'I am Sir Saer de Bude. We have fought together for the king,' the man said. 'The lady of this manor is my cousin. I have been here this past year aiding her husband, who is ill to death as you surely see.'
Ranulf de Glandeville stood, and held out his hand. 'I thought you familiar, Sir Saer,' he replied. The man was officious and tactless. He almost behaved as if he were lord here, and not Richard de Montfort.
'Wine!' Saer de Bude called loudly. 'Why have we no wine?' He swaggered with a proprietorial air toward the high board. 'Come, sir, and join me. The servants will bring your food quickly.'
Not knowing the situation, and not wishing to appear rude, the king’s messenger sat himself at the high board. The fair lady Eleanore herself set down a plate laden with food and a fresh trencher of bread. There were slices of well-hung venison, a generous spoonful of rabbit stew, several juicy prawns, a thick slice of ham, an artichoke, and a wedge of cheese. With a small smile she handed him a polished wooden spoon. He flushed beneath his ruddy wind-tanned cheeks, realizing his appetite had been showing. Crossing himself, he bowed his head a long moment, then crossing himself again, he began to eat. When he had mopped the last bit of gravy from his pewter plate with the last scrap of bread, and swallowed a final gulp from his cup, he sat back with a grin of contentment.
'Lady, you set a fine table,' he said appreciatively.
'This is my brother’s house,' Elf said modestly.
'You have, I would imagine, returned home from your convent to help,' Ranulf de Glandeville observed. 'Have you been able to aid your brother, lady? Is there anything I can do to aid you?'
'Dickon will die,' Elf said, voicing for the first time what she had all along known in her heart. This knight had kind eyes, and for a brief moment she didn't feel quite so alone. 'I am the assistant to our herbalist and infirmarian. It is said I am skilled in these arts, but just when I think I am making progress, my brother has a relapse. It has happened thrice now in the few weeks I have been back at Ashlin. If I cannot overcome the mystery of whatever it is that plagues him, I cannot make him well, sir. It is but a matter of time, and he will indeed surely die.' There were tears in her gray-blue eyes as she spoke.
'You cannot determine what ails him?' the knight probed gently.
'It is a complaint of the belly first and foremost,' Elf told her companion. 'Pains, sometimes so severe his body folds itself in half. A continuous flux in the bowels. He has lost most of his hair, and a good many of his teeth. His skin is sallow, and tinged with gray. He is but ten years my senior, but he appears an ancient man now. All I can do,' she concluded, 'is keep him comfortable, sir. I feel so terribly helpless that I cannot make him well again.'
'Was he always of a weakened disposition?' Ranulf de Glandeville asked Elf. Sometimes this was unfortunately so.
'Oh, no!' Elf replied. 'Until about a year ago, according to old Ida, who was our nursemaid, Dickon was in the best of health.' Then the young girl blushed. 'I have almost forgotten, sir. My brother wanted me to ask you if you will come and speak with him before you retire. I have had a comfortable place made up for you in the bed space next to the fire. You will be quite snug there.'
He arose from the high board, giving her a small bow. 'I will see to your brother immediately,' he said. 'Again, I thank you for your hospitality, my lady Eleanore.'
'God grant you good rest, sir,' she answered him.
'I did not know you were so skilled in the arts of flirting, my pretty,' Saer de Bude said suggestively. 'Did the good nuns teach you that amorous art, Elf? You do not flirt with me, and I am quite overcome by your loveliness.' He reached out to take her hand in his, but Elf snatched it away before he might do so.
'Why do you mistake simple courtesy for something else?' she asked him sharply. Then more boldly, 'And why do you remain here at Ashlin, sir? You are not really needed by anyone. Dickon will die soon. It is not fitting that you be here in this house with two women and no older relation. Surely you do not wish to damage your cousin’s reputation?' Suddenly, Elf was more angry than she had ever been.
'You do not fear for your own reputation?' he mocked her.
'Why? All who know me know I am chaste, for I am a bride of Christ. My reputation is safe, but what of Isleen's, sir?' Elf countered, then turned and came down from the high board. After seeking out Ida, Elf crawled with the old woman into a bed space at the end of the hall. The space Elf had allocated to Ranulf de Glandeville had actually been hers, but as it was the best one in the hall, she gave it to their guest. Ida and Elf preferred being near Richard de Montfort, who spent all his time in the hall now. Isleen slept in the small bedchamber off the solar, which was located behind the hall, while Saer de Bude found his rest in a little attic room.
Richard de Montfort greeted the king’s messenger, and invited him to sit by his side. 'I have a commission for you, if you can take it, sir,' he said softly. 'My wife and I are childless. Under the laws of inheritance Ashlin must go to my sister, Eleanore. My wife’s dowry, of course, will be returned to her family, the de Warennes, as will Isleen. She is still young and beautiful. Another husband can be found for her, I am certain. In the morning I will ask my sister to write my will, for she has been most excellently educated at St. Frideswide's. She will make three copies. One I shall keep. The second I would have you deliver to the Bishop of Worcester; the third take to the king. I do this so that there is no mistake in my intentions for my wife and my sister. A serf has already been delegated to ride to the bishop when I die, and inform him of my demise. The bishop is to notify the king. I entrust Eleanore’s safety to King Stephen. Will you do this for me, sir?' the lord of Ashlin finished weakly.
'I will, and gladly,' Ranulf de Glandeville said quietly.
Richard nodded, openly relieved. 'Thank you, sir. I do not like my wife’s cousin. He presumes too much, but I have tolerated him for Isleen’s sake because she seems so fond of him. Of late, however, I have seen this Saer de Bude looking at my young sister when he thought no one was noticing him. His gaze is too predatory to suit me. Elf is an innocent. She would not know how to defend herself against such a man.'
'Isa is one of Elf’s two best friends,' Richard answered. 'You must tell my sister that you know her. I took Elf to the convent shortly after her fifth birthday. Our father had died, and then our mother. I had contracted a marriage with the de Warennes, and they did not think it fair that Isleen should have to raise my sister. It was they who suggested St. Frideswide's. Knowing my sister’s dower was a small one, they also suggested that she become a nun when she was old enough. It was a good decision. Elf has been safe in these troubled times. Her gentle disposition is perfect for the life she will lead. I should fear for her otherwise after I am gone.' He coughed, his face paler than usual.
'Perhaps now she is to inherit your manor,' Ranulf de Glandeville said, 'she might decide she prefers to marry.'
Richard shook his head. 'I think it more likely she will give Ashlin to her order. They will do with it what is best for them. Marriage is not for Elf. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall sleep. I am very weary despite the fact all I do is lie here day after day.'
Ranulf de Glandeville sought his own bed space, nodding to the young serf who had come to sit by his master. To the knight’s surprise there was a small stool by the bed space with a basin of warm water. He washed the grease of his supper from his hands and face gratefully, drying them on the small linen cloth with the ewer. What a shame his young hostess had chosen the church over marriage. She would make a fine chatelaine of any man’s manor. Pulling off his dalmatica, he laid it aside, and unlaced his corselet, a tight-fitting leather jupe, and set it out of the way, too. Then he removed his boots. He would sleep in the rest of his clothing. He needed to pee, and so walking across the hall, he let himself outside to complete the task, then returned inside, carefully barring the door again.
A serf awoke him shortly after dawn. There was hot oat stirabout, fresh
