biting edge of the blade.
She had told Julitta very little. As far as the child was aware, they were going on a visit to London, a visit that somehow involved the battle axe and Inga the goose-witch. Ailith had used the word 'visit', but she meant forever. Nor did she look back as they crested the rise and rode down into the dip that would take Ulverton from their sight. Her spine was held haft-straight, her hands were steady on the reins, and her eyes were fixed unswervingly on the horizon.
Ahead of them a swirl of dust rose from the road and Ailith reached quickly for the axe. Even if there was a reluctant peace in England, and men were wary of the King's wrath, a woman and child travelling alone were always vulnerable. The cloud resolved itself into a small band of Norman soldiers escorting a horse-drawn litter. Ailith and Julitta drew aside in politeness to let them pass, but Ailith received the strong impression that the Normans expected it of right. The litter drew level and stopped. The heavy curtains parted to reveal a richly dressed woman and a girl on the verge of adolescence.
'How far are we from Ulverton?' asked the woman in a clear, silvery voice.
'About three miles,' Ailith replied. 'You will see it as soon as you gain the top of that hill.' Her French was now without accent and she saw the woman's delicate brows lift in surprise.
'We live there,' Julitta volunteered, her gaze on the pale-haired girl. 'My papa's the lord. He's got other lands too, but Ulverton's his favourite.'
The brows remained high and the woman's delicate colour grew ashen. She stared at Ailith intently, absorbing every tiny detail, whereas a moment before she had been content just to glance. And then her gaze transferred to Julitta, as if seeking a confirmation.
Realisation struck Ailith as she witnessed the Norman woman's response to Julitta's remark. Her stomach churned with a fresh surge of nausea, but at the same time, the appearance of Rolf's wife confirmed her decision to leave Ulverton as the right one.
'He is in Winchester, but he will be home within the week,' she heard herself say woodenly.
'Home?' The word seemed to agitate Arlette de Brize. The wide pewter eyes were suddenly narrow. She touched her throat.
Ailith had neither the energy nor the inclination to fight with Rolf's wife. 'You need not vex yourself,' she said with cold dignity. 'My daughter and I are leaving, and we will not return.' Clicking her tongue to Elfa, she eased the mare past on the verge, Julitta following.
She half-expected the soldiers to ride in pursuit and take her and Julitta into their custody, but nothing happened. On looking over her shoulder, she saw that the litter curtains had swung back into place and that the small entourage had resumed its journey.
'Who was that?' Julitta asked curiously.
'A visitor for your father. She does not want or need our presence. Ah Jesu, enough now,' she added as Julitta opened her mouth to ask another question. 'Let me be, I can bear no more!'
Ailith wanted to weep, but the grief was too deep and the tears would not come. They remained inside her, vitrified and dagger-sharp, wounding her beyond hope of healing.
CHAPTER 35
In Winchester, Rolf bought an amber necklace for Julitta and a gold ring for Ailith, upon which he requested the goldsmith to etch in runes the symbols for love and good fortune. On impulse too, with humour and a feeling of wistfulness, he purchased a new besom of birch twigs.
His conscience was rife with guilt where Ailith was concerned. Of late he knew he had been wayward, taken up with his pastime of investigating other pastures. Once or twice his quest had taken him into fields dangerously close to home. He had not regretted lying with Inga at the time, it had vented a heat which had been kept beneath a lid for far too long, nor did he regret it even now, but it was finished. He would give Ailith the ring, he would invite her to jump over the broomstick in the age-old tradition of hand-fasting – unless she wanted to brandish it about his head — and they would start anew.
His mood was optimistic, as bright as summertime as he topped the hill and saw Ulverton curled in the valley like a sleepy cat upon a blanket. Behind the village, the sun dazzled on the sea. He imagined Ailith walking along the beach with Julitta, her feet bare and her gown kilted through her belt.
He was smiling when he dismounted in Ulverton's courtyard, but it was the last occasion he was to do so for a very long time. No auburn-haired child shot out to dance around him, demanding to know what he had brought her; no tall, handsome woman emerged from the kitchens or brewery, wiping her hands on her apron, her eyes alight. His groom took his horse and with lowered eyes, led it away. A feeling of unease swept over Rolf like a cloud across the sun. The village priest emerged from the hall with a woman, the pair of them deep in conversation. It took a moment for Rolf to recognise Arlette. This was the last place he expected to see her, but when he did, his unease turned to outright fear.
He strode across the bailey, reaching her before she had taken more than two paces of her own. 'What are you doing here?' he snarled. 'Where is Ailith?'
Arlette's grey gaze widened and she clenched her hands upon the fabric of her gown, but she held her ground. 'I arrived after she had gone,' she said truthfully, 'and I took up the reins because everyone was galloping around in aimless panic. She has left you, my lord. You may ask her maidservant if you do not believe me, since she did not take the woman with her.' Briefly she returned her attention to the speechless, staring priest. 'I am sure that my lord will pay to have masses said for the souls of the dead woman and her baby. Perhaps if you would return later and dine with us?'
Father Godfrid took the hint, and with a furtive glance at Rolf, inclined his head and made himself scarce.
'What dead woman and baby?' Rolf demanded. 'What do you mean, Ailith has left me?' His gut somersaulted.
Arlette took his stiff, resisting arm in hers. 'Come inside, my lord, we can talk better there.'
He shook her off. 'Tell me, or by God I will mount up and ride out of here now!'
The colour drained from Arlette's face, but still she stood up to her husband. 'And then you would never know,' she retorted. 'Besides, your threat has no power over me. AD I have seen of you this past ten years is your back as you ride away from me. Please yourself.' Turning from him, she walked towards the hall.
Rolf glared round. Everyone was suddenly very busy. The priest was a dwindling figure on the wooden bridge over the ditch. Hunching his shoulders, Rolf put his head down like a bull and strode after his wife.
The hall was clean and tidy. New rushes yielded up a scent of sweet dried grass as he crushed them beneath his boots. Arlette paused at a trestle before the hearth, poured wine into a goblet, and brought it to him.
'Gisele is here too, but I bade her remain in the chamber beyond until we had spoken together. What you must know is not pleasant, and I did not want her to see and hear.'
Rolf took the cup from her hands. His sense of unease was increased by his wife's changed attitude. She had become more assertive. Her gaze met his squarely, without the deference to which he was accustomed.
'There was a woman in the village with whom you dallied, so the priest says, a woman from the north?'
Rolf went cold. 'Inga?' he said involuntarily, and his hand tightened on the stem of the goblet.
'That was the name the priest gave to me.' Her lips tightened, and she nodded to herself as if a distasteful rumour had just been confirmed. 'You do not deny it then?'
'I don't need your pious condemnation!' he snapped. 'No, I do not deny it, but she was nothing, a means to scratch an itch.' He took a mouthful of wine, swilled it around his cheeks and swallowed. 'What has she been saying?'
'She was nothing to you before, and she is nothing now, because she is dead,' Arlette said brutally. 'She bore your child six days ago, and it was your mistress who discovered her bleeding to death in her cottage with the baby birth-strangled in her arms. That was why the priest was here. He would rather have spoken to your English mistress about such matters, but she rode out of here on the day of the discovery.'
