'She doesn't mean it,' Benedict said uneasily. He had been primed by his parents before this visit to Brize, to say as little as possible concerning the domestic situation at Ulverton.
'Oh I think she does,' Mauger retorted. 'Mark me, Lady Ailith has lost the battle with that one. If her father does not deal with her now as she deserves, he'll reap trouble later.'
At this point, the volume of his voice alerted Aubert to the indiscretions being spouted, and with consummate diplomacy, he excused himself from his conversation and took command of Mauger, persuading the young man that it was time to visit the latrines and ease his bladder. But the damage had already been done.
Arlette lay in bed waiting for Rolf, listening to the sound of Gisele's soft breathing on the pallet close by and watching the flicker of the night candle create shadows on the whitewashed walls of the great bedchamber. She brooded upon Mauger's words at the betrothal feast. They had caught her awareness, but not her surprise.
Rolf had planted unease at the back of her mind several years ago with his insistence that establishing his trade in England was just as important as nurturing his existing trade in Normandy. The crux of the matter was that Brize-sur-Risle had ceased to be Rolf's harbour and she his anchor. Even when he was here in body, she sensed that his mind and spirit were elsewhere. Arlette accepted that Rolf was unfaithful to her; his ruttings were an overspill of his restless nature, but she could no longer tolerate being ignored and taken for granted the times that he was home.
Instead of a great marriage for Gisele, he had arranged a match to a merchant's son, albeit that the merchant was very rich, high in King William's favour, and could have bought himself titles a hundred times over if he so wished. It still went against the grain. Rolf had expected her to bow her head and acquiesce, and like a milksop she had done so. 'Yes, Rolf, you ire right, it will be a good match.' But not what she had wanted.
And now Mauger had mentioned Lady Ailith's daughter Julitta. Arlette had heard very little about the English widow Ailith — too little in hindsight. All she knew was that the woman's husband had been an acquaintance of Aubert de Remy's and had been killed at the time of Duke William's coronation. The young widow had entered the de Remy household as a wet nurse to Benedict. Then Rolf had offered her the position of chatelaine at Ulverton to save her from the attentions of an unwanted suitor. No further information had seen forthcoming, although Arlette had deduced certain things or herself.
Among Rolf's baggage there were garments that had been painstakingly sewn by another woman, and not just as a duty or chore. The tones suited Rolf's colouring perfectly, the stitches were skilled, and more damning than that, Arlette could feel the loving care that had gone into the making of the tunics, shirts and chausses. The Widow Ailith, whoever she might be, whatever she might look like, had cast her net and snared Rolf by the gills, of that Arlette was positive. And she had borne him a daughter, for Julitta was the name of Rolf's mother, and no Saxon woman was going to call her child by such a blatantly Norman name, unless she had good reason.
Rolf entered the room, treading quietly so as not to disturb the sleepers in the ante chamber through which he had to pass. He glanced at Gisele's sleeping form, and then at the bed. Arlette met his look evenly. She was very tempted to confront him and demand to know the truth, but she checked herself. He was adept at skirting issues he did not wish to discuss, and if she pushed him too hard, he would only turn the fables and deposit all blame on her shoulders.
'I expected you to be asleep,' he murmured.
'I was thinking.'
'About what?'
'About today, about the future.' She watched him undress. At seven and thirty, his body was still lean and hard. The first glints of silver had appeared in his hair, and the fine lines at his eye comers had deepened into permanent creases, but he remained a handsome, vital man. Aware of her scrutiny, he paused, a questioning half-smile on his lips, but she shook her head.
'The feast went excellently,' he remarked, seeming to assume that her thoughts of today and the future consisted of thoughts about the betrothal. 'I can always trust you to rise to an occasion.'
Smiling modestly, she thanked him, both pleased and surprised at his compliment. It was not usually within his scope to realise how hard she worked to grease the wheels of the household so that they turned seemingly without effort. 'Perhaps Gisele and I could come to England with you and see what Aubert de Remy has accomplished for himself in London,' she suggested.
He made a non-committal sound and busied himself unwinding his cross garters.
'I would like it very much,' she emphasised.
'I will give it some thought,' he said, without raising his head. 'It is not something to be decided in a moment.'
Arlette narrowed her eyes, but permitted the subject to drop, commenting instead upon how well the two children had conducted themselves during the betrothal ceremony and the feast that followed. The fact that he was quick to follow her lead, his expression relieved, compounded her suspicions and brought her to a decision of her own.
CHAPTER 34
Suitably dressed in an old patched gown and apron, her hair tied up in a kerchief, Ailith prepared to give Ulverton's hall a thorough scouring to remove the detritus of a hard winter and vet spring. It was early May now, the worst of the bad weather over so she hoped, and the warmth of the sun allied with the bright birdsong had filled her with a powerful energy.
All the trestles were carried outside and stacked against the wall where the village carpenter started sorting through them and mending any damaged ones. The rank, mouldy floor rushes were broomed vigorously out of the door into the bailey and removed by the barrowload to the midden where the hens descended upon them in high delight.
Ailith saw Rolf grimace at the industry as he swung into the saddle and caught up the leading reins of the two destriers he was taking to the royal stables at Winchester, three days' ride away.
'It will be finished before you return,' she told him irritably. He would soon complain if she left the rushes as they were to harbour all manner of pests and stinks in the summer heat.
'That's a relief.'
Ailith compressed her lips.
Rolf made as if to ride on, but changed his mind, and bringing his horse around, drew rein in front of her. He looked her up and down, from the frayed edge of her kerchief, to the cuffed toes of her old shoes. 'I remember the first time I saw you, standing over your cabbages with a besom in your hand,' he mused. 'You were angry then too.' Impulsively, he leaned down to stroke her cheek.
Ailith felt the bitter-sweet touch of his fingers. 'And you were the most handsome man I had ever seen, and still are,' she responded with a wounded smile.
They stared at each other, as if trying to peel back the accumulated layers of familiarity that had been laid down season after season, tarnishing and obscuring.
Ailith held her breath, waiting for him to fling down from the horse, take her in his arms and tell her that Winchester could wait, that 'forever' still remained. But he did not move. Locked to the ground by her own doubts and fears, neither did she, and the moment passed, becoming another layer upon the debris.
'God be with you,' he said, and turned his horse around.
'God speed you,' she responded. The feel of his fingers on her cheek lingered like an echo as he rode out of the gate.
Ailith returned to work, venting her emotions in vigorous sweeps of the besom. Julitta came running from her lesson with Father Goscelin. The priest was the younger brother of one of Rolf's knights and Rolf had been persuaded to take him into his household as a chaplain until Goscelin could be recommended to a parish of his own. The young priest had been given the task of teaching the castle children their letters. Only boys were to benefit from his lessons, but Julitta had whined and demanded so persistently that at last she had been given a place among the sons of her father's retainers, and was proving more adept than most of them.
This morning, however, there were tears on her lashes and her face was flushed with temper. From the corner of a vigilant eye, Ailith saw seven-year-old Hamo run to his mother, bawling loudly. A stubby finger pointed
