The Innocent

'You may,' the king said, noting how deftly she had slipped her fingers from the knights. Lady Eleanore, he suspected, was going to be just fine despite her disappointment and the suddenness of everything that had happened to her this day.

'The dowry my brother gave to St. Frideswide's, I should like it to remain with them. They have nurtured me since I was five years of age. Then, too, Sister Winifred will now have no one to assist her, and she is not as young as she once was. It will take time to train another girl for her, and that girl must have an aptitude for herbs and caring for the sick. It cannot be just anyone. Now that I am Ashlin’s heiress, my lands should be more than enough for Sir Ranulf.'

The king looked to the knight. 'I agree,' he said, 'but the final decision is yours, Ranulf. What say you?'

'I agree also, my lord. It is only fair that my lady’s dower portion remain with the convent. She was, after all, within days of taking her final vows. I would also add to that two barrels of beer each October in thanks for my good fortune, and my bride.'

'Well-spoken!' the king approved. 'Now, my lady, what is that other matter on which you would speak to me?'

'It is my serf, Arthur,' Elf began.

'He attacked me, causing grievous bodily injury,' Saer de Bude spoke up. He had been forced to stand next to his uncle, who did not speak up for him when the king gave Eleanore to his own man. 'A serf who attacks a noble is automatically sentenced to death. The low fellow has been in hiding at St. Frideswide’s ever since he fled from Ashlin. I demand justice!'

'Do you not know how to speak the truth at all?' Elf demanded fiercely. 'Arthur pulled you off me when you sought to violate my innocence. You fell back, and hit your head against my worktable.'

'He hit me!' Saer de Bude shouted, his reserve gone.

'I saw no blow,' Elf boldly lied, glaring directly at the man. She turned to the king. 'Arthur,' she explained, 'is a year older than I am, my lord. We were playmates as children, for my brother was ten years my senior. He had been working in the garden that day. In fact, he had earlier helped me to light the hearth so I might make my elixirs. If he had not been nearby in those gardens and heard my cries for aid, I should have been ruined. His sole concern was for me. He rushed me from my little workshop to the house, where my steward, Cedric, and my old nursemaid, Ida, advised me to return to St. Frideswide’s immediately. The steward gave Arthur leave to accompany me. Only that Cedric sent word that that man was crying for poor Arthur’s blood, he would have returned to Ashlin, and certain death. Instead he asked sanctuary of the abbess, who graciously gave it. Is that not so, Reverend Mother? Arthur asked you for sanctuary?'

Reverend Mother Eunice hesitated but a second. 'Yes,' she said, 'Arthur of Ashlin did indeed ask me for sanctuary, which I granted.' She would not have believed Eleanore de Montfort, so meek and mild a girl, could lie with such facility. Still, she had not asked for the abbess’s confirmation of her tale, only that the abbess had been asked for and had given sanctuary. That the rest would be assumed was not her fault.

And indeed it was assumed. 'The serf, Arthur of Ashlin, is hereby granted my pardon for any wrongdoing that may or may not have occurred,' the king said with finality. 'It will be written up for you to carry with you tomorrow.' Then King Stephen swung his gaze to Saer de Bude. 'You are a good knight, Saer de Bude, but you need more polishing, it is obvious. I am sending you to my brother’s court in Blois. You will remain in the count’s service until you are told otherwise. My brother’s court is an elegant and refined one, and I urge you to learn all you can from being there. You will leave tonight, and you will carry several messages for me to my brother. May good fortune go with you.'

Saer de Bude bowed to the king. There was no use in arguing unless he was seeking to have his life shortened considerably. While he loved Isleen, there was no sense in getting himself killed over her. There were plenty of other women in the world upon whom he might dote. He bowed low. 'I thank you for your kindness, my lord king.' Then he stepped back into the crowd in the hall, seeking some male friends with whom he might pass the time until he was summoned to leave. He did not bother to bid farewell to his uncle, who had not been particularly helpful to him this day. If the king had imprisoned him for his attempted assault he was quite certain that his uncle would have remained silent.

'Now, Baron Hugh,' the king spoke again, 'there is the matter of your daughter. It has come to my ears that Richard de Montfort sickened suspiciously and died. While nothing can be proven against your daughter, there are suspicions, particularly given her carnal liaison with her cousin. Do not deny it, my lord, for there were many who saw them, though they either did not know, or care; yet it is suspected that your late son-in-law, Richard de Montfort, was poisoned by person or persons unknown. But as your daughter and her cousin were the only ones close to Richard de Montfort-as no servant had a grievance against the lord-it is possible that it is your daughter who poisoned her husband. This being the case, I forbid you to make any match for Isleen de Warenne. Incarcerate her in a cloister, and keep her there for the rest of her days, Baron Hugh. She is a dangerous woman.'

'My lord,' Hugh de Warenne protested, 'you have no proof that my daughter would do such a terrible thing. What reason would she have? She loved Richard.'

'Your daughter was barren after nine years of marriage. Richard de Montfort had at least three bastards born to female serfs belonging to him. Your daughter may have known and become angry and embittered. She loved her cousin. She might think to kill her husband, have her cousin debauch his sister, the rightful heiress, so the girl would have to marry her rapist. Then, when the time was right, Lady Isleen might kill off the innocent so she could marry her cousin, and together they would share Ashlin.'

Hugh de Warenne blustered, 'My lord, that is a preposterous tale! You have not one shred of proof against my daughter and Saer de Bude.'

'I have enough proof, my lord,' the king said icily. 'Cedric of Ashlin, come forward and give your testimony.'

Ashlin’s steward came slowly forward, awed to be in such grand company, but determined to make certain his mistress was safe from Saer de Bude and his family. 'I am here, my lord king,' the old man said, and he bowed low to King Stephen.

'Shall the steward give his testimony, Hugh de Warenne, or will you cease your carping and do as I have commanded?' the king asked.

'I will obey, my lord,' Baron Hugh said, silently damning his daughter to hell. He was going to find the most remote and harshest cloister and see Isleen put away forever! His family had come close to ruin today, and all because of the lewd, murderous bitch.

'Go, then,' the king said, 'and carry out my will.'

Hugh de Warenne bowed, and backed from the king’s sight.

'Now,' the king said to the steward, 'will you pledge for yourself, and all of Ashlin’s folk, that you will be loyal to Lord Ranulf, Cedric of Ashlin? Will you accept him as your new master?'

'Right gladly, my lord, as long as he takes care of our lady Eleanore,' the steward replied boldly.

'I will take great care of her,' Ranulf de Glandeville said.

'Then, we will serve you loyally and with devotion, my lord,' Cedric replied, and he bowed to his master.

'It is settled, then,' the king said. 'The marriage will take place tomorrow immediately preceding the morning Mass.'

When they had departed the bishop’s hall, Elf turned to her steward. 'How did you come to be here, Cedric? I did not give you permission to leave Ashlin.'

'I had to come, my lady, and I hope you will forgive me, but your old Ida would not rest easy unless we could all be certain that Saer de Bude did not slander you further or force you into a marriage you didn't desire. We could not serve such a man, although for love of you we would have. Forgive me, my