Authors: Emily Murdoch
“My lord?”
Fitz’s sleeve was pulled, and he turned away from King William to see who so desperately wanted to catch his attention.
“Marmion?”
The man was sweating slightly, his hair pasted to his forehead, but he was smiling broadly.
“I must speak with you, my lord.”
He was panting slightly. Fitz bit his lip.
“Now?”
“This very moment.”
“Are you sure that you cannot wait a mere –”
“No, my lord.” Marmion flushed at the impertinence of interrupting his lord. “Please accept my apologies, my lord, but I would not ask if it were not important.”
Fitz sighed. Marmion was right – he had always trusted his judgement up until this point, and he had never given him any reason to doubt him. Rising, he put a hand on his brother’s shoulder to let him know that he was departing. Osbern looked confused, but Fitz nodded at Marmion, and his brother relaxed.
“I will try to write to you,” Osbern muttered underneath his breath, without taking his eyes off his King.
“And I shall try to write back.”
Fitz followed Marmion outside the great chamber, and out into the dusky air. Evening had fallen without them realising, and everyone had nothing but good food and good company to keep them occupied. The day was almost over, and what a day it had been.
Marmion seemed to be full of energy, but he was nervous. He kept looking over his shoulder, and twisting his head quickly to look the other way.
“Peace, Marmion,” Fitz said gently. “There can surely be nothing of great import that you must tell me this very night?”
“This very night – this very moment,” Marmion said with a broad smile breaking out over his face.
“Marmion, please stop,” Fitz said with almost a laugh as the young man twisted around once more to look in the opposite direction, and winced as he pulled at his shoulder blade. “You do no good by spinning around like a man half crazed. What has got into you?”
Marmion took a deep breath. “My apologies, my lord. It is just – I cannot quite keep my excitement.”
“Then try,” Fitz said kindly, “or I shall be forced to return to my seat, and leave your news for another day.”
“Then I shall speak calmly and plainly,” Marmion said slowly with a great effort. “King William has already discovered that it was I who rode in and challenged all to defend the honour of him, and his Queen.”
Fitz’s mouth opened. “He knows? But it has been only minutes since you left the room!”
Marmion nodded. “His servants are very knowledgeable.”
“Call them what they are – call them spies,” Fitz said quietly, “for they are nothing less. How do you know this?”
Marmion took another deep breath, and swallowed hard. “A man approached me. He wore the King’s colours, and he carried a sword.”
“And? What did he say?”
“He embraced me.” Marmion’s voice was full of awe. “He embraced me, and said that I had done the King and the Queen great honour. He said that I would not be forgotten, and that the King wanted me to know personally that he was watching me.”
Fitz breathed outward, and realised that he had been holding his breath whilst the young man spoke. “He said all of that?”
“And more,” Marmion said in hushed tones, as if forgetting that he needed to keep his words a secret. “He asked who my liege lord was, and I told him that it was you, and he said –”
“That the King wished to speak with him.”
Fitz and Marmion both jumped, turning to face the tall man who swept silently out of the shadows.
“Word to the wise,” King William said quietly. “If you wish to have a private conversation, alone surrounded by darkness is not the place to have it. You could be surrounded.”
Marmion had turned a pale shade, and Fitz guessed that he looked similarly terrified. It would never do to be discovered discussing the King, especially in the dark, just after his wife’s coronation! What danger had they brought upon their heads now – and just how much had King William heard?
“Marmion,” William said, turning to him. “You did me and my wife great honour this night. I thank you. Know that soon I shall be calling you to my royal court to become a knight of my chamber.”
“My… my lord King, the honour is too much, I cannot possibly –”
“Nonsense,” said King William calmly. “If I say that it is so, then it shall be so.”
“But – but my lord…”
“Are you defying me, boy?” King William’s voice became sharper, more dangerous, and Fitz spoke up.
“My lord King William,” he said hurriedly. The monarch’s face turned towards him, and it had lost some of the smile that it had worn when he came out of the shadows. “Marmion I am sure feels the great honour that you are giving him, but he is a younger son. It would bring shame on his elder brother if he was to join your chamber before him.”
Marmion’s stutterings were silenced, and he looked up into the face of the most powerful man for hundreds of miles.
“I see,” King William brought a hand to his mouth as he pondered. “The right of primogeniture does certainly rest with your brother. Is he a good man?”
“As good a man as I am, and I think better,” Marmion replied shakily. “I have not seen him these ten years, but I hear that he is a righteous man with a strong arm.”
King William barked a laugh. “High praise indeed! Then write to this brother of yours, and tell him to come to me. Tell him to present himself at court, with your name as his standard, and he shall become a knight of my chamber. You can come yourself when Fitz is finished with you.”
Marmion’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Fitz smiled, and clapped a hand on his young friend’s shoulders.
“I am sure Marmion feels all of the respect and joy for himself and his family that you no doubt intend, my lord King William.”
“Thank you,” Marmion stammered. “I shall write to my brother immediately – right now, my lord King, I shall write to him –”
“That suits me well, young man,” the King interrupted, “because I have need to speak with Fitz. Go, write your letter.”
Marmion bowed low, and then bowed to Fitz. He bowed to King William once more before Fitz muttered, and he almost fled.
King William chuckled. “He seems a good boy – very like one of my boys. Where did you find him?”
“He found me,” Fitz said honestly. “And he has proved himself over and over to be a man of loyalty and integrity.”
“You like him?”
Fitz was surprised by the question. He had not expected the King of England and the ruler of Normandy to be so interested in his opinion.
“If you do not find it offensive, my lord King, I would ask why you care so much about my thoughts? I had not considered myself one of your confidants.”
“A reasonable question.” William nodded. “It is true that we are not as close as we once were.”
Fitz nodded. Having grown up in the same household, the two men could have been very close; but there was something that had always held them back. Although related, there was enough distinction to keep them wary throughout childhood, and that wariness had never quite dissipated. They trusted each other, but it was a trust based on distance.
“Fitz, I must speak to you about the attacks that we have been suffering.”
William’s boldness and brashness threw Fitz, but he recollected his senses quickly.
“I want to make sure that anything I tell you remains with you,” William continued. “And that if it does escape you, that the few you would share it with are trustworthy.”
“You offend me,” Fitz said hotly, “if you suppose that anything you impart to me could be shared with another. I am your cousin, and your servant, and your subject.”
The two men stared at each other, neither sure exactly who should speak next. Eventually, Fitz dropped his gaze.
“I beg your pardon, my lord King William,” he said stiffly, “if I gave offence with my rash words. But I stand by them.”
“I would expect nothing less of you, and you were right to speak them.” William smiled. “There should be trust between us.”
“There is,” Fitz assured him. “I know that I have little to trust you with, but I hope that you will be able to share with me anything that troubles you.”
William nodded. “There is much to speak about, but I am… unwilling for all to know my thoughts at this time. It is vital that I trust this discussion to you completely.”
Fitz bowed. “Then speak.”
The King sighed. He shuffled his feet, almost as if he was not sure whether or not to continue. Fitz couldn’t believe what he was seeing: William of Normandy, William the Conqueror of England, King William who had travelled across the sea to take the land that was his once his – unsure of himself?
“God’s teeth, man,” Fitz said eventually, “I am no mind reader!”
William barked out a laugh. “That you are not, my friend, and I apologise once more. You have, of course, kept receiving messengers about the unrest in this land?”
Fitz swallowed. “I have indeed, my lord, but I have not considered it serious enough to pay much of my attention to. I feel, now, that I have been in error.”
“The error has been made by many, and I am included in that number. Hereford’s rebellion was expected, but Exeter has surprised me. I did not think them so… ungrateful. I had considered the efforts that I had made with this country to be sufficient to gain their loyalty.”
“You must remember,” Fitz said softly, “that to many here, we are foreigners. The majority of the English have never heard of Normandy, let alone been there or known who we were. Our arrival was a shock to them, and a few years cannot undo the many that they have enjoyed owning their own land, running their own country!”
“And yet we are here now!” King William exploded, and then hushed his voice, realising that they could quite easily attract attention. The darkness, after all, did not cloak the noises that they made. “I am here now, and I am the King!”
“And yet their allegiance is not to you.”
“I hope that the castles will do their work,” William sighed. “Castles have always been the perfect way to control people, back in Normandy.”
“And yet, the people here are so different,” countered Fitz softly. “How are we to know, truly, what they are like?”
There was a moment of silence between them as both men considered the two peoples that they were now surrounded by. On the one hand, the Normans: their own people, the culture that they had been raised with. Their voices spoke the Norman tongue, and they thought Norman thoughts. And here, the English: a foreign race of troublemakers, the people over the water. Their history was dark and mysterious, and their language a class in acrobatics for those Normans, like Fitz, who decided to learn it.
“Thankfully, no rebellions have succeeded,” Fitz said quietly. “We should be grateful for that.”
“Gratitude can only lead a country for so long.”
“But what else can we do?”
“Whatever it is, it shall not be done by you.”
Fitz blinked. “My lord King William?”
“It is not that I do not value you, my friend,” said William heavily. “If anything, I have depended too much on you since the invasion of England. You must be tired. It has been months – nay, years since you have seen your homelands. How do your children fare?”
Fitz swallowed, and stammered. “Well, it – it has been almost a month since a letter from my family has reached me. We move about so much, my lord.”
William clapped a large hand on Fitz’s shoulder. “No man should go so long without seeing his wife. I found being away from Matilda torture, and I see no reason why I should detain you from your family any longer. I am sending you back to Normandy.”
“My lord!” Fitz’s cheeks burned red, although his companion could not see them in the dark of the night. “If I have offended you in any way, please tell me – do not send me home like a child who has forgotten his manners!”
“Peace, Fitz,” William said calmly. “I commend you for the work that you have done for me. There could have been no one better to have within my council, and beside me through these troubled times. But you will become useless to me if you do not rest. Come now: you know this to be true.”
“I wish…” Fitz’s voice tailed off. “I wish it were not so,” he said simply.
“And I, too,” said William. “But there it is. I shall send word for your passage across the sea to be arranged.”
Fitz inhaled, and slowly let the breath out. There was nothing for it, then. He was going back home.
Her eyes were shut, and her face was warm. The sunshine was beating down on her aching old bones, and she was enjoying the last of the sunshine of the day. The skirts of her red dress were spread around her, and every muscle within her body was desperate to relax. The summer was truly upon them, and just like every summer before it, Catheryn was worshipping it. She would soon be brown, much to the disgust of her family – but then, her family were nowhere close to her now. She would have the disapproval of others to contend with this summer.
Catheryn sighed, and opened her eyes. It was no good: whatever she attempted to do, she could never completely forget her loneliness, and her longing to be home. As much as Catheryn was acclimatising to her new life, it was as if a flower had been planted in the shade when it loved the sun: it would live, but it would be but a half-life, and that life was worth very little.
The clouds that were moving across the sky did so lazily. There was barely a breeze in the air.
Catheryn raised a hand up, reaching for the white fluffy cloud that was currently wandering across the sky. Her hand moved higher than the grass that was surrounding her, and she chuckled slightly, imagining what a passer-by must think – an arm growing amongst the crops, grasping to catch the sky!
No matter how far she stretched, Catheryn could not quite reach the clouds that looked as if they were just beyond her fingertips. Hand still in the air, Catheryn closed her eyes once more, and began to hum one of her favourite lullabies. She had sung it to quieten both of her children when they had been small, and the tune came to her easily.
Images passed before her eyes quickly, as if they were really open, and she had found some way of returning to that favourite country – the past. Her husband, Selwyn, smiled at her, and Annis ran about her, still a toddler, shrieking with delight at the world. Whether memories or imaginings, they brought a smile to Catheryn’s face.
“By God, woman, what are you doing?”
Catheryn jumped up, eyes wide open in shock. Not far away stood one of the largest horses that she had ever seen – black, and huge, and panting wildly. It had obviously been on the move for a very long time; but Catheryn’s expert eye guessed that it had not been moving fast. She had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she had not heard its approach. There was a man atop the horse, disbelief and anger in his eyes. He had spoken Norman, a Norman that was harsh and clipped in tone.
Catheryn bristled. “I am… at least, I
was
lying down on the ground,” she said defiantly, with as much dignity as she could muster at such short notice. “Not that it is any concern of yours,” she added.
“Everything here is my concern,” he said curtly, casting a quick eye over the fields in all directions. “You are a fool, lying there with a hand in the air like an infant. What if I had ridden over you?”
“Then you would have been the fool, not I!” Catheryn said angrily. “I am quite obvious in this green field.” She gestured to the red dress that she was wearing, and then turned a frustrated eye on the man who had so rudely addressed her. “If you cannot see me, then the fool is not the one in the dress.”
The man snorted. “And what do you think you are doing here? I know everyone in this area, and you are not known to me. What right do you have to lounge in this field?”
Catheryn almost spluttered with irritation. “This field is not a holy site, and I may lie in it if I choose! I am the lady Catheryn of the South, a lady of England, and… and a prisoner of the FitzOsbern family.”
The man stared at her. The eyes that Catheryn had taken to be black and brooding seemed clear, like an evening sky. She could now see some blue in them where before all had been darkness.
“The FitzOsbern family?”
Catheryn nodded slowly. She had acted rashly – the same hot temper that she had tried to curb in her daughter had just been unleashed on this poor unsuspecting man, who had probably never spoken to a woman of her birth before. She cast a delicate eye over him, but could discern nothing except that he had travelled a long way. The dark beard covering his face was flecked with grey.
He, in turn, was looking back. His eyes took in the ruffled hair, swept vaguely underneath a veil; an English custom. The dress she wore was of a fine colour, but seemed slightly torn and unkempt at the edges. She was nearing the peak of womanhood, but there was something hovering around the surface of her eyes.
“You are a ward of the FitzOsbern family?”
Catheryn rolled her eyes. “How many times must I repeat myself? Yes, I am with the FitzOsbern family – although I am more prisoner than ward, more inconvenience than guest.”
The man looked at her for a moment, and then with a heavy sigh that his horse echoed, he dismounted. Turning to face her, he did something that Catheryn could never have expected: he bowed.
“My apologies, my lady Catheryn. I must blame the long ride that I have had for my incivility, but that is no reason to treat a lady in such a disgraceful manner. I trust that I have your forgiveness?”
Catheryn was so confused by this very sudden change in demeanour that she did not reply audibly, but nodded. This man was strange indeed.
“I am William,” the man continued.
Catheryn smiled wanly. “Greetings, William. Have you a longer name?”
The man returned her smile, but it was a lot warmer than her own. “William FitzOsbern. Fitz, to my friends, which I hope to count you as one of soon, my lady Catheryn.”
“William – FitzOsbern? But then you –” Catheryn said quickly, “you must be Adeliza’s husband… you are the lord here.”
“And consequently, your jailor,” Fitz smiled. “Although I must admit that I do not like the title at all, despite the fact it is an incredibly new honour.”
“New honour… you did not know?”
“My lady Adeliza must have forgotten to mention it in her letters,” Fitz shrugged. “There is often not much point in writing much down anyway; very few of them reach me.”
Catheryn stared at him, unable to take in what she was seeing. A closer inspection revealed that Fitz was not much older than she was, still in the vigour of life, and not at all as she had pictured Adeliza’s husband. She had always supposed him to be much older.
“You look confused.”
“I am sorry, my lord FitzOsbern,” Catheryn said eventually, feeling very self-conscious about the way that she was standing now that she knew she was in the presence of her new liege lord. “It is just… you are not what I had expected.”
The man laughed, and Catheryn could not help but smile in return. His laugh was open, and deep. It reminded her of Selwyn’s.
“What had you thought of me, then, dare I ask?”
Catheryn swallowed. “All I knew of you was that you were a counsellor for the King. I had thought of you as much older than you are, my lord.”
Fitz laughed again, and Catheryn nervously joined him with a chuckle. It did seem ridiculous, in a way, but there it was.
“I must apologise, my lady Catheryn, for disturbing your reverie in such a fashion,” Fitz continued. “I have been so long from here, I had almost expected it to have remained exactly as I left it. The landscape I had pictured did not include a hand growing out of the ground.”
“No doubt you think me very foolish,” Catheryn said with a smile. “But I find that being on my own, surrounded by the natural world, gives me time to think. To be myself.”
“Rather far from your prison, are you not?”
“It is probably the best prison that I could ever hope to have,” Catheryn admitted. “Your wife, Adeliza, is most welcoming, and I adore your daughters. I am intent on marrying them off to very eligible young men as soon as possible.”
“Married? Goodness, do they need to leave us so soon?”
Fitz smiled slightly, his eyes never leaving the woman in front of him. It had been strange, riding closer and closer towards his home. It had not felt as inviting as this conversation did now, and he had found himself drawing his horse closer and closer to him, slowing him down, delaying the inevitable. Now he almost wished that he had ridden harder, to meet this woman earlier. There was something about her. Something different.
“You – you did not know that your wife Adeliza has been planning this?” Catheryn looked surprised that a father could have so little interest in his children.
“Do not misunderstand me,” Fitz said hastily. “I care greatly about my children – all four of them. It is just that I have not seen Isabella or Emma… nor any of my family for over two years. When I left, they had seen but twelve summers, and I was not ready to part with them. Adeliza rarely informs me of family matters.”
Compassion washed over Catheryn. Without really thinking about what she was doing, she walked up to Fitz, and put a comforting hand over his heart.
“Here is someone who can understand what it is to love a child from afar.”
Fitz’s eyes widened, but he did not move away. It almost felt natural, being this close to this woman.
The moment lasted for another few heartbeats, until Catheryn realised that she could feel them underneath her fingertips; Fitz’s heart, beating in his chest. The intimacy of what she had just done finally hit her, and she quickly removed her hand, taking a step backwards and blushing furiously.
Fitz took a deep breath, but it was ragged.
“I think we should return,” he said, in a voice calmer than he felt by far. “No doubt my lady Adeliza will be expecting me at any moment, and I do not wish to give her cause for concern.”
Catheryn nodded quickly, and took her place beside her captor. They walked along, saying nothing – for what words could form around the emotions that they now felt?