The moments passed, and still this Melville did not return. The servant that had led Melville out of the room returned, and after spying Fitz, walked towards him hurriedly.
“My lord FitzOsbern,” he said in a gracious voice full of deference. “I did not see you there – permit me to offer you welcome.”
Fitz looked up at him in disgust. “And what have I done to afford such a welcome?”
The servant was confused. “My lord?”
“These men are guests here just as much as I,” Fitz said. “And yet you treated them like dogs. What is your name?”
The servant’s eyes flickered over Melville’s men, warming themselves by the fire.
“William,” he said bitterly. “William of Bologne.”
“Thank you,” Fitz said harshly. “I shall remember that. Now leave us.”
After the servant had left, the man that the others seemed to follow spoke quietly to Fitz.
“You did not have to do that, my lord FitzOsbern.”
Fitz smiled. “I am called Fitz by those I respect.”
The man met his gaze, and smiled. “And those I respect call me Robert.”
Time passed, and still Melville did not return. All save Robert stood by the fire; Fitz watched Robert as he paced up and down, unable to stay still, despite the obvious tiredness that he felt. He was worried.
Fitz closed his eyes. Then opened them again. Whenever they were closed, his treacherous eyes only showed him the form of the woman he loved: Catheryn’s face danced before him, her beauty radiating from his memory.
He must not think on her, he must remember that he was married.
Loud footsteps caused the men around the fire to look up, and then visibly relax when Melville strode back into the room.
“We return home,” he called to them.
“What, immediately?” Robert looked disappointed.
“This very moment,” Melville replied, reaching his men and smiling at them wearily.
The man that Fitz had thought the most tired started to speak.
“My lord, we are exhausted.”
Melville nodded. “And so is every single person that we left behind. Exhausted by not knowing whether they are to live or die.” Fitz stared in astonishment as Melville’s companions all nodded sadly. “We must ride to give them the news.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence that Robert eventually broke.
“News?”
Melville’s smile told the story before his words did.
“The King will not be taking Ulleskelf. We are saved.”
Robert nodded. “Then home. The sooner the better.”
Fitz watched them gather their cloaks around them, readying themselves for what he assumed was a long ride. He had never heard of Ulleskelf; it could not be a Norman holding. But why on earth would King William want to take another place in England – why were these people living under the sentence of death?
Suddenly, as one man, Melville’s companions threw themselves onto the floor, kneeling. Fitz looked up, and saw King William stride into the room, bitter anger on his face.
“Did I not tell you to take all your men?”
Melville looked as confused as Fitz felt. “I… Jean!”
Fitz could just about see another figure standing behind the King. This figure rushed towards Melville, and the two men embraced.
“My King – you told me that you had Jean killed.”
Fitz stared. This was not the King William that he knew, not the King William that he had left all those years ago.
“I told you that I could not allow such a man to remain amongst my retinue,” smiled King William. “I told you that I had disposed of him. Consider him at your disposal.”
Without waiting to hear any response from Melville, King William turned away and left the room, shouting out, “All of your men, Melville.”
Fitz watched. The men were tired, and they were hungry, and from what he could tell all they wanted to do was sleep. And yet they turned to Melville, waiting for his command.
“Onward.”
It was only one word, but it was enough to take them striding outside once more, Jean among them. Fitz smiled. It heartened him to see such loyalty and such friendship; many had thought it lost within the invasion several years ago, but it was still blossoming in the strangest of places.
“My lord FitzOsbern?”
Fitz looked up. The rude servant, William, was standing before him, a smile on his face that was evidently there to please.
“My lord, the King will gladly see you now.”
Chapter Twenty Six
The King did not look happy.
“Fitz.”
Fitz bowed low. “My lord King William. It is good to see you again after so much time.”
“We had heard… troubling reports on your sickness,” the King said.
Fitz did not immediately reply. Looking around the room, full of red and gold decorations, his eyes found what they were looking for.
“May I sit, my lord King? I must admit that I have had a long journey, and I would not say no to the chance of a rest.”
King William spread an arm out wide.
“Thank you, my lord King.”
Fitz sat down, and his back thanked him for it. He could not go on much longer without sleep, he knew, but King William wanted to talk to him, and so they would talk. It was a little unnerving for Fitz, being alone with his monarch. But here, in this room full of gold and silver, there was just the two of them.
Thankfully, the King seemed just as preoccupied as Fitz felt. The great man now had tints of grey in his hair, which Fitz had never seen before. There were slightly more scars on his hands, and one across his face that Fitz did not remember. It seemed as though King William had been fighting just as many battles as Fitz had in the time that they had been apart – although Fitz’s had been against sickness, and William’s had been against the people of this realm.
“Would you like an apple, Fitz?”
Fitz started at the strange question, but his stomach answered for him. It gave a loud rumble, and King William laughed. He took one from a bowl, and handed it to Fitz before he sat in the chair opposite him.
Fitz bit into the apple, and the juices ran out of his mouth. It was delicious.
“I thank you, my lord King,” he said after satiating his appetite. “But I must ask if I can speak freely to you.”
The King looked at him intensely. “Have I ever given you cause to hide the truth from me?”
“Not at all,” Fitz said quickly. His brain was not ready for this. “I merely wanted to remind myself of that truth. It has been many months since I have had the good fortune to sit with you, my lord King.”
“Too long.”
“You honour me,” Fitz smiled. “I must ask you, my lord King, why you have summoned me here? Here, in so strange a place, and so quickly too. Your letter gave no indication, and I had heard nothing worrying whilst in Normandy.”
King William sighed, and it was only then that Fitz suddenly realised: William was old. He had not been old when Fitz had last seen him – he had hardly seemed to approach middle age. But now, looking at the tired man before him, with the cares and concerns of two nations sitting on his shoulders, Fitz knew that he had not been summoned here for an idle task. King William needed his help.
“I will be as honest with you as you are with me,” King William sighed. He picked up an apple from the bowl by his side, but instead of eating it, merely fiddled it around in his fingers. All of his attention seemed to be wrapped up in the fruit. Fitz watched him uneasily. This was not the King William that he knew.
“My rule is being challenged.”
The voice was quiet, but Fitz could detect the same power, and the same determination within its syllables. He relaxed. King William may be older, but that probably meant that he was wiser.
“Challenged? I was not aware that any were so foolish as to challenge you, my lord King.”
; King William snorted. “You would not be, out in Normandy amongst people that love this family. But here, in the North, it is quite a different matter.”
“What shape has this challenge taken?”
“Did you hear of the York march?”
Fitz shook his head. “Little accurate news ever managed to reach me in Normandy. As far as we knew, all was well.”
“Well it is not,” King William said heavily. “In the summer just passed, I found it necessary to go to York to put down an uprising against my rule. Many fled, rather than face the wrath of my sword, and yet I was glad to see little bloodshed. And so I left.”
Fitz knew the pattern. “And they rebelled again.”
King William nodded. “I wrote to you just after that second uprising in York. They had taken York, and in the end there was no choice but to destroy all within it that defied me.”
Fitz sighed. His King was not a brutal man, but he did not forgive. You were given but one chance, and if you decided to ignore that one occasion of forgiveness, you would not see another. You would be destroyed.
“And now?”
“And now,” said King William, “the Danes have got involved. Their King – Sweyn – he has come over the frozen water, and helped this Edgar to take back York.”
“They would not dare!” Fitz said angrily. “What right have they to interfere in your lands?”
“No right, but right of power, and that right they have all too much of.”
Fitz stared at his King. “Why York?”
“Have you ever been?”
“This is as far north as I have ever travelled,” Fitz confessed, “and a cold, weary land it is too. What passions can be stirred by this cold city of York?”
King William smiled. “It is, to tell you the truth, a beautiful city. It is almost Norman in its buildings. The river flows through it quietly, and it is surrounded by the landscape of this country in a way that gives it much splendour.”
“…and that is it?” Fitz said disbelievingly. “It is a beautiful place, and so blood is shed time and time again to keep it?”
“York is so much more than that,” King William reminded him, finally taking a bite from the apple in his hands. “It has been a centre for learning for hundreds of years. Its archbishop is one of the most powerful men in the land. The nobles of the North congregate there, they make law there, justice in the North is served there in the courts. If you have York, you have the North.”
Fitz sighed. “What is to be done?”
King William stared at the flames in the large stone grate. “I will destroy them.”
Fitz shook his head. “It has been done before – twice – and neither time has encouraged people to peace.”
“This time there will be no people left.”
“My… my lord King?” Fitz looked confused.
King William’s gaze flickered over to him. “I will destroy them,” he said quietly. “I will kill every man, woman, and child that comes into my path from here to York. And I will burn every dwelling, and I will slaughter all cattle. I will bring death to these people, and they shall learn that to defy me is to die.”
Fitz stared at his King in horror.
“You think me too harsh, no doubt.”
Fitz found his voice, though he felt at any moment it could break. “My lord King, what you are suggesting is… it is not battle, it is murder! To kill everyone, every Anglo-Saxon that you meet with –”
“And Norman,” King William said quietly, still staring into the fire.
“Every Norman!”
“And why not?” challenged King William. “They did not support me, they have not been fighting the rebels. They are just as much traitors as the rest of them. Anglo-Saxons!” He spat into the fire, and the flames sizzled. Smoke rose.
“My lord King,” Fitz began again, “surely you can see that this is madness – the sheer scale of it, the number of deaths!”
King William smiled, and threw the remainder of his apple back into the bowl.
“I will say to you what I said to young Melville. He had come here to plead for his life; for his life, for the life of his Saxon bride, and the lives of those that lived under his protection.”
Fitz stared, confused. “You granted it.”
“Oh, you know that, do you?” King William scowled. “Then it will be through the royal court already. I had hoped to keep it… quiet.”
“But if you can change your mind in that quarter –”
“My lord Melville and I have a special understanding,” King William said curtly. “He has not managed to change my mind on this course of action, and you will be just as unsuccessful.”
“But why?” Fitz exploded. He could not take it anymore. “My lord King, I lost my daughter to sickness. It was cruel, and it was painful, and it took her from me. You have not lost a child – you cannot know the agony of a parent staring into the unseeing eyes of one that they loved. But your actions will give that pain to hundreds, perhaps thousands across this land! Can you not see the suffering that you will cause?”
King William was silent for a moment, and then he spoke. His words were weighty, and Fitz saw that he chose them carefully.
“As I told Melville: I have only reached this position by making difficult decisions such as these. It is the remit of kings, and kings only, to make choices whether a man will live or die. You cannot think that I make them lightly, you cannot think that I make them with joy in my heart? But this burden – for it is a burden – is one that I shoulder myself, rather than give to lesser men.”
“But –”
“God, man, do you think I like this!” It was now King William’s turn to show his anger, and Fitz flinched. No matter his age, King William was still a powerful man. “Do you think I seek destruction? But if I do not act, if I cannot stamp out these flames of rebellion, they will not be content to remain where they are – the flames will spread across the entirety of England, and perhaps even to Normandy. We would return to war, and countless would die. It could go on for years, do you not see?”
Fitz saw. He imagined the devastation that a war would bring them; he thought of their enemies close to them in Normandy, and how they would relish the chance to disband what King William had created.
“I do not like this,” Fitz spoke frankly. “I do not like this at all.”
King William leaned back in his chair, and sighed. “Neither do I.”
“And the Queen?”
King William smiled. “You think that she approves in any way? She does not. In many ways, I am grateful that this pregnancy has prevented her from taking more of a role. But like me, she sees the use that this destruction can bring. Those that rise up from the ashes of this time will be strong, and most importantly, loyal.”
Fitz smiled. “Queen Matilda is pregnant?”
King William returned his smile. “You did not know?”
“As I said, news rarely reaches us.”
“Well, it is good news. Welcome news, to distract me in dark moments. And now,” King William said with a sigh, “I must demand that you join me.”
For a moment, Fitz did not quite understand. “Join you?”
“In this campaign,” King William said irritably, annoyed that Fitz was not following his meaning. “You are a good fighter, Fitz, and you’re loyal. You may have been away, but there are many men here that would name you friend, and follow you into the fight. There are few others that I can trust. The Harcourts, of course – but then they will follow me anywhere. I need you.”
Fitz’s mouth opened. “My lord King, I have been very ill –”
“You came here. You are well enough.”
“My recovery continues my lord,” Fitz tried to explain. “The strength that you remember… it is gone.”
King William shook his head. “I do not believe that.”
“I must refuse.”
“And I must ask again,” King William said quietly. “As your friend, and as your cousin, and as yo
ur liege.”
The two men looked at each other.
Fitz swallowed. “My lord King William, I will follow you.”
Chapter Twenty Seven
Catheryn sat and watched, from the middle of her favourite field, another summer come and go without getting one single step closer to her daughter.
She had thought, when she first arrived here, that the pain would lessen as time went on. And in many ways, it had. Every moment of her day was not wrapped in concern over Annis; she did not start every time she thought she saw a blonde girl wander past her; she no longer cried out in the night as she watched her daughter be taken away from her, again, and again, and again.
But Catheryn, watching one of the last golden leaves fall from the trees before her, could not pretend that the pain was gone. This grief, if grief it was, did not leave her alone, but was instead a constant companion. Sometimes silent, sometimes vocal, there was never any doubt that it was there.
Fitz had been gone for several months now. His leaving had been sudden, hurried. The contents of the letter that he had received, the night before he had left, had clearly troubled him. Catheryn could see that they troubled Adeliza still, but the two women had not spoken of it. They had barely spoken to each other at all.
Adeliza had wrapped herself in her children. They were her fortress, and her strength. They were the only things worthy of her attention, and Catheryn left them together.
After the death of Isabella, the family had closed in upon itself, like a creature that had suffered pain and wanted to retreat. Catheryn was not unwelcome, but she was more like a remembrance of a former life than a guest, and more of a servant than a prisoner. To be sure, she was not treated unkindly: but she was barely noticed at all.
Catheryn fell back onto the autumn grass with a sigh. She closed her eyes. She could remember when William, the eldest son, had come to visit his mother.
He had been a gentle man, but Catheryn had seen no love in his eyes. She was sad to see that he understood his mother very well – too well. Oh, young William was still quite clearly grieving at the loss of his sister. Catheryn had been told that his first child had just been born, and they had named it Isabella, after the beloved sister that had been lost. But none of the children – not William, nor Roger, and especially not Emma – could forgive their mother for refusing to comfort and console Isabella in her final hours.