Medieval Brides. Anne Herries
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should not be at Fulford,’ he said urgently. ‘Not with the place crawling with the bastard’s men. We must get him away.’
Heart sinking, Cecily shook her head. ‘Away? No, Edmund. He’s so small. He must stay here, with Gudrun.’
Edmund’s gaze was wintry. ‘You think him safe here?’
‘Yes…No…I don’t know.’ Cecily gripped Edmund’s hand. ‘But he needs his wet nurse. And I don’t think Sir Adam would hurt him, if that’s what you mean.’
Her hand was flung aside. ‘Not hurt him? You think a man come here to win lands for himself would spare the real heir? How can you say that when half of southern England is laid waste?’
‘Half of southern England?’ A shiver ran down her spine. ‘What do you mean?’
Edmund flung her a scornful glance. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know.’
‘Edmund, I don’t know. I have been stuck in a convent these past four years, Mother Aethelflaeda kept us in ignorance. Please explain.’
‘After Hastings, Duke William thought to march to London unopposed. But he thought wrong.’
‘There was resistance?’
‘Yes.’ Edmund’s eyes were bleak. ‘And in retaliation the bastard cut a bloody swathe through the south. Every town and village he came across was fired and put to the sword. Women were raped, children killed—’
Cecily’s hand was at her mouth. ‘No! No, Edmund.’
‘Yes!’ Face tight with hatred, he leaned closer. ‘I am telling the truth! It was not like Winchester. Around London the bastard’s men even burnt the grain in the storehouses, and they killed the animals, ensuring that even if some poor souls did manage to escape they’d starve to death later. Cecily, William of Normandy won’t be happy until every Saxon in England is food for crows.’
Catching Edmund’s arm, Cecily forced herself to speak with calm and conviction. ‘Adam is not like that.’
Edmund snorted.
‘He is not. Use your brain, Edmund. He didn’t kill you, he merely disarmed you! You would have done the same in his place. Adam has hurt no one at Fulford—not even Father’s hounds when they went for him. And he wouldn’t hurt Philip. This I know.’
‘You fool! You blind, stupid…You…woman.’ He gave her a little shake. ‘Adam Wymark wants the land. Philip is your father’s heir. Think, Cecily, think! Face the truth—bloody as it is. The man is a Frank. He killed to get here, and he’ll kill to stay.’
‘He won’t kill Philip—not a baby! A baby couldn’t inherit anyway. Not for years. He would have to be made ward of court or some such.’
Edmund’s expression changed to one of sudden enlightenment. ‘You’re in love with him!’
‘I am not. I hardly know him!’
‘Yes, you are. You want to marry him. I should have known when you rode in like his whore, smiling at him, speaking his language—’
‘It’s my language too. My mother was Norman, or have you forgotten?’
‘You are naught but a collaborator!’ Ignoring Cecily’s gasp of horror, Edmund flicked at the fur-lined cloak. ‘He gave you this, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, but—’ Appalled by Edmund’s venom, Cecily shook her head. ‘Edmund, please don’t. This is not the way forward.’
Edmund brought his face close to hers. His pupils, despite the fading light, were small and dark. Angry. ‘You’re wrong. It is the way. Philip should not be living among murdering Franks.’
Maurice Espinay and Geoffrey of Leon stepped into the yard and Edmund fell silent. His chest heaved, but he held his peace until they had vanished into the stables.
‘I’ll get Philip out of here,’ he muttered.
‘No! Edmund, you have not the right.’
‘I am loyal to the house of Wessex,’ Edmund said. ‘As you father was.’
‘Wessex is a spent force.’ Cecily sighed. ‘Edmund, I have seen the Norman garrison at Winchester, and it would be folly to pit yourself against such might—especially now King Harold is dead and his family have been scattered to the four winds. You are not being realistic.’
‘I am glad your father is gone that he cannot hear you speak such treachery.’ Edmund’s eyes filled with scorn. ‘And I am glad that Judhael cannot hear you. He is fighting hard for the Saxon cause, trying to raise money, trying to rally the troops for one final battle.’
‘Edmund, I do not want to argue with you, but you and Judhael are wrong. The cause is already lost. We would do better to become allies with these men. Can you not see? If resistance around London and the south has been dealt with so ruthlessly, fighting here can only bring more pain, more death, more hardship. Is that what you want for the people of Wessex? That their land should be laid waste too?’
Edmund reached for his crutches. ‘Perhaps the cause is not as lost as you imagine.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ll see.’
The hairs rose on the nape of her neck. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there? You know something else. Edmund, what—?’
Edmund’s lips formed a smile, but there was little warmth in it. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’
‘Tell me!’
‘I have said too much already. You are but a woman, and a blind one at that. You have been out of the world so long you cannot possibly understand.’
Cecily clenched her fists, but Edmund’s face was rigid. For the sake of peace, she held her tongue.
Thus it was that that evening yet another worry was louring like a thundercloud over Cecily’s thoughts. Was Edmund about to attempt something rash? Were others involved? She went to the cookhouse to help Brian Herfu get Harold and Carl in hand and the cloud was large in her mind. It did not shift when she went to the stables to feed her father’s wolfhounds, and even her delight in the fact that Lightning and Greedy knew her and nuzzled her did not dislodge it. It hung over her still just before supper when, back in her father’s mead hall, she had the trestles put up for the evening meal.
But most of all the cloud shadowed her mood when she stood at Adam’s elbow for the saying of Grace. It was awkward, being next to the man who had taken her father’s place, but her fears concerning Edmund pushed the awkwardness aside, as they pushed aside everything else. By now she had quite forgotten that this was the first time that Adam had seen her in secular clothing, and thus missed the swift appraisal he gave her, and the accompanying nod of satisfaction.
Around the board, faces from Cecily’s childhood glowed in the firelight. At the other end Father Aelfric stood next to Sigrida—the boy and girl whose heads barely reached the trestle must be their children. There was the old reeve Godwin and his wife Aella, whose poor hands were gnarled and twisted with arthritis. There was Gudrun and Wilf and Wat; there was the miller and his wife with Matty…even Edmund swayed in on his crutches at the last moment. True, Edmund was wearing an expression belligerent enough to cramp every muscle in her stomach, but he was there. Everyone was present save Lufu and her mother’s maid, Marie. The riddle of Lufu’s whereabouts had yet to be solved, and Marie had been escorted to the convent.
Cecily looked at the familiar faces and blinked away a mist of tears. So it had been on feast days in her father’s time, with all welcome in the Hall. True, there was clear division at the table, with Cecily being the only Saxon at the top. Flanked by Adam and Sir Richard and surrounded by troopers, she was cut off from her fellow countrymen, who sat further down the board, near the door. It would hardly be a relaxing meal, with Adam’s men having their