before he is dressed in his finest.'
The serving women scampered off to do her bidding. Bab had already gone.
Alix looked at the body upon the high board. She felt nothing for it, but then why should she? Hayle Watteson had treated her badly. He had neither loved nor respected her. She had done her best to please, to be a good wife. He had felt no such compunction to respond in kind. She had no regrets, and she would shake the dust of Wulfborn from her shoes as quickly as she could. To have remained to publicly mourn him would have been hypocritical. The winter was close, and she needed to find Margaret of Anjou quickly before travel would be too impossible.
The women returned, and together they stripped the clothing from the dead man's body. Then they carefully washed him. They giggled and rolled their eyes at the sight of the young man's genitals. 'No wonder our Maida was so happy,' one said, and Bab cackled knowingly. A sharp look from Alix silenced her and prevented any further remarks. The older woman had brought a dark blue velvet robe whose sleeves were edged in gray rabbit fur. They dressed him in it, and Bab combed his hair before placing a strap of linen around his head and beneath his chin. His head straight now, Hayle did not appear so odd. They sewed him into his shroud, leaving only his head visible.
Alix called for candle stands to be brought and beeswax tapers to be lit. The frost had killed the last of the flowers, and so there were none. 'Tell the village they may come on the morrow to pay their respects. We will bury him at noon.'
'Where is the grave to be dug?' Bab asked.
'That is Sir Udolf's decision, not mine,' Alix answered her.
'He'd want to be next to his Maida,' Bab persisted.
'I care not, but it is still Sir Udolf's decision,' Alix told the woman.
'The priest will not bury him. He killed himself,' Bab said.
'You are mistaken, Bab, and if you spread such a rumor Sir Udolf will see you driven from Wulfborn, and winter is almost upon us. My husband fell when he attempted to dislodge a stuck window, and it opened suddenly, throwing him off balance. This is a tragic accident. Do you all understand that?'
Bab nodded, and suddenly there was a grudging respect in her eyes for Alix.
Another woman spoke up. 'Why should he be given the church's blessing when our Maida was not?'
'Because he is the lord's son and was heir to Wulfborn. Maida was merely a miller's daughter. Will your family thank you if I have you driven from this place?' Alix's voice was soft, but there was definite menace in it.
'Shut yer gob, Molly,' Bab said. 'She's right, and shows more loyalty to Sir Udolf than you are showing. Listen to me, all of you. The young lord's death was an accident, and any says otherwise will be sorry they did.'
The serving woman threw Alix a sullen look but said no more.
'You are dismissed, all of you, with my thanks,' Alix said. She watched as they went from the hall, several of them whispering among themselves. Bab remained. Turning to her, Alix said, 'Thank you. Now go and fetch Father Peter for me.'
'At once, mistress,' Bab replied respectfully. Then she hurried off.
Sir Udolf came into the hall, and walking over to his son's body, began to weep.
'I have told all who helped me prepare him that this was an accident. He fell trying to open a window in the attics. They will be silent, for I have said that any who says otherwise will be driven with their families from Wulfborn.'
The baron looked at her with grief-stricken eyes. 'You are clever,' he said slowly. 'It was a kind thing to do.'
'I have but attempted to repay your kindness to me and to my father,' Alix replied. 'I hope you will forgive me if I do not remain here to mourn, my lord. You will surely understand why I cannot.'
'In the morning I will send a messenger to Queen Margaret telling her of this tragedy,' Sir Udolf said, brushing his tears away.
'Will you tell her I am returning to her service?' Alix asked him.
'I will tell her of my son's death, and then tell her I am sending to the archbishop in York for a dispensation to marry you,' Sir Udolf said.
Alix grew pale with shock. 'My lord! The church will never allow you to marry your son's widow. It is an unnatural thing! Besides, I do not wish to wed. I seek only to serve my queen in her exile. I am certain the reason she left: me at Wulfborn was only for my father's safety. She will surely take me back.'
'For whatever reason, you did not give my son an heir and now my son is dead. I need an heir for Wulfborn. I am still young enough to sire one, Alix, and I shall not be cruel to you as was my son. We already know each other. The queen has no place for you, I fear. You must have a husband, and I am in need of a wife.'
'The church will never approve such a dispensation,' Alix said stubbornly.
He smiled a little smile and, rubbing his thumb and his forefinger together, said, 'The church is not above certain persuasions, Alix. Surely, having been raised at court, you understand that. Anything is possible given the right circumstances. I will have my dispensation by the spring, and you will be my wife as soon as I do. Until then, I will respect your place in my house as my son's widow and Wulfborn's chatelaine.'
She had no time for further protest, for Father Peter came hurrying into the hall. 'I have heard of young Hayle's death, my lord, but two tales reach my ears.'
'My son fell from an attic window trying to dislodge it,' Sir Udolf said. 'It was an accident, Good Father.' He sighed sadly.
'A terrible tragedy indeed, my lord. I shall, of course, bury him on the morrow,' the priest replied.
'At noon so the Wulfborn folk may pay their respects to their heir,' Alix said.
'Of course, lady, and to you I offer my condolences. Despite the trials you have suffered in recent months, your example to all women is exemplary. I shall pray for Hayle, and for his father, and his wife,' the priest told them.
'We are grateful, Good Father,' the baron answered.
'I must go to my chamber, my lord, Father,' Alix said.
'Of course, my dear,' Sir Udolf responded. 'This has been a terrible day for us all, and in seeing to the preparation of the body you have done your duty. It is late.'
Alix curtsied to the two men, and forcing herself not to run, went from the hall. She was horrified by Sir Udolf's plans, but right now she wasn't certain what she could do about them. But she did know she had no intentions of marrying her late husband's father. And now her plan to rejoin the queen was blocked. She couldn't flee to her godmother, for it would be the first place Sir Udolf would look for her, and if he could indeed obtain a dispensation from the church to marry her, Margaret of Anjou would probably agree. As much as she hated admitting it even to herself, Alix knew that the queen in her desperation had matters more important to her to consider than her godchild for whom she had already made provision. She was alone. Truly alone for the first time in her life. She was a widow. Her family was gone, and she had no intention of permitting Sir Udolf to make decisions for her. She would make her own decisions.
When the morning came, Alix sat in the hall with her father-in-law as the Wulfborn folk came to pay their respects to them and view Hayle's body. She had dressed herself in her only good gown, the same violet damask silk she had worn on her wedding day almost seven months ago. The villagers shuffled by the body, but none, Alix noted, shed a tear. Hayle, despite his devotion to Maida, had obviously not been well liked by them. His father, however, was another thing. The loving respect they showed to Sir Udolf was touching, and the tears shed that day were his.
She had never paid a great deal of attention to him, but now she studied him surreptitiously as they sat together. He was taller than his son and heavier set. But where Hayle had had blond, almost white hair, Sir Udolf's pate was a bald one. He had but a fringe of grayish brown hair that ringed the back of his head. Where Hayle's light eyes had been emotionless, Sir Udolf's blue eyes were emotion filled. Alix believed him a good man, but the thought of marrying him repelled her. He was certainly her father's age, and while she knew many young women wed with older husbands, the thought of his coupling with her was horrific. She did not like coupling. It was distasteful to her.
The noon hour came and before the six serving men came to take her husband to the small village church. Alix arose, took the needle and thread Bab handed her and, drawing the shroud over Hayle's head, completed the sewing of the funerary garment. The heir to Wulfborn was then placed upon an open cart, which was driven through the village to the church where Father Peter said the Mass. Then the body was placed again upon the cart and taken to the grave.
