‘I want to be a good wife to you.’
He smiled rather automatically, then looked away to the open window, staring out thoughtfully.
He no longer loved her. He did not altogether blame himself. No one could reproach him for his behaviour during the months of her sickness. He had been solicitous, loving, nursed her himself. He had been with her, held her hand, given all the comfort a husband can, on the two occasions when she thought she was dying. In all this, his conscience was clear.
But he did not love her any more. He did not desire her intimacy. It was not even her fault, he thought. He knew her too well. The mouth he had kissed, which had even breathed words of passion, was still, in repose, small and mean. He could not share the petty confines of her affections, the neatly tidied chamber of her imagination. She was so timid. Yet she was not weak. Had she been so, the need to protect her, however irksome, might have held him. But she was astonishingly strong. She might be sick, but if she lived, her will would remain unchanged, as constant as ever. Sometimes her will seemed to him like a little thread that ran through the innermost recesses of her soul – thin enough to pass through the eye of a needle, yet as strong as steel and quite unbreakable.
In what did her love for him consist? Necessity, pure and simple. Understandable, of course. She had determined how her life was to be, and had the means to make it so. The modest fortress of her proprieties was complete. And for this she needed him. Could marriage be any other way?
It was hardly surprising, therefore, that his thoughts at such a time should have turned to Adela.
They had done so quite often in the last year. The lone girl, the free spirit: she had intrigued him from the first. More than that. Why else should he have sought her out in Winchester? And since then, quite often, almost as though some influence was working on his mind, she had made her appearance or seemed invisibly to be beside him in his thoughts. He had met Cola a little while ago, and the huntsman had told him where she was and that she had asked after him and his family. At the last full moon he had experienced a sudden yearning for her. Three nights ago she had come to him in his dreams.
He gazed for some time, now, out of the window, then abruptly announced: ‘I’m going for a ride.’
It was early afternoon when he arrived at Cola’s manor. The old man was out, but his son Edgar was there. So was Adela.
He left his horse with Edgar, and he and Adela walked down the lane towards the Avon where the swans glided and the long, green river weeds waved gently in the current. They talked – they scarcely knew of what – and after a time he suggested that, if he sent word, they should meet again, in private.
She assented.
On their return to Edgar he was careful to thank her, rather formally, for her interest in his family during their time of trouble and then, with a courteous nod to the young man, he rode away.
As he did so he felt a tingling excitement he had not known for a long time. He had no doubt that he would be successful in this romantic adventure. It was not as if he had never done such a thing before.
The letter from Walter arrived one week later. It was brief and to the point. He was on his way to England. He was to meet some of his wife’s family, then join the king. By early August he expected to be free to come and collect her. The letter ended with one other item of information:
By the way, I have found you a husband.
Three weeks had passed. No message had come from Martell. Although she tried to conceal her agitation, Adela was pale and tense. What did it mean?
Why had he not come? Had the Lady Maud fallen ill again? She tried to find out. The only report she could obtain said that the lady was getting stronger every day.
She was not sure what would come of it when she and Martell met. Would she give herself to him? She did not know, she hardly cared. She wanted, only, to see him. She longed to ride over to his manor, but knew she could not. She wanted to write, but did not dare.
The news from Walter made the situation even more urgent. He would take her away and marry her off. Could she refuse to go with him? Could she turn down another suitor? Nothing seemed to make sense.
Meanwhile, the king had arrived in Winchester. The army and fleet would soon be ready. More money, it was said, was coming into the Winchester treasury. Rufus was so occupied that he had not even had time to hunt.
Whether Walter had reached Winchester yet she did not know. Nor had she any wish to communicate with him if he had.
In the last week of July she went to see Puckle’s wife. She found her in her little cabin, just as she had been before; but when she asked for help and advice the witch refused to give it.
‘Couldn’t we cast a spell again?’ she asked.
The woman only shook her head calmly. ‘Wait. Be patient. What will be, will be,’ she answered.
So Adela went back, discouraged.
The atmosphere at Cola’s manor was not made easier by the fact that Edgar seemed moody. No further word had been spoken about his proposal – and she could not imagine that he had any inkling of her secret feelings for Martell – but the news that Walter was coming to take her away could hardly have pleased him. Superficially their relationship continued the same, but there was distress in his eyes.
Cola, too, continued to be darkly silent. She did not know whether Edgar had told his father of his proposal or not. If he did know, did he approve or disapprove? She had no wish to ask, or bring up the subject at all. But she wondered if his sombre mood was connected with this, or with the dangerous events of the outside world.
In the closing days of July the tension in the household seemed to grow. Walter’s visit could not be far away. Cola looked black and Edgar was becoming visibly agitated. Once or twice he seemed on the point of raising the subject of their marriage again, but he held back. The tension, Adela sensed, could not continue much longer.
Matters were finally brought to a head on the last day of July when Cola called them together. ‘I’ve received word that the king and a party of companions are arriving at Brockenhurst tomorrow,’ he announced. ‘He wishes to hunt in the Forest the following day. I am to attend on him.’ He glanced at Adela. ‘Your cousin Walter is one of the party. So no doubt we shall see him here soon.’ Then he went out to see to some business, leaving her alone with Edgar.
The silence did not last long.
‘You will be leaving with Tyrrell,’ Edgar said quietly.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Oh? Does that mean that I may hope?’
‘I don’t know.’ It was a stupid answer, but she was too flustered at that moment to make much sense.
‘Then what does it mean?’ he suddenly burst out. ‘Has Walter found a suitor? Have you accepted him?’
‘No. No, I haven’t.’
‘Then what? Is there someone else?’
‘Someone else? Whom do you mean?’
‘I don’t know.’ He seemed to hesitate. Then he said in a tone of exasperation: ‘The man in the moon, for all I know.’ Turning on his heel furiously, he strode away. And Adela, knowing she was treating him badly, could only comfort herself that her own exasperation and suffering were probably worse than even his. She avoided him for the rest of the day.
The following morning she was left to herself. Cola was busy making arrangements. He went to see Puckle for some reason; there were spare horses to be ready at Brockenhurst where the local forester was preparing to receive the king. Edgar was sent on several errands and she was glad he was not there.
In the afternoon, having nothing better to do, she went for a walk down the lane by the river. She had just turned back towards the manor when a fellow dressed like a servant stepped out in front of her and held out something in his hand. ‘You are the Lady Adela? I am to give you this.’ She felt something slipped into her hand, but before she could say another word to him, he had run off.
His delivery was a small piece of parchment, folded over and sealed. Breaking the seal, she saw a short
message, neatly written in French.
I shall be at Burley Castle in the morning.
Hugh.
Her heart leaped. For a moment the world, even the flowing river, seemed to have stopped. Then, clasping the parchment tightly in her hand, she walked back to Cola’s manor.
Taken up though she was with her own affairs, she was intrigued to notice on her return that the huntsman had received a visitor that day. This was hardly unusual and she would scarcely have bothered to think about it, except that she recognized him as the black-cloaked stranger she had seen once before, after whose visit the old man had become so distressed. The man was deep in conversation with Cola when she arrived, but not long afterwards she saw him depart. From that time until they gathered for their evening meal she did not see Cola.
But when she did the change was extraordinary. It was terrible to see. If he had looked angry before, now he looked like thunder. But even that, she quickly perceived, was a mask for something else. For the first time since she had known him it seemed to her that the old man might be afraid.
As she served him the venison stew that had been prepared, he only nodded to her absently. When he poured her a goblet of wine she noticed that his hand shook. What in the world could the messenger have said to him to produce so unusual an effect? Edgar, too, whatever else he had on his mind, was looking at his father with alarm.
At the end of their brief meal, Cola spoke: ‘You are both to remain here at the manor tomorrow. Nobody is to leave.’
‘But Father …’ Edgar looked startled. ‘Surely I am to accompany you on the king’s hunt?’
‘No. You’ll remain here. You are not to leave Adela.’
They both stared in horror. Whether Edgar wanted her company at present Adela did not know. She certainly knew what it meant for a young man in his position to hunt with the king. As for herself, the last thing she needed was to be confined there with him tomorrow. ‘May he not accompany you?’ she ventured. ‘He would see the king.’
But if she hoped to help matters, she only provoked a storm. ‘He will do no such thing, Madam,’ the old man roared. ‘He will obey his father. And you will do as you are told, too!’ He banged his hand on the table and rose to his feet. ‘Those are my orders and you, Sir’ – he glared at Edgar with blazing blue eyes – ‘will obey them.’
He stood there, bristling, a magnificent old man who could still be frightening and the two young people wisely remained silent.
As she retired, later that evening, Adela could only wonder how she was going to get away in the morning. For disobey him she must.
The noise that woke her, a little before dawn, was of human voices. They were not loud, though it seemed to her that in her dreams she might have heard the sound of quarrelling.
Softly she got up and stole towards them. She came to the doorway of the hall. She looked in.
Cola and Edgar were sitting at the table upon which a taper gave just enough light to see their faces. The old man was already fully dressed to go hunting; Edgar was wearing only a long undershirt. It was evident that they had been in conversation for some time and at this moment Edgar was looking questioningly at his father who in turn was staring down at the table. He looked tired.
Finally, without looking up, the old man spoke: ‘Don’t you think that if I tell you not to come into the Forest, I might have a reason?’
‘Yes, but I think you should tell me what it is.’
‘It might be safer, don’t you see, if you didn’t know.’
‘I think you should trust me.’
The old man was thoughtful for a while. ‘If anything happens to me,’ he said slowly, ‘I suppose it might be better if you understood a little more. The world is a dangerous place and perhaps I shouldn’t shelter you. You’re a grown man.’
‘I think so.’
‘Tell me, have you ever thought how many people would like to see Rufus disappear?’
‘Many.’
‘Yes. In a good few quarters. And never more than at present.’ He paused. ‘And so if Rufus were to have an accident in the Forest, those people, whoever they are, would think it convenient.’
‘An accident to the king?’
‘You forget. The royal family are rather prone to accidents in the Forest.’
It was true. Years ago a fourth son of the Conqueror, Richard, had been killed as a young man by riding into a tree in the New Forest. And one of Rufus’s nephews, a bastard son of his brother Robert, had been killed by a stray arrow in the Forest even more recently.
Even so. A king! Edgar was thunderstruck. ‘You mean Rufus is to have an accident?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘When?’
‘Perhaps this afternoon.’
‘And you know?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘And if you know, you must have some part in it.’
‘I did not say that.’
‘You could not refuse? To know, I mean.’
‘These are powerful people, Edgar. Very powerful. Our position – mine, one day yours – is difficult.’
‘But you know who is behind it?’
‘No. I’m not sure that I do. Powerful people have spoken to me. But things are not always what they seem.’
‘It’s to happen today?’
‘Perhaps. But perhaps not. Remember, Rufus was to be killed in a wood once before, but one of the Clares changed his mind at the last moment. Nothing is ever certain. It may happen. It may not.’
‘But Father …’ Edgar was gazing at him with concern now. ‘I won’t ask you what your part in this may be, but are you sure that, whatever happens, they won’t blame you? You’re only a Saxon huntsman.’
‘True. But I don’t think so. I know too much and’ – he smiled – ‘through your brother in London I’ve taken certain precautions. I think I’ll be safe.’
‘Won’t they need someone to blame, then?’
‘Good. I see you’ve got a head on your shoulders. They will. He’s already been chosen, as a matter of fact. That I know. And they’ve chosen very well. A clever fool, who thinks he’s part of the charmed circle, but who actually knows very little.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Walter Tyrrell.’
‘Tyrrell?’ Edgar gave a tiny whistle. ‘You mean his own family, the Clares, would sacrifice him?’
‘Did I say the Clares were involved?’
‘No, Father.’ He smiled. ‘You said nothing.’
Tyrrell. Adela felt herself go cold. Her cousin Walter was being set up, just like a target. God knows what danger he was in. Her throat went dry at the thought that she, too, was witness to such a terrible secret. Trembling, afraid that the sound of her own thumping heartbeat might give her away, she stole back.
What should she do? Her mind was in a whirl. But in the cool grey darkness her duties began to loom like ghosts before her. They were planning to kill the king. It was a crime before God. There was none more terrible. Yet was he her king? She did not think so. Her loyalty was actually to Robert until such time as she married a vassal of the English king. But Walter was her kinsman. She might not like him; he might not be very loyal to her. But he was her kinsman and she had to save him.
Very quietly she began to get dressed. After a little while, through her open window, she saw Cola ride out alone in the half-darkness. He had a bow and a quiver on his back.
She waited until he was out of sight. The house was quiet. Cautiously, she climbed out of her window and let herself down to the ground.
She had not realized, in her nervousness, that as she went to the window Martell’s letter had fallen to the floor.
Dawn was just breaking when Puckle set off with his cart. Cola had told him to go to the lodge at Brockenhurst where there would be further instructions, and to be prepared to carry any deer killed to wherever he was directed.
His wife saw him off. As they parted she remarked: ‘You won’t be back tonight.’
‘I won’t?’
&n
bsp; ‘No.’
He gave her a curious look, then went upon his way.
Adela had been careful. Saddling her horse in the darkness, she had not mounted but led him carefully out, keeping on the grassy verge beside the path to minimize the sound until she was well away from Cola’s manor. Then she rode slowly across the valley and up into the Forest.
It was terrible to her that she should miss Martell, yet what could she do? She could not send word to him. Neither could she abandon Walter to his fate. When she reached the castle at Burley she waited as long as she dared, until the sun was well over the horizon, in the hope that he might come early. But he did not. Then it occurred to her to ask Puckle or one of his family to wait there with a message and she rode down to the narrow stream in the hope of finding them. But, unaccountably, none of them was there, and she did not dare go into Burley and start gossip by asking some stranger from the dark village to deliver her message.
So she gave up. Perhaps, she prayed, if she could find Walter quickly, she might even be able to return to Castle Hill while Martell was still there. She rode on quickly, therefore, anxious not to be late.
As it happened, she need not have hurried.
The movements of King William II, known as Rufus, at the start of August in the Year of Our Lord 1100, are tolerably well known. On the first of the month he issued a charter, from the lodge at Brockenhurst. He ate with his friends and later went to bed.
But then he slept badly. As a result, instead of leaving at dawn, the sun was well over the horizon and glistening on the treetops by Brockenhurst before he finally stirred to join his waiting courtiers.
They were a small, select company. There was Robert FitzHamon, an old friend; William, the keeper of the treasury of Winchester; two other Norman barons. There were three of the powerful family of Clare, who had once nearly betrayed him. And there was his younger brother Henry – dark-haired, energetic, yet self-contained. Ruthless, some said, like his father. And lastly there was Walter Tyrrell.
As the red-headed king sat down on a bench and started to pull on his boots, an armourer appeared with half a dozen newly forged arrows to present to the king.