FitzOsbern during their dealings in Normandy, other men were seldom a mystery to him. He concluded that Wulfstan had been born with the advantage of amiable, generous features just as some men were born looking mean even if they were not. Wulfstan used his physical bulk and his wealth to intimidate people and he was accustomed to getting his own way. Rolf only had to look at the manner in which the man's hands made constant little grasping motions to know that.
'Why Ailith?' he asked in a voice of mild curiosity, although inwardly he was filled with alarm. 'Surely there are other women more suitable?'
'There are other women, yes,' Wulfstan answered, recoiling with a grimace as Benedict tried to share with him the mangled remnants of his griddle cake. 'But Ailith is my preference. She is good and broad in the beam. Aubert de Remy's son has thrived on her wet nursing. I need a competent woman, one whom I can breed upon and who will be a buxom armful in bed. My first wife was a whining bag of bones.'
'But Ailith's first-born child was weak and died soon after he was born.' Rolf eyed Ailith up and down. Competent and buxom. Yes, both applied to her, but he did not see why her attributes should be wasted on a complacent boor like Wulfstan.
'Bad seed, nothing to do with the soil in which it was planted,' Wulfstan snorted. 'She wants a real man in her bed.' His fingers flexed and grasped again.
Rolf watched Ailith remove the frumenty from the hearth and cover it with a lid. No wonder she shrank from Wulfstan's attentions.
'I thought it best that you knew my intentions,' Wulfstan continued as Rolf said nothing, his eyes thoughtfully upon Ailith. 'I hope that come the next Yuletide, we will be man and wife. The child will not require a wet nurse by then. Indeed, look at him, he scarcely needs one now.'
Rolf brushed the smears and crumbs of Benedict's meal from his tunic. 'You think she will have you?'
'In the end she will have no choice,' Wulfstan said. 'I will make sure of that.' A sly look entered his eyes, serving to increase Rolf's alarm. Ailith rejoined them to take Benedict from Rolf's arms and Wulfstan's expression cleared. He bestowed a benign smile on Ailith.
'I have an interesting surprise for you, sweetheart,' he announced, and patted the trestle bench beside him, indicating that she should be seated.
By a supreme effort of will, Rolf succeeded in maintaining a neutral facade. Wulfstan sounded like a man in a brothel about to whip his cock out in front of a whore. Ailith looked dubious. She seated herself sideways so that she was facing away from Wulfstan, and busied herself with Benedict.
'You are going to attend the coronation of the King's Duchess in Westminster itself. With me. Wear your best gown and I will give you some gold to go with it.' He leaned towards her and squeezed her knee.
Ailith shook her head. 'I thank you for your generous offer, for thinking of me, but I cannot go, it is impossible.'
'Oh, come now, of course you can!' Wulfstan laughed, but the note was brutal, containing little of humour. 'I have discussed it with Felice and Aubert and they think it an excellent idea.'
Ailith's face was ashen. She swallowed several times. 'Felice and Aubert are not my keepers.'
'They only have your good at heart, as I do,' Wulfstan said self-righteously. 'You need jolting from the rut you are wearing ever deeper for yourself'
'You do not understand.' She shook her head, biting her lip in distress. 'Goldwin died at William's crowning, and as you must well know, my best gown is my wedding gown. It would seem like a betrayal.'
'Nonsense, it would seem like bravery!' He shook the knee that he was squeezing. 'You don't have to answer now. Tomorrow will do, when you have had an opportunity to think it over. You'll see that I'm right. If you do not want to wear your wedding gown, then I will buy you another.'
Despite his instinctive dislike of the man, Rolf could not help but admire the goldsmith's powers of persuasion. He was relentless, refusing to take no for an answer. Rolf could see that when the time came, Wulfstan would take Ailith to wife simply because she would accept him in order to have some peace. I will wear her down, he had said. Wear her out, more likely. Rolf did nothing to defend her from Wulfstan's assault, but his mind was very busy, nor did it cease working on the problem when Felice and Aubert returned, rather their presence and their response to Wulfstan gave him additional food for thought.
CHAPTER 20
Matilda, Duchess of Normandy and now Queen of England, was a diminutive, slender woman. Her head, even bound by a crown, did not reach her husband's crimson-clad shoulder as she paced beside him, but for all that, those who watched her could feel the strength of her personality.
Standing beside Wulfstan in the crowded abbey, Ailith forgot her misery and apprehension as she watched the new queen walk past on the arm of her adoring husband. Rolf had told her a little about Matilda — how in the days when William had sued for her hand in marriage, she had refused him, saying that she would not mate with a bastard, and how William had dragged her from her chamber and thrashed her with a riding crop in front of her father's court. They had married, their passion had changed direction, and still powerfully dominated their marriage. She had borne him nine children, the youngest still an infant in the cradle, but her figure was as slim as a honed blade and well suited to the tightly laced, deep-red gown that glowed beneath her cloak as she walked. Watching her, Ailith wondered dubiously how much of Rolf's tale was embroidery for the sake of a better story. Certainly if Goldwin had come wooing like that, her father would have thrown him out on his ear.
In procession before and behind the royal couple came the archbishops and high prelates of the Church, followed by the powerful secular lords, most of them Norman with a scattering of ill-at-ease English among their number. The lesser barons followed. Rolf was easy to find, his auburn hair marking him out. He was wearing a knee-length tunic of the darkest blue wool, the colour in itself a display of his rank since it was so expensive to produce. The undertunic was of a lighter blue, and both were banded with scarlet braid. Around his neck an ornate silver cross glinted. So did a pagan hammer of Thor and a coloured stone on a leather cord. He wore bracelets today, in honour of the great occasion.
His eyes met hers briefly as he filed out of the abbey, and she managed a wan half-smile, wishing that she could file out with him. Instead she had to wait out the turn of her common rank beneath Wulfstan's devouring stare. She was still not sure what she was doing here in the goldsmith's company, only that it had been easier to yield to the pressure rather than continue the instinctive refusal.
'You do not have to go, of course you can stay here,' Felice had said, taking her gently on one side. 'I know it might cause you distress. But if you keep burying your head beneath the covers, how will you ever manage to rise and face the day? I believe it will do you good, even if you do cry.'
Badgered, bullied and coaxed, Ailith had found herself dressed in her rose and blue wedding outfit. Wulfstan had tried to give her a gold cross and a large round brooch to wear on her mantle, but she had refused him with dignity, choosing instead to wear her own jewellery — the glass beads that Goldwin had given her on the occasion of their betrothal, and bracelets of twisted silver and bronze wire.
Ailith was glad that they had persuaded her to come. It was indeed a long time since she had had any horizon but the de Remy household. To awake to the world was to face the pain of colours and sounds that seemed too bright and sharp, but were only caused by the fact that she had in truth been burying her head beneath the covers.
She had seen enough now. What she needed was to go home and sit in silence to digest it all; but Wulfstan had other plans. In honour of the coronation, he had thrown open his new house on the Fleet, to friends, relatives and fellow craftsmen, and declared a day of feasting. He had also insisted that Ailith attend. She knew that for her own wellbeing she should dig in her heels and refuse, but she was too tired to put up a stubborn resistance. Besides, she did not want to dampen the occasion which Felice was so obviously enjoying.
She capitulated and set herself to endure, the true Ailith retreating to a far corner of her mind and yielding control to the smiling, compliant Ailith whom Wulfstan and the others wanted her to be.
'Is Ailith all right?' Felice nudged Wulfstan as the goldsmith sought a fresh cup of mead from the pitchers set on trestles against the wall. 'Her eyes look glazed. You shouldn't give her any more to drink. She's not used to it.'
