron pedestal in the middle of the room, giving off a comfortable warmth. Gwendolyn’s fatigue returned to her quickly, and there was hardly time to sit on the edge of her wood-framed pallet before she felt her eyelids droop. A small trestle table stood in one corner with a jug on it, and a trunk in the opposite corner held her belongings. Sybil was nowhere to be seen.

  She bent over and began to fiddle with her boots, realized it was hopeless, and instead stood up to remove her cloak and weapons belt.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of us getting squires to help with the armor,” she said, only half seriously. The group from the tower would be down in the yard, making use of the ale and song to push away the terror and deaths of the previous night. She and William were left to their own devices.

  William stood behind her, took her weapons belt from her as she removed it, and laid it against the wall.

  “Face me.”

  She did as she was told. He had a strange look on his face, and she remembered his unflappable propriety toward her. He leaned in and unfastened the coif from around her neck, tossed it beside the belt, then waited for her to lift up her arms and bend toward him so that he could lift the heavy hauberk off of her. There was no place to hang it, and he let it pile onto the floor as well, wincing visibly as the rings grated against each other. With any luck, she thought, the earl would have an armorer on a par with the man in the Tower.

  She helped him with his own armor, and held his gaze briefly before pulling his hauberk up and over his head and outstretched arms. There was nothing to it, and yet she felt her cheeks warm as she dropped the mail tunic beside her own. She still wore the quilted layers of padding and linen that cushioned the hauberk against her when she dropped herself onto the pallet and wordlessly rolled to face the wall. She fell asleep within moments.

  The following morning arrived gray and misty, with a salty breeze blowing in over the marshes from the south coast. Gwendolyn wrinkled her nose at the moist air and found herself longing for the sharp winds of autumn at Penhallam. The harvest would have been gathered by now; celebrations and feasts would be underway. She wondered whether Anne and Eric were still falling in love, or whether their affections might have ebbed with increased familiarity, as happened so often for the young. William was gone, which was expected. A boar hunt would need to be already in the vicinity of its prey by dawn. The men and their hounds would have departed out of the castle grounds before the parish church rang Matins.

  Gwendolyn entered the great hall in time to grab a scrap of bread to break her fast. Matilda d’Aubigni looked up at the sound of her footsteps and smiled, as if she had been waiting for her. She rose and approached, stepping nimbly over the thick layer of rushes on the floor. The earl’s wife was dressed simply in a woolen gown dyed the color of autumn wheat. The golden hue warmed Matilda’s complexion and complimented the nutmeg strands of her hair. She took Gwendolyn’s rough hands into her own, which were small and soft.

  “How did you know it was me?” Gwendolyn asked, hoping that her question was not rude.

  Matilda laughed. “Agnes advised me, my dear. Unfortunately, when I lost my sight, there was no gift of second sight to replace it.”

  Matilda led Gwendolyn toward the dais where a platter of dried fruits had been set down. The young mothers who had babes at the breast were sitting together in a small group to the side, and Gwendolyn noticed one of the mothers with tears rolling down her cheeks, struggling to help her tiny, fussing baby take the breast. Matilda paused and approached the group, leaning down and placing a hand softly on the woman’s shoulder.

  “May I?” she asked, her hand outstretched toward the baby. The mother said yes, and Matilda settled onto her heels behind the young mother and felt her way gently around to the baby’s head. The mother held the baby in the crook of her left elbow with the baby’s head tucked in toward the breast, and Matilda shifted the baby slightly to the mother’s right, toward the center of her body so that the baby had to tip her head back a bit to get to the breast again. Suddenly the baby opened her tiny mouth wide and the entire pink of the breast disappeared as Matilda deftly guided. For a moment the hall seemed to breathe a full sigh of relief with mother and baby as the milk flowed at last into the hungry little mouth.

  Matilda stood up again and straightened her skirts. “I will have a bath drawn for you in the kitchen,” she continued, returning her attention easily back to Gwendolyn and reaching to hold her hands again. “Your room cannot have been comfortable. I always feel like I’ve gone to the wilderness every ti
me we come down from Norfolk.”

  “A bath?”

  Gwendolyn felt her chest flutter at the prospect of stripping down in front of even Matilda and her maids. Only some of her belongings had made it to the trunk, and she could feel the first seeping warmth between her legs as her bowels twisted again with a fierce cramp. Now was not the time for a bath, and she needed to find rags quickly.

  “I promise, you will be quite on your own,” Matilda assured her.

  Gwendolyn hesitated, a flush rising to her cheeks. Matilda still held her hands, and Gwendolyn watched the older woman’s expression transform to one of recognition.

  “Oh, my dear,” Matilda said, “I’ll send Agnes for some tea. How terrible to be travelling with all of these men at the time of your flow.”

  Matilda called to Agnes to follow after them and led Gwendolyn into the room directly beyond the hall. The d’Aubigni’s private room was as large as the hall, but a clutter of crates and bundles made the space feel tighter, more intimate. Matilda knew the exact location of every object and moved through the room with ease. Agnes caught up with them, and Matilda gave the girl a quick instruction. She turned her attention to Gwendolyn as Agnes left again with a quick curtsy.

  “Sit here, please.” Matilda gestured to a large chair, lined with tapestries and felted wool. Gwendolyn sat down, awkwardly noticing how dirty her shirt appeared next to the fine fabric. Matilda perched herself lightly on a stool in front of her, both hands resting open in her lap, palms up, looking expectantly at Gwendolyn.

  “Your feet.”

  Gwendolyn hesitated, shifting in her chair, not sure if she had heard the earl’s wife correctly.

  “Give me your feet,” she repeated, as if her request was entirely obvious and Gwendolyn was being a bit daft.

  Gwendolyn frowned and lifted a foot tentatively toward Matilda. The older woman took the foot firmly in both of her hands and brought it to her lap, expertly pulling the leather boot off and pushing the hem of Gwendolyn’s breeches up her calf.