Authors: Emily Murdoch
The day was hot, and Adeliza was tired of it. Summer, to her, was not for lying in fields and reaching for the sky, but for retreating indoors, trying to find a cool space. She sat stiffly in her favourite chair in the hall. The majority of the life and workings of her home occurred here, and she saw no point in remaining in her chamber, missing it.
With a loud shout and what sounded suspiciously like a curse, Isabella and Emma hurtled past her.
“Slowly, girls,” Adeliza said automatically, not even expecting her words to be heeded in the slightest. “Please be careful.”
Isabella shouted something back at her mother, but the exact words never quite reached Adeliza. The two girls continued running, and pushing open the door, almost fled into the sunshine.
Adeliza sighed, but she could not help but smile. It was always a cause of wonder to her that such girls should have come from her. They were so wild, so untameable. Everything was at its extreme for them – it was either the worst day ever, or the best that anyone had ever had. The middle ground that Adeliza was so fond of seemed to pass them by.
“My lady?”
Adeliza turned to see one of her servants hovering slightly to her left.
“Yes?”
“I bring word, my lady, from the village. It is said that our lord William has been sighted, riding here.”
Adeliza stared at the servant blankly for a moment, before she realised that she was probably expected to speak.
“William?”
“Yes, my lady.” The servant looked concerned. “He should be here at any moment.”
Adeliza recollected herself. She was meant to be ecstatically happy, she supposed. She smiled.
“In that case, I will walk out to greet him,” she said slowly. “Thank you for bringing these joyful tidings.”
The servant’s face relaxed, and Adeliza stood, shaking the creases out of her gown. In a way, she wished she was wearing one of greater beauty – but then, Fitz had never been particularly concerned with the clothes that she had worn, anyway. This dress was as good as another.
Adeliza strode to the door that had been left ajar by her two exuberant daughters, and delicately manoeuvred herself through it. The sunshine poured onto her, and Adeliza flinched. The heat always made her feel uncomfortable.
There was but one road between the village and their home, and so Adeliza saw no reason why Fitz would not have taken it. The path crossed a few of their fields, and as Adeliza looked out to them, she saw a man walking from those fields towards her. He was not alone: a woman that Adeliza immediately recognised as Catheryn was beside him, and the two of them were talking. The man laughed. Adeliza knew that laugh.
It was Fitz.
Bile immediately rose in her throat, and Adeliza’s face flushed, independently of the sun’s heat. The two companions ahead of her had not looked up and seen her – they were too invested in their own conversation to look anywhere else. Panic flooded through Adeliza’s veins. It had been two years – no, more than two years now – since she had seen her husband. She had waited patiently, always waiting for the next letter to know that he had not been killed by the English in the last month. And yet he was not riding fast to her, to her family, to the home that they had built together.
He was… there was no other word for it. He was meandering.
They were but moments away from her now. Adeliza realised with a start that she had stopped walking. She stood there, stupidly, waiting for her husband and her prisoner to reach her.
It was Fitz who noticed her first. Raising his eyes up to see exactly how far they had come, he saw a woman standing in the middle of the path, arms hanging listlessly at her sides. She wore a grey dress, that could once have been a light blue. She was his wife.
“Adeliza!” He called her name, and a slight smile crossed over her face.
“You must excuse me,” Fitz said to Catheryn hurriedly.
Catheryn barely had time to nod her understanding before he quickened his pace and lengthened his stride. It did not take him long to reach his wife, and he greeted her formally: by dropping to his knees.
“Oh, my lady wife,” Fitz said, head bowed. “It is both a blessing and an honour to see you again.”
Adeliza reached out a hand, and lifted her husband’s face so that she could look into his eyes.
“Greetings, my lord husband.”
Her voice was soft.
Fitz rose, and the couple embraced. By this time, Catheryn and the horse that had been left in her care had reached them, and Adeliza pulled apart from her husband, a blush creeping over her face.
“Catheryn,” Adeliza said stiffly. “This is my husband, William FitzOsbern.”
Catheryn saw with dismay that all of the reticence, the distance and the antipathy that Adeliza had clothed herself with when she had first arrived there as a prisoner had returned.
But then Adeliza smiled.
“It is a great day, the day of your return,” she said quietly, keeping her eyes low and respectful.
“It is indeed,” Fitz said, not quite understanding why the laughing, chattering woman he had been walking with had suddenly disappeared into the demur woman before him. But then, if his wife was anything to go by, most women were quiet. “But I am tired from my travels, and I would like to retire for a time, before the evening meal.”
Catheryn nodded. “I am going to continue my… walk in the fields.” She could not help but let a smile escape, though she dared not see if Fitz had smiled with her.
She looked at Adeliza. “Please go on ahead. I shall not be long, but I would love to enjoy the last of the light, before we lose it entirely.”
“We shall see you at the feast tonight,” Adeliza said quietly. “It will be in honour of my husband’s return.”
“I shall look forward to it.”
Adeliza watched the woman go, walking purposefully back towards the place where she knew Catheryn spent much of her time. She had almost forgotten that there was another person there until Fitz spoke.
“Shall we?”
Adeliza did not reply, but instead merely turned to face the way that she had come.
Fitz and Adeliza did not speak during their short journey back. Upon their arrival, a servant quickly came to take Fitz’s horse from him, and then the lord and the lady of the family retreated to their chamber, where they would not be disturbed.
It was not until Adeliza could be completely sure they were alone, and would not be overheard, that she let out the breath she had been holding in. She slumped onto a chair, whilst Fitz threw himself gracelessly on the bed.
Neither of them spoke for several moments.
“You look well.”
“Thank you,” Fitz replied. “You look just as beautiful as when I left.”
Adeliza smiled, but the smile did not reach her eyes. “I am older. There are lines where there were no lines before.”
Fitz snorted. “Wisdom comes at a price, Adeliza, and if you want the wisdom you cannot claim that the cost is too high.”
“I claim no such thing.” Adeliza’s reply was quick, but without malice. “It is just strange. I am certain I shall grow accustomed to it.”
Fitz did not reply. He closed his eyes, and allowed himself finally to feel the ache within his bones. Every muscle cried out in pain; it had been a long and tiring journey, and would have tired out a man half his age.
“I have not told you how proud we are of you.”
“Proud?”
Adeliza nodded, but then realised that Fitz could not see her. “Yes. You have brought much honour to the FitzOsbern name, and to Normandy. Our children and I are very proud of you.”
Fitz heard the words, but they were spoken with no feeling in them. He and Adeliza had never been close; theirs had been a melding of two families, rather than a marriage of two individuals. But they had learned to live together well enough. They had, over time, created four beautiful children, and had had the joy of seeing them grow to be passionate and clever people. And yet now, after all this time, there was almost nothing that they wanted to say to one another.
Adeliza shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The sight of the man that she had married lying on their bed was slightly shocking. She was amazed at how little she had remembered of him. Despite the long twenty years that they had spent together, it had only taken twenty four months of distance to rob her of the memory of his face. There were lines around his eyes that she did not think had been there when he left – but then, she could not be sure.
“Any vital news?”
Adeliza shook herself from her reverie. “None of enough importance to disturb you on the day that you have returned to us.”
Fitz smiled slightly. It was good to know that the land that he had loved and left had survived the lack of him. Perhaps his steward had enjoyed the chance to work without his lord hanging over his head, commenting on his every decision.
“Fitz?”
Adeliza’s voice was delicate as usual, and the iron at the core of her being was lacking. Fitz sat up, and turned to look at her.
He did not reply, but Adeliza continued, her words tinged with nervousness.
“Tell me… what is happening in England?”
Fitz closed his eyes again, still sitting upright. Adeliza bit her lip.
“Fitz, is it true that many battles have occurred since the winter season?”
“I do not wish to talk of war.” It was not anger that filled Fitz’s words, but something slightly more harsh. A bitterness mixed with exhaustion. He was a man who had seen too much anger.
“I am sorry, my lord,” Adeliza said quickly, returning to a more formal tone. Her eyes lowered themselves, leaving the man who was lying on the bed. “I just wondered – England is such a far-off land.”
There was a long gap before any further words were spoken, and then it was Adeliza who spoke once more.
“Tell me of England.”
Fitz did not bother to open his eyes as he replied. “I do not wish to speak of it.”
“I wish to know more of it. Tell me –”
“God’s teeth, Adeliza, will you not leave the subject alone?” Fitz exploded. “War is never a beautiful thing, and that is what I have been doing for the last years – waging a war on a country that will not lose!”
Adeliza cried out. “It was only a simple request, Fitz!”
“And I am only telling you that I do not want to speak of it!”
“Your letters contained nothing, and I have been waiting many months for proper news,” Adeliza bit back. Fitz had not even bothered to open his eyes during the entire exchange. “I know that we never married for love, but I had hoped always to be able to respect you.”
She knew that she had gone too far, said too much, as soon as the words poured out of her mouth. But there was nothing to be done now: they had been said.
Adeliza looked, terrified, at the man whose power she was under. He was her husband, and she had learned to like him, but this was the first moment that she had been truly afraid of him.
“My lady Adeliza, come and sit by me.”
She did not move. Adeliza looked at her husband, with a wary look in her eye. He was acting strangely, even for Fitz, and she could not decipher the reason. Tiredness, yes, she had seen it in him many times. But this was something different. This was something much more.
“Adeliza, come here.”
His tone was firm, but once again there was no anger there. Fitz’s eyes were still shut.
Adeliza rose, and carefully sat on the bed. Her back rested against the headboard, alongside her husband’s. As Fitz felt the bed move, he opened his eyes. Reaching an arm around his wife, he drew her close, and began to speak quietly.
“England is a country of wildness, and of magic, and of terror. It is the country beyond the water, and it is filled with a people that are proud and humble, both at the same time. Every word they speak is a blessing, and every look at us is a curse. The land of England is covered in forests, and within them wild beasts lurk. There are parts of England that no man has ever walked on, trees under which no maiden has wept for a loved one, and stones that no child will ever gather. You can try to ignore its calling, and try to pretend that you do not even hear it, but even I am starting to realise that it is no home for me. England does not belong to anyone. It did not belong to the English, and it does not belong to us Normans now. England cannot be owned, and it cannot be possessed.”
Adeliza sat, entranced.
“Why?”
“Because it possesses us.”
As Fitz walked into the room, a loud cheer went up from all around.
“FitzOsbern! FitzOsbern!”
“Welcome home my lord!”
He smiled. It was good to see so many of the people he cared about, after such a long time. Age had not been gentle, and death had taken a few from their number, but those who remained were very dear to him. He could see that his steward had lost a few more teeth since he had last spoken to him.
Someone took his hand and, looking down, he saw that his daughter Isabella was smiling up at him. She looked completely different from the last time that Fitz had seen her; the baby smile and the wild hair had given way, he saw, to a more refined look. It was almost as if a different child stood before him – but Fitz mentally corrected himself. Neither of his daughters could be described as children any longer.
“Papa?” Isabella said, slightly nervously, but her smile remaining. “Is it good to be home?”
Fitz did not reply at first, but bundled the girl into his arms for a hug. She laughed, and he could not help but join her merriment.
“Indeed, child,” he breathed, “it is good to be home.”
Laughter broke out amongst the gathering, and Adeliza’s voice swept over them all.
“Food, I think, Pierre.”
A man standing at the side of the room immediately bowed his head, and a stream of people entered the room, bearing platters of food heaped high. The scent emanating from each one caught Fitz’s attention as his mouth watered. Good food had been in short supply throughout the long journey.
“I can see your appetite has not dampened, Father!” Emma called out with a broad smile on her face.
Fitz returned her smile. “And I may still enact that threat that I gave you once when you were a small child – that if you do not let me get to my meal, I shall eat you instead!”
Waving a casual arm towards the minstrel standing by the fireside, he beckoned everyone to take their places at the tables, and begin to eat.
He did not speak to an unwilling audience. Men and women, glad to see their master return after so many years, could not be held back from enjoying the luxurious fare that had been prepared in his honour.
Fitz sat down at the head of the table, with Adeliza on his right. A petulant Roger was on his other side, and Fitz saw that he would have much catching up to do with his second son. There was obviously something playing on his mind, but the contents of it danced out of Fitz’s sight. He would have to see to that tomorrow.
One woman caught his eye. It was a moment before he recognised her. The woman he had so unceremoniously startled. The woman who was his prisoner.
Catheryn stood, desperately trying to decide where she should place herself. Over the last few months, she had become accustomed to seating herself by Adeliza – but those places were now rightfully taken by her husband and her daughter. Not a servant, not a guest, not a member of the family: there were few precedents for this. Prisoners were not typically allowed to participate in events such as this, and Catheryn had no idea what she was to do.
Fitz watched her. She was quite obviously confused, undecided about what she should do. He turned, and caught Adeliza’s eye.
They looked at their prisoner, thrust upon them by a king many hundreds of miles away.
“Catheryn?” Fitz hazarded. He was not entirely sure exactly how he was meant to address this woman – half prisoner, half noble.
Adeliza came to his rescue. She rose in a stately fashion, and a hush fell across the room. Even the minstrel stopped playing to listen to his lady – who blushed.
“My lady Catheryn,” she said, softly. “Will you do us the honour of taking your place by my youngest daughter? Emma, I am sure, will value your company.”
Catheryn looked at Emma, who smiled.
“I would be honoured, my lady,” Emma said shyly, “if you would sit by me. I am but to perform a small task, and I shall return directly.”
It was now Catheryn’s turn to burn, although her cheeks reached a deeper red than Adeliza’s ever did. Was such an insult ever to be borne? The girl whom she had comforted, removing herself from her own seat so that she would not become tainted by the presence of an Anglo-Saxon woman? Emma had needed her then, but was she now just dirt?
But then Isabella rose, and Roger too moved from the table.
“You are not…?” Fitz laughed. “Surely, you are all getting a little old for this?”
“Age should be no barrier to accomplishment,” Isabella threw back at him as she wove her way through the tables to reach the fire, where the minstrel stood, confused. “You should know that by now, Father.”
The room laughed, and Catheryn relaxed. She finally realised what was happening. Beside the minstrel, tucked out of the way and in unassuming plain leather cases, were two lutes. Emma and Isabella reached for these, and the three siblings positioned themselves as a trio, facing their audience.
Catheryn was so captured by their beautiful music – Roger’s strong voice perfectly balanced by the interchanging harmonies of the twins – that she almost forgot to take her place at the family table. There was a divide between her and Adeliza that Catheryn knew she could no longer cross.
When the siblings finished their song, the room erupted with applause, and none was greater than that from their father.
“Marvellous!” he shouted over the din. “I can only assume that you have been practising – something that I could never get any of you to do whilst I was here!”
Emma beamed. “You are a much less frightening prospect when you are across the sea, Father, but in some ways, that made us want to make you all the more proud.”
“Yes,” Isabella added as the three young people took their places at the table once more. “And it even meant that Roger had to talk to us every now and again.”
“Oh hush!” Adeliza hissed as the girls descended into giggles. Roger did not make any sign that he had heard them, and it was still not enough to force a remark from his lips.
Emma dropped into her seat beside Catheryn, still giggling.
“Now you must tell us about England,” Emma said, wildly reaching for any food that was within her reach, “and about the heathens that you met there!”
It was not until the words had left her mouth and resonated in the air before her that Emma realised what she had said. Every eye turned to her, and Fitz cast a glance at Catheryn.
“My lady, I am so – I do apologise!” Emma stuttered, barely able to get another word out.
Catheryn took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Mind it not,” she said quietly. “It was but a slip of the tongue. You would not be so embarrassed if you knew what was said about your kind over the water.”
Emma laughed, but it was a strained laugh, and she looked down at her plate, evidently deciding not to say another word that evening.
“And yet, the beast of England does not have the manners of the men and women of Normandy. Do not you think that you are, in some ways, a different creature?”
The incendiary words had been spoken by a voice that Catheryn did not recognise. But by following the direction in which each and every person was looking, she looked at Roger.
He was clutching his knife a little hard for a man of calm, but his gaze did not falter as it met hers.
“My lord Roger,” Catheryn said slowly, “I would no more say that a man of Anglo-Saxon stock was a different creature than I would say a man of Normandy was. I see little difference.”
“You lie!” Roger shouted, flecks of spit covering his lips. “We all know the ravenous appetites of the Anglo-Saxons, their complete lack of control, their inability to learn more than a basic way of life. You are lucky we came to civilise you –”
“Civilise? Is that what it is called, when churches are burned to the ground and honest men watch their cattle slaughtered because it can be done?” Catheryn realised that her arms were on the table, and that she had balled her hands into fists.
“I am trying not to raise my voice, my lord, because you are a son of this house and I have great affection for your mother, but you do not know of what you speak!”
“I know you died as cowards! I know none mourned the dead, because you Saxons are incapable of emotion that deep, whilst each and every drop of Norman blood will be remembered forever!”
The boy – for he looked like a boy now, all of his manhood washed out of him – stared at the woman who had been living in his home for months now, taking the food from their mouths.
Catheryn stood up. The room stared at her, torn in their attempt both to look at her, at Roger, and away from both. She seemed majestic in her power, in her presence in the room. She looked taller somehow.
“My husband is named Selwyn,” Catheryn said slowly. “I say that he is called Selwyn – and yet none shall call him by that name now, for his bones lie on one of the greatest battle fields across the water. He died protecting his land for the people that he loved; loved with a passion. He said that he would die for them, and he was a man of his word. And yet it did not matter that his blood… his precious blood was spilt, for it made no difference to the horde that attacked my home. Every waking moment is a point at which I am without him. Every sleeping moment is a time when I long for his comfort. My children… my son is dead, and my daughter may be just as lost to me. Sometimes I pray that she is, so that she will never know the shame and dishonour that our enemies cast on us, simply because we lived in a place that they wanted to own. And so I defy you, Roger FitzOsbern, to call my people cowards; I defy you to say we do not mourn; and I defy you to say that our loved ones will not be remembered.”
The glare from her eye was enough to force Roger to drop his head, but even if he had been blind, her words would have shamed him once, twice, three times over.
Catheryn sat down, and there was still silence. No man or woman seemed willing to break it.
“Harsh words have been spoken here,” Fitz said finally, “and passionate ones. I cannot speak for all of the Normans; nor can I even hope to speak of the feelings of those that live across the water. But in this no bitterness is spoken, and so I would ask that whatever feelings are nursed in the breasts of the people around this table, that they would be kept there, hidden from sight. There is no use for them here.”
Heads nodded around the room – men who had fought battles, and had seen the light of life leave men’s eyes, and then wondered at it all. Women smiled, painfully, at the remembrance of a missing face.
“I am sorry, Father, if my words offend you.” Roger’s voice held strong, if it did waver.
“’Tis not my forgiveness you should be seeking, son.”
Roger looked at Catheryn, but did not speak again.
“Come now,” Fitz said, with a touch of roughness in his tones. “I will not have discord.”
Roger swallowed. The words were evidently difficult for him to say, but it was clear that he must say them.
“I apologise, my lady Catheryn.”
Catheryn looked at the boy for a moment. In many ways, he was still a child – but she suddenly had a flash of what her boy might have been like had he had the opportunity to reach that age. He would probably have been wild, just like Roger: wild, and full of opinions that he did not yet quite fully understand. He would have followed his father in all but sense, and though she smiled, she knew that he would almost certainly have fallen into mischief. It seemed as though Adeliza’s son was just a boy, like all other boys.
“I accept your apology, Roger,” she said softly.
For several minutes, nothing could be heard above the clatter of knives to teeth, and the satisfied munching of people who had been waiting a long time for such a good meal as this.
But before long, Isabella’s incessant mind had to speak.
“Father, tell us about Queen Edith.”
“She is just Lady Edith now, Isabella,” Fitz reminded her. “Our Queen is Matilda, and her coronation was most magnificent.”
“I did not know that you had attended,” Adeliza said, looking suspiciously at her husband.
Fitz shrugged. “It did not seem important to tell you at the time.”
Emma laughed. “Father, how could you? I would have loved to be there – was Edith very beautiful?”
“I have heard that she was,” added Isabella. “Does she still wear a crown?”
Fitz shook his head. “She no longer has that honour,” he said, “and yet, despite the lack of finery, there was certainly something very regal about her. From all accounts, she was a very popular queen.”
“And her son – Harold – he is well?”
Adeliza’s words, innocently spoken, were met with much laughter throughout the room. Even Catheryn could not help but smile at the strange question.
Adeliza looked about her, confused. Turning to her husband, who was chuckling, she whispered angrily to him.
“Why does everyone laugh?”
“My lady,” Fitz said formally, “Queen Edith and King Harold were not mother and son, but sister and brother. She married King Edward the Confessor, and her brother took the throne after his death.”
Adeliza’s cheeks burned. She looked around the room – Pierre was laughing openly, and the minstrel missed a note, so broad was his smile.