Malia Martin (24 page)

Her hand’s shook as she bit back the bile that collected in her throat. A cold, screaming wind rattled through the leafless trees around them, and an uncontrollable shiver racked Aleene’s body. And then she felt warmth, a comfortable, loving warmth that could come from only one person. His large hand came over hers, stilling it for a moment, and his arm encircled her waist from behind. For just a small second in time, they stayed that way, Robert’s warmth chasing the chill from her heart. She knew she would hate herself later for allowing the closeness, but at that moment she needed anything human to help her through such an inhuman task.

And then he moved, helping the women as they brought Harold’s scattered remains to the purple cloth and wrapped them. As Edith went to hoist the heavy, bulky package, Robert stopped her. Without a word, Aleene’s husband reverently took the cloth and its sacred contents from the woman.

Aleene held her breath, waiting to see what Edith would do. But the mother of Harold’s children only stared into Robert’s face, and then turned. With long, strong strides Edith walked east, toward the ocean, away from them.

Robert followed a few feet behind the straight form of the proud and devoted widow.

Sure that at any moment, William’s outraged bellow would echo through the small, shallow valley, Aleene waited for a moment, her gaze never leaving her husband.

Out of the corner of her eye, Aleene saw the bulky form of the Bastard Duke as he also followed Edith. Turning her gaze full on him, Aleene realized that he was neither angry nor about to bring Edith back. He just followed, his head bent against the wind, his battered helmet held at his side.

A tear escaped and splashed down Aleene’s cheek as she too went after the somber entourage.
Oh, if only!
Her thoughts screamed through her as she trudged along the muddy ground and through the remains of death that surrounded her.
If only
!

But if only
what
came back to her. If only William had stayed on his side of the channel? Then Robert would never have found her. If only Harold had been victorious? Then she would now be taking her husband’s battered body away to be buried.

That she couldn’t stand to think of Robert dead made Aleene quake. She shouldn’t care. She hated the part of herself that was so very glad that she could look ahead of her and see the wide, strong back of her husband before her. She rebelled against that part of her. Her people now faced death, poverty, and subjugation. And her husband had helped to establish that.

Oh, if only there were no such thing as war, hatred, hurt, her heart cried out.
Oh, if only
!

As they came nearer the cliffs that looked out over the gray, churning sea, the wind strengthened, tugging at Aleene’s gown and swirling her hair about her in a tangled mass. Pulling her hair back with one hand, Aleene looked before her and realized that Edith had stopped.

When she reached the others, Aleene saw that some of William’s men were bent over, digging. Using rocks and helmets as tools, they dug a hole in the cliff overlooking the sea.

Alarm raced through Aleene. Did Edith wish to bury Harold here, on unconsecrated ground? Surely not! It was paganistic! “Edith!” Aleene cried, coming to stand next to her friend. “You cannot bury him here!”

Edith turned, her eyes sedate and now tearless. “I was never married to Harold by the church, Aleene. When the people of England bury Harold in their church, they will bury another man, another’s husband.” She stared down at the growing hole, then looked back at Aleene. “This day, here, I shall bury
my
husband, my love.”

Aleene backed away a few steps, her mind trying to grasp what happened here. Robert still held Harold’s body wrapped in the purple cloth, but his gaze found hers. He held her there, communicating his strength through his eyes. With a questioning expression, he nodded. Lowering her lashes, Aleene answered his question with her own nod. Yes, she was all right. If Edith could do this, so could she.

As they stood on the wind-whipped cliff, no one spoke. The only noise was that of stone pounding against earth. And, also, stone hitting stone as William Malet, one of Harold’s companions, one of his monks, chiseled out an epitaph.

Aleene watched the man work, slowly reading the words that he painstakingly brought out of the stone.
By command of your wife, you rest here a King, O Harold, That you may be guardian still of the shore and sea.

Numbed by the cold wind and even colder emotions that seemed to freeze her very heart, Aleene could only watch as, finally, Edith buried her husband in the earth, covering him with dark soil and the stone that said what she wished it to say.

Through it all William stood silently watching, allowing Edith to do as she wished. When it was over, Edith bent and kissed the grave, then turned and walked back from where they had come.

William threw his head back then and proclaimed with a large booming voice, “I now take the title of king of the English!”

His men hurrahed mightily, all except for Robert, who only watched Aleene. At the yell, her heart seemed to drop like a stone to her toes, and she wobbled, her knees suddenly buckling beneath her.

Robert reached her in two strides, his arms coming around her, his warmth seeping through her clothes to war with the numbness that pervaded her soul. “Let yourself hurt, Aleene. I shall hold you up.”

Closing her eyes to the great rushing tide of relief that swamped her with his words, Aleene straightened away from her husband. Stiffening her shoulders and tilting her chin in the air with a bravado that came from someplace hitherto untapped, Aleene moved away from Robert and from William and followed Edith.

Edith walked alone and so would she.

Part III

“M
en are stubborn, weary creatures.” Aleene dragged the veil from her hair and plopped down upon a chair. She sighed, then looked at Berthilde. “The archbishops are on the verge of giving up. I know. I can see it in their eyes.”

“Perhaps we should be gettin’ home then, milady.” Berthilde bustled about the small room they had lived in for over a month. The noise from the London street outside filtered through the small window, and Aleene had a sudden yearning to hear the crash of waves against rocks rather than the cacophony of voices that never seemed to cease.

“No.” Aleene pushed the homesickness away. “
I
will not give up. We cannot just lie down and allow a foreign man to be king.”

“’Tis not your fault, milady, that the Bastard Duke prowls about upon English land.” Berthilde went to the window and dumped a pot of wash water down to the street. “You have spoken to the archbishops.” She turned, the old ceramic pot in her arms. “You have spoken with the witan. You’ve done what you could. ’Tis home we should be gettin’ to now, and leavin’ the guilt behind.” She nodded as if that ended the discussion and went back to her chores.

Aleene huffed a small laugh. “You do not approve of my exploits, Berthilde?”

“I approved. You wished to help bring Edgar to the throne. You’ve done all you can. You can do no more here.”

Aleene heard the serious harshness in Berthilde’s voice and the amused smile left her face. “You have heard something.”

“Only that William’s army has reached Wallingford. There is sure to be another battle soon.”

Aleene sighed and dragged her fingers through her tangled hair. “I have heard the same.” She sat silently for a moment, her thoughts on her husband. He was close. Oh, so close. She had not seen him in over a month, and truthfully, she missed him desperately. But she would not say it, not out loud. For she wished that she didn’t. She wished that she had never met him. Her own involvement in the landing of William’s troops haunted her, as did her torn loyalties as she had watched King Harold brought down before her eyes. She would not, could not, stray from her course now. She would fight William and her husband with everything she had, for to do anything less would be to kill her soul.

She jumped from her sprawled position and yanked her veil back on her head. “I go back to the great
men
of England.” She secured the veil haphazardly. “I cannot sit about when I could be persuading these good-for-nothing men to get off their duffs and do something.”

“Get off your arse, you son of a bastard pig.”

Robert looked up startled, the hard bread slipping from his grasp and landing on the frozen ground.

Duncan laughed and squatted beside him. “Scared ye, didn’t I?” He laughed again, the great belly laugh that always made Robert smile. “I do like to scare ye, Robert de Guise, I do like to scare ye.”

Robert snorted and grabbed the bread at his feet. “I thought I told you to stay at Seabreeze.” He tried to tear off a piece of bread with his teeth, but couldn’t. He pulled harder.

“And let you have all the fun?” Duncan took a folded cloth from one of his pockets and slowly uncovered a beautiful loaf of bread.

“Holy Jesus and Mary.” Robert stared at the food in Duncan’s hands.

“Not quite.” Duncan laughed again and handed over his prize.

Robert had to take a deep breath and steady his hands. It had been a long time since he had partaken of fresh food. He no longer cared if Duncan had left Seabreeze in the hands
of a nanny goat, all he could think of was putting his mouth around that loaf of bread. But he controlled himself and tore off only a small piece. Then he tried desperately to savor every crumb as he chewed.

“From the looks of it, I’d say I was wrong about you having all the fun,” Duncan said, then refused the bread Robert offered. “No. ’Tis for you, Robert.”

Robert stared at it for a moment, then stood and took it to some of his men sitting around a small fire a few feet away. He broke the bread and handed it out, then returned to Duncan. “And so, Duncan, tell me now what you do here.”

“Aw, Robert, ’tis boring at Seabreeze. Your lady wife is not there, the people stare at me with hatred. Your property is in good enough hands. I needed to be here, where things are happening.”

At the mention of his wife, Robert stared off in the general direction of London. He knew she was there. Duncan had informed him that she had never returned to Seabreeze. And spies had reported of an outspoken woman trying to persuade the people of London to fight against William. He sighed. He knew why she was there. It was as if she were doing penance for her sins. But they were not her sins.

A movement near William’s tent caught Robert’s eye, and he turned to look. A man shook William’s hand, then strode to one of the small ponies the English rode and took off down the muddy track. Robert squinted after the man’s retreating form. Something about the man struck Robert as familiar. But the strange thing was that the man who had just clasped William’s hand in a conspiratorial grip was English.

Aleene stood again before a meeting of the archbishops and the other great men of England. She rubbed at her forehead and nearly laughed. The great men of England were now mostly boys. Edgar, the one she was fighting to be made king, was not yet grown. He spoke still in a high childish voice, looking more like he should be out playing with his peers than sitting upon a throne.

And yet, she would rather he were to rule than a foreigner. Aleene dug her fingernails into her palms and cleared her throat. “Gentlemen, we cannot allow fear to guide us.”

“You ask us, then, not to fear God?” Stigand, archbishop of Canterbury demanded, his brows furrowed.

“She asks you to be killed, that is what this woman asks.”

The booming voice from behind her made Aleene jump. She turned to see Aethregard stride into the room, his soulless gray eyes hard on her.

She had heard nothing about him for so long, that truly she had hoped he was dead. Now, to see him before her very much alive and obviously strong and healthy made her legs go weak.

“Harold banished you from court, Aethregard.” Aleene gritted out between her teeth. “You tried to kill me.”

“I did no such thing, sister mine. And, may I remind you, Harold is dead.” He flicked a cold glance over her, then turned to the men who stood about the long wooden table. “Why do you let this woman speak as a man should?”