“My friends,” began Tilian, speaking in the traditions of his people, “O, hear me.”
There were nods and smiles throughout the crowd, as people heard the customary opening to a heroic tale, full of epic and exciting adventures, although this one was doomed to be filled with sadness.
“I tell you a tale of great suffering, and of bravery, and of great men that we have lost.”
As he told his personal story of how he had seen William and his army approaching his village, there were shudders and tears privately spent.
“I was forced to kill my own animals,” Tilian spoke with a great melancholy in his voice, but no tears fell. “I saw children, who were wandering from village to village, searching for their parents. Our land, destroyed – salted so that nothing will grow. And the flames…”
Tilian’s voice trailed off, in the same way that Melville had seen Avis’ eyes glaze over when she thought about the horrors that she had witnessed. Melville put a gentle arm on Tilian’s shaking one, and helped him to sit down. Nervous murmuring filled the hall. Avis knew that she had to say something, before real panic gripped them once more.
“My friends,” Avis continued in the same style as Tilian, translating as she went. “We must be grateful that we are safe here. William has promised not to harm us.” She glanced at Melville. “And I trust that promise. We are safe here.”
There was a tangible relaxation amongst the people after her strong words, and Melville nodded approvingly. Once again, she had stepped in to protect the people – this time, from their own anxiety.
The gratitude of the people became much more tangible after the arrival of Tilian, and of the other stragglers that made it to the safety of the manor from their homes without detection. Their coming had increased the thankfulness of all, reminding them of their lucky escape that many outside did not have.
Another morning dawned, and another call from the lookout. Avis hurried from her room, dragging on the last piece of her clothing to see if it was another Anglo-Saxon who had managed to stay alive – but it was not an Anglo-Saxon survivor. It was a man on a horse who she did not recognise, but he was clearly a wealthy Norman nobleman. He had a bushy beard that was unkempt, and probably grown during the weeks of warfare. Covered in dirt, Avis thought that she recognised something about his look, but had no time to wonder.
“My lord,” she said stiffly. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
The man smirked down at her, and ignored her question.
“Where is Melville?”
“I…I do not know,” admitted Avis.
The man’s smile increased, and he chuckled nastily.
“He didn’t just leave you, then?”
Avis coloured with anger, but knew better than to lose her temper.
“What mean you with my lord?” she asked coldly, but the man did not answer her.
“Melville,” he repeated sternly. “I must speak with Melville.”
Avis gave a brief nod, and called to Felix the stable boy to retrieve his master. Within minutes, Melville strode into the stable yard, his linen shirt roughly thrown across his wide muscular chest. Avis’ breath caught in her throat, and she watched as Melville’s face darkened. When he reached Avis’ side, he suddenly fell to his feet and kneeled.
“My King.”
Avis gasped. The King? William had altered much since she had last seen him, though it was but three years ago. So much so, that she had not even recognised him – the man that she had sworn to destroy.
William laughed.
“What, no courtesy from you, fine Avis?”
Melville saw his wife’s fists clench, and pulled her down.
“Do you value your life?” He hissed to her.
“It is my life to risk!” She replied angrily, and pulled herself upwards. Staring directly at the monarch, she said, “and to what do we owe this pleasure?”
William guffawed.
“Clearly no pleasure for you, my lady!” he said with outright honesty.
Melville rose, nervous about what this visit entailed. Could William be betraying his bargain that allowed them his protection?
William continued.
“I came merely to tell you that I return south. My time here punishing the North is over. And I hope that they have learnt their lesson.” He smiled nastily.
Melville’s arm was the only thing preventing Avis from flinging herself bodily at William. How dare he? How could he speak of her people in such a manner?
“I am glad to hear of it, my lord,” Melville said stiffly, before Avis could begin speaking her anger.
William watched him, and grinned.
“I will not trespass on your time any longer.” He turned his horse around, but could not resist a passing shot. “I’ll give your regards to your mother, my dear.”
Avis ran forward with a shout, but Melville grabbed her by the waist.
“No,” he whispered into her ear as she struggled against him. “Do not give him the pleasure of seeing you fight. Do not give him that satisfaction.”
Avis’ exertion only ceased as the sight of William disappeared, and the gate was once again barred. Melville finally released her, and she turned on him angrily.
“How could you stop me?” She shouted bitterly. “You know what he is!”
“Exactly,” Melville replied calmly. “And I know what he’s capable of.”
Avis sighed. She tried to calm her beating heart, but it would not.
“You’re right,” she admitted. “But I don’t like it.”
Melville revelled in her retort. That was his Avis: someone who hated the system, but knew not to fight it if it may cost the lives of those around her.
She shook herself, as if ridding her clothes of William’s stench.
“I suppose it is therefore safe for the villagers to return to Ulleskelf,” Melville mused.
Avis nodded.
“Spring is coming. The fields will need to be tended.”
“We had better give them the good news.”
It was a triumphant and yet sad day, the day that Ulleskelf once again became alive with the voices of its inhabitants. It took little more than an hour for the villagers to carry their possessions and children down to their homes, which were untouched. It had been as a ghost village, as if the previous occupants had been stolen away by the wind.
The household servants had helped them move back into their village, but now stood awkwardly. This was not their territory, and although they did not want to leave, it was difficult to stay. They had no place there. The tiny Norman boy Henri was the only one who seemed comfortable, tottering on his little feet, wandering in and out of various buildings, chattering away in a mixture of Norman and Anglo-Saxon.
Eventually, as the sun set and the cool descended, there was nothing more to say. Melville, Avis, and their servants returned home. The manor seemed unbelievably empty that night, and the Great Hall had many empty seats. Voices seemed to echo much louder than ever before, and so all spoke quieter, leading to an ever emptier feeling.
Avis picked at her food unhappily. Melville watched her.
“It was hardest for you to see them leave, I think,” he said.
Avis nodded.
“They are my people.”
“But they are safe.” Melville put his arm subtlety around her shoulders. “You saved them.”
“Yes,” Avis agreed. “We are safe.”
Melville’s arm dipped, moving past her intricate shoulder blades and hooking around her waist. He leaned in towards her, and whispered.
“And we shall shortly be alone.”
Chapter Thirty Two
But Avis squirmed unhappily underneath his touch.
“I am tired,” she said, distractedly. “I think I shall retire early.”
And with that, she rose and left the hall.
Melville sat there, shocked. He could not believe that she had just…left. The last few days had been of unbearable tension for him – constantly
surrounded by people, never having a single moment to themselves. As welcome as the villagers had been, he had been waiting for the opportunity to have Avis to himself. He had thought that now the place had been emptied, they could leisurely enjoy the time that they could devote to each other. But Avis had startled out of the room like a frightened doe.
His appetite for the celebratory feast was gone, and after playing with his food for several minutes, Melville left for his chamber in a terrible mood.
The bad mood did not lift over the succeeding days. There was now a distinct awkwardness between Melville and Avis, now that the large multitude had left their home. With no distractions, no worries about calls from lookouts, and no children to care for, they were left almost exclusively to themselves. The corridors, once ringing with laughter and shouts, were now empty, save for the lonely steps of the few servants. They could not avoid each other, although Avis was doing a very good job of it.
She felt the tension strongly. It haunted her in her dreams, when she awoke reaching out for him. She was constantly aware of his presence, and had to stop herself from leaning towards him when they sat together during meals, or walking down the passageways and corridors that she knew he frequented. A fit of tears overtook her when she couldn’t decide whether to go down to the kitchens or not; one half of her arguing that Melville would look for her there and so she shouldn’t, and the other half saying that was exactly the reason that she should. Ridiculous woman! She chastised herself. This should not worry you, you must not let this consume you! But what probably hurt the most was that as she watched Melville, he seemed completely unaware of her.
Melville felt no such thing. The breeze that Avis brought into his life had never felt so lovely as now, when he could spend more time alone with her. He put off necessary visits to York, trying to convince himself that such business could wait another day. And another day. Perhaps even a week. Anything to be able to stay, to stay here, with the hope of seeing Avis before his fast was broken. To see her wandering around, speaking to servants. Maybe even to speak to her himself. But Melville knew that to truly win this tantalizing creature, he could not force his company upon her. He desperately wanted her to seek him out, but all she seemed to do was blush and leave a room each time he entered it. This was so unlike Avis’ character that he marvelled at it, wondered at what she was thinking. Whether she wanted him to follow after her.
But their mutual attraction could not last much longer without release.
A bright, shining morning brought news to Melville that the villagers had requested his presence in Ulleskelf. Although loathe to leave Avis, he admitted to himself that since their departure, he had been remiss in his care of his people. Every thought had been taken over by his wife, and now it was time to face up to his responsibilities as a landlord and master. He could not ignore his people forever.
At the breaking of the fast that day, Melville mentioned his intended journey to Avis. He finished with an invitation.
“Will you accompany me?”
Melville had been sure that Avis would jump at the chance to visit her fellow Anglo-Saxons, but he was surprised.
“I am sorry, my lord,” Avis replied with a cheery but hollow smile, “but I have business of my own to attend to here. I wish you a pleasant journey.”
Turning resolutely to her other side, Avis began a conversation with Jean, pointedly turning her shoulder slightly so that Melville could not join in.
Faint anger rose throughout Melville’s body. He had waited too long for this woman, too long! No one, no man could be expected to be so patient. But as he gazed upon her, his heart softened. She was worth this wait.
Avis watched her husband saddle his horse, and ride off with Robert as his translator, sending Jean down to the kitchen to give out his new orders, and she shook her head. She should have gone with him. The strain between them should not have come between her duty as his wife. But he was gone, and she would not demean herself by catching up with him.
Avis wandered listlessly to the entrance hall. That stupid comment that she had made to Melville about ‘business of her own’! Avis was bored, once again, but this time it was a self-inflicted boredom. She had decided against going down to the kitchens, for fear of meeting Melville there, and so she had spent the majority of her time sitting in the entrance hall. This was the place that many of the servants exchanged their gossip, and she found that sitting quietly by the fire meant that she overheard much of the goings on of her own home. These tales and pieces of news livened her day, and more than once she had had to stifle her giggles at the most ridiculous scandals that were suspected of down in the kitchen.
Today, she wrapped herself in a luscious rug, and opened up her favourite book. Texts were incredibly valuable, and very few people had any. This one had belonged to her mother, and had been Avis’ sixteenth birthday present. Within moments, she was lost in the tale of warriors and great ladies, dragons and loot. But far off footsteps drew her attention, and she partially closed the book in the hope of hearing the next instalment of the saga between Jean, and young and pretty Edith.
But it was Edith herself who walked across the hallway, and a male servant whose voice Avis did not recognise that stopped her.
“Heard the news?”
“I can’t stop,” returned Edith. “I’ve got no time. I’ve got to take these loaves down to Ulleskelf. Master’s orders.”
Avis’ heart swelled to see that Melville’s concern for her people had not stopped after the danger of William’s army had ceased. But there was more to be heard.
“So you haven’t then?”
Edith sighed.
“You clearly have to tell me, so you may as well say it.”
“I heard tell that mistress is thinking of running away.”
Avis froze. The thought had certainly struck her mind when she had first come here as Melville’s new bride, but after all that had happened between them, nothing had been further from the truth. She had heard some strange gossip before, but this was the most ridiculous that she had ever heard! Who would believe such a thing?
But Edith laughed.
“Avis – run away? You must be joking. She knows that her place is here.”
Avis was relieved to hear that her friend would put an end to such fanciful rumours.
“Anyway,” Edith continued, “where would she go?”
Not a sentence that Avis particularly wanted to hear, but one that she could not deny. She prayed that the man would accept Edith’s response, but he pushed it further, unwilling to pass up the opportunity to talk to one of Avis’ few friends.
“Then how come they are how they are, eh?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Edith answered carelessly.
The man giggled.
“Of course you do. You’ve seen them, just as I have. How long have they been married? Months. And still separate bedchambers. If that’s not a marriage gone sour, I don’t know what is.”
“Hush with your talk,” Edith said crossly. “You speak of matters that do not concern you!”
“She’s one of us.” The man said proudly. “If she wants to leave the sorry Norman beggar, that’s fine by me.”
A loud clatter filled the room as Edith dropped the loaves that she had been carrying – but the man cried out in pain. Edith hadn’t dropped the bread then; she’d allowed them to fall as she attacked the man, with such force that Avis gasped. No wonder Edith had survived the coming of the Vikings and the Normans!
“You can stop your mithering,” Edith said angrily. “Whether you like it or not, we are one people now. Didn’t having the Norman lot around here with the Ulleskelf people teach you nothing? What happens to them, happens to us. Same for master and mistress. Now get about your work, can’t you?”
Edith stalked across the entrance hall, and Avis chanced a look. She saw her friend leave the room, head held high. The man muttered as he left, but had clearly been cowed by the passionate Edith.
Avis
remained stock still on the chair. So this was what many thought of her. It was definitely a conceivable thought; not an unfair assumption. She herself had come into this marriage, and into this house, hating the very man that had brought her here. But all of that had changed, a long time ago. She had changed. She only wished that he had changed just as much as she had.
Another loud noise caused her to start, and Avis dropped her book. Turning around quickly to see what had caused such a bang, she noticed a man, dripping wet, who had come through the door out of the rain. He was evidently a messenger, and was looking around for someone to speak to.
Rising, she walked towards him, smoothing down her skirts and smiling.
“My lady,” the messenger bowed as he recognised a wealthy woman, and she acknowledged this courtesy with a nod of the head.
“Welcome,” Avis said. “Come, towards the fire. You must be cold.”
“Bone wet,” admitted the man, who was shivering. She led him closer to the warm flames, and beckoned him to sit.
“No, thank you my lady,” the messenger said in a grateful tone. “I have further business in York to complete before I can rest, and I will not take too much of your time. Is your lord presently here?”
Avis shook her head, almost embarrassed that she was not with Melville.
“I’m afraid you may have passed him on the road. He has not long left for Ulleskelf.”
The messenger bit his lip.
“I have an urgent letter for him. Would you be so kind as to take it for him?”
Avis smiled. “It would be my pleasure. And may I offer you some sustenance before you return into the bitter winds?”
“That would be most appreciated, my lady.”
Reaching into his leather satchel, the messenger handed over a large piece of parchment, folded over several times and sealed with a wax stamp that Avis did not recognise.
“Thank you,” she said. “I shall make sure my husband reads this as soon as he returns. And now, if you would follow me.”