Medieval Ever After (159 page)

“Thus they need us to bring them together.”  She met his stare.  “We should present a united front.”

“Thou art wise and beauteous.”  He winked.

“And that should honor His Majesty’s command.”  Yet Athel was not appeased, because failure could send them to the block, and she mulled the tenuous predicament.  “Thou must have confidence in thy actions, which necessitates confidence in thyself.  My lord, I hesitate to broach a sensitive subject, but I must know if thou hast been able to pray, as I am concerned for thy soul?”

“I have tried, Athel.”  Almost at once, she regretted prodding him, as he frowned.  “But I suspect I require inspiration.  Yet, the situation is not hopeless, as thou hast made me want to try.  I want to be a good man for ye, and what we build hither is what I have always coveted.  However, something inside me questions everything.”

“Thou art the best of men, and I have sufficient faith for both of us.”  So many dependents pulled them in numerous directions, and she promised herself to pray on his behalf.  Somehow, some way, she would restore his salvation, because she loved him.  “It will be fine.  I know everything will work out, in the end, as I will not tolerate otherwise.”

DEMETRIUS

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Powerful men required
special handling, and Demetrius plotted his moves with ruthless precision.  If he wanted to gain the allegiance of Winchester’s most esteemed citizens, he had to play his part.  Garbed in a crisp white shirt and a dark blue tunic sewn by his wife, with matching chausses and leather boots, he brushed his hair and slipped on the signet ring that bore the crest of his title.

When he strolled into the Great Hall, he found a large table, bedecked in rich blue linens, positioned at the center of the room.  Platters heaped with select cuts of roasted beef and ham held pride of place, and all manner of delectable side dishes completed the tempting fare.

“Everything is set, my lord.”  Gowned in vivid green velvet, Athelyna scrutinized the placement, and he hoped his hastily sketched plan worked.  “And Grimbaud tells me our guests are arriving, thus we should assume our station in the front egress.”

“My Lily, thou art an ethereal vision.”  He kissed her plaited crown.  “Let us welcome our new friends.”

In the main entry, Demetrius shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with the most prosperous members of Winchester society, and thither were so many, he lost track of their names.  But they all shared a single commonality, a flaw in the male sex that rendered them vulnerable to persuasion.  In short, they fell victim to his bride’s incomparable beauty, and he could not have been more proud.  By the time they adjourned to supper, Athelyna had charmed more than half of the set, and he anticipated little resistance to his overtures.

“So thou hast been appointed to bring order to Winchester, yet it is the King’s neglect that resulted in the false burgage plots and the exploitation by Lord Rochester.”  A noble stared down his nose.  “Prithee, wherefore should we trust ye to lead us?”

“Because I am His Majesty’s duly appointed servant, I command three hundred soldiers, and I am ordered to restore the rule of law to the lands.”  A series of whispers filtered through the cavernous meeting space, and Demetrius shifted with discomfit.  “Good sirrahs, how is it we art at odds?”

“Thou art a friend and confidante of Lord Sussex, and he blames us for the injuries to Lady Sussex.”  A grey-haired elderly gentleman frowned.  “We had naught to do with that, yet we paid a steep price in the blood of our citizens.”  Suddenly, he compressed his lips.  “Apologies, Lady Wessex.  I mean no offense.”

“None taken.”  Seated to his left, Athel toyed with her goblet, and he braced for her strike, as his bride could be a thousand times more lethal than the sharpest sword.  “But I question the honor of any man who would stand idle, as a defenseless woman is tried, convicted, and punished for a crime she did not commit.  I have seen, firsthand, the lasting scars that will never fade, in payment for a debt that was never owed, and I wonder how those gathered within these walls turned the other cheek to such an affront to justice.  Is that not in itself a crime?”  She sighed, as she held the visitors enrapt.  “Then, to compound thy transgressions, thou didst take up arms against the Sovereign, some of thy loved ones paid the ultimate price, and thou dost blame my husband for thy losses.  Thou dost profess a desire for order, but when the King sends his servant to manage the jurisdiction, a garrison is installed herein, the purpose of which is to protect ye and ensure thou art treated equitably and with respect, thou dost again rebel.  Prithee, I am but a woman.  Might someone explain thy reasoning?”

Silence fell on the gathering.

Under cover of the linens, Demetrius squeezed Athelyna’s fingers.

Tension hung in the air, until at last one person stood and raised a tankard.  “I will support ye, Lord and Lady Wessex.”

“As will I,” another proclaimed.

One by one, the nobles, save a lone dissenter, swore their loyalty to the Crown and its agent.  When the protester shot to his feet, the scene quieted.

“I am Renoldus Van Hermant, and I rebuke thy authority.”  With a sneer, he clutched the hilt of his sword, and Demetrius nodded to Briarus, who remained on alert for trouble.  “In the conflict His Majesty waged on Winchester, many lives were stolen, including that of my heir.  No amount of pretty words can compensate me, and I do not forgive ye.  At some point, mayhap now, mayhap anon, I will have my revenge on ye and send thee to thy much-deserved grave.”

“That is quite enough.”  Just as Demetrius anticipated, Athel charged the fore.  “I can abide a great many things, but thou wilt not come into my home, invited or not, and threaten my husband.”

“Fret not, Lady Wessex, as I am leaving.”  Van Hermant peered at his companions.  “Anyone coming with me?”

Thither was no movement in the ranks.

Athelyna summoned Briarus.  “Van Hermant has chosen to depart our company.  Pray, show him to the door.”  And that was how a dainty woman quashed the Winchester resistance, raising naught but her voice.  Then she clapped and said to Isotta, “Thou mayest serve the meal.”

Everyone moved with speed and efficiency, and he availed himself of the opportunity to express his appreciation of her efforts.  “My lady, thou art magnificent.  And when we retire, I shall pleasure thee, until ye dost scream.”

“My lord, that sounds lovely.”  She licked her lips, and he clenched his gut.  “Then I shall take ye till dawn.”

Thither, Athelyna won again.

#

On a warm and sunny April morning, Athelyna bent over a basin, disgorged the contents of her belly, and wiped her brow with a cool cloth.  The strange malaise that assailed her without mercy began in March, but she presumed it was naught more than a temporary hardship.  And just as she thought it passed for the day, she doubled over and vomited again.

“My lady, art thou unwell?”  With a stack of folded sheets in her grasp, Isotta frowned.  “Should I summon the physic?”

“Nay, as it is naught.”  And if she repeated that enough times, she just might believe it.  When she stretched upright, the room spun out of control, and Athel stumbled.  “Oh, dear.”

“Thither is something wrong, my lady.”  Isotta dropped the linens on the bed and rushed to assist Athel.  “Lean on me, and I shall lead ye to the chair.”

“Thank ye, Isotta.”  With tenuous steps, Athel collapsed on the seat.  “Do not summon the physic, as I would not worry Demetrius.  But if thou wilt accompany me to the physic’s quarters, I would grateful.”

“Just try and get me to abandon thy side.”  The housekeeper slipped an arm about Athelyna’s waist, and they ventured into the hall and out the secondary entrance.

In the courtyard, she clung to Isotta, and they traded polite conversation, so it appeared they did naught more than conduct their business.  On the other end of the garrison, the housekeeper pushed open the heavy oak panel and hollered for the physician’s help.

“Lady Athelyna.”  Paganus drew her to a bench.  “Take thy ease, my lady.”  To Isotta, he asked, “What happened?”

The housekeeper shrugged.  “I found my lady heaving, and she was dizzy.  Lady Athelyna reports the illness struck in March.”

“How dost thou feel now, my lady?”  Paganus pressed the back of his hand to Athel’s forehead and then gently squeezed her stomach.  “Thou dost have no fever.”  As he rubbed his chin, he narrowed his gaze.  “If I may, when is the last time thy courses flowed?”

Initially, Athel did not comprehend the consequence of the physic’s question.  But as she counted each sennight, she flinched.  “I know precisely.  My courses have not flowed since before St. Valentine’s Day.”  And then she recalled the significance of that particular moment in her personal history.  “Am I with child?”

“So it would seem, my lady.”  Paganus smiled.  “Felicitations.  I suggest ye lighten thy load and take a nap, every afternoon.  And ye may forgo thy morning sop in favor of a substantial noon meal, which should ease thy symptoms.”

“Thank ye, Paganus.”  Without thought, she caressed her flat belly and pondered the life growing inside her, and inexpressible elation welled.  If her revelation did not restore Demetrius’s faith then naught would.

“Shall I collect his lordship?”  Isotta sniffed.

“Nay, as I have an idea.”  Ah, her husband’s seed was strong; as it found its mark perchance from the instant they consummated their nuptials.  Recovered, Athel stood and hugged the housekeeper.  “Let us adjourn to the kitchen and plan a special celebration.”

As they navigated the bailey, Athel nodded acknowledgements to the members of her community.  Maintaining her composure by a mere thread, she choked on a sob when they sheltered in the screened passage.

“Athel, art thou all right?”  Gerwald paused in the doorway to the spicery.  “Wherefore dost thou weep?”

“It is naught, brother.”  It was to his misfortune that she had no patience for him just then.  “Hast thou finished thy chores?”

“Demetrius treats me like a scullion, when I am of noble blood.”  He scowled.  “I should complain of the abuse to the King.”

“Well, my husband will spill thy noble blood, if thou dost not complete thy tasks, as everyone at Winchester Castle assumes numerous duties.”  She wagged a finger.  “Cease thy complaints, as management of this residence requires work.  Given thou dost hope His Majesty confers a title on ye, thou would do well to make the most of this opportunity to learn the rules of governance.”

Like a wayward child, Gerwald stomped from the kitchens.

And then Athelyna burst into happy tears.  “Canst thou imagine it, Isotta?  I am to be a mother, and Demetrius will be a father.  Is it not grand?”

“My lady, I am thrilled for ye.”  Together, they hugged and cried, and cried and hugged.  “Now what would ye ask of me, that ye might celebrate the glorious news, as fits the occasion?”

With an apron, Athel dried her cheeks and giggled.  “I have an idea.”