'In Normandy I will serve Duke Robert for the fealty owed by Brize,' Rolf told Benedict at William's funeral in Caen. 'In England, I will serve William Rufus, since his father designated him king. And if they come to blows, I will commute all my military service to payment in coin and let them fight it out between themselves. I have no desire to be torn in two.'
Following the funeral, Rolf repaired to Brize for the winter season. His wife was slowly dying, and he knew that he had to be with her, as he had not been with Ailith. When Benedict crossed the narrow sea to Ulverton, Gisele remained at Brize to nurse her mother, although she dutifully sent her husband an embroidered belt as a Christmas gift.
Benedict presided over the Yuletide feast in Ulverton's long hall. Despite the presence of the villagers, the priest, retainers, soldiers, grooms, servants and anyone else who could squash into the festively decorated room, he felt utterly depressed. The revelry which he had always taken pleasure in before, now seemed trivial and garish.
A villager capered beneath the high table. He wore a fantastic costume composed of shredded fabric in different shades of green — pea and emerald, sage and olive. His face was smeared with the colour too, and a pair of antlers crowned his shaggy brown hair. He was The Green Man, Jack-in-the-Green, denizen of Maytime and Yule alike.
Benedict desired no reminders of the month of May. Once it had dwelt like fire within him. Now there were only ashes. Taking a flagon of wine, he left the hall and went to his solitary chamber. To think about Julitta increased his depression. Not to think of her was almost worse. Torn between one and the other, he sat in a grey haze of self-pity while Christmas, season and spirit, passed him by.
Late the following month, he was out in the fields, inspecting the mares soon to foal, when King William Rufus arrived at Ulverton unannounced, and demanded to see the bloodstock. Summoned by a groom, Benedict hurried back to the wooden keep, and bent the knee to the monarch who still sat upon his horse, his pudgy hands toying with a decoration on the saddle pommel.
'Get up, boy,' Rufus commanded.
Benedict concealed his irritation at being addressed as 'boy' and rising, went to hold the grey stallion's headstall whilst the King dismounted. 'Sire, this is an unexpected pleasure.'
'I have no doubt that it is,' Rufus answered with an edge to his voice. It was gravelly and harsh, suiting the scoured, ruddy features. He was smaller than the Conqueror, but possessed the same stockiness of build. A barrel on bandy legs was how Rolf had once described Rufus, and the comparison was entirely appropriate. Benedict was slightly above average height and Rufus's eyes were on a level with his mouth, and this the King stared at for a long moment, before his gaze drifted down Benedict's body in a fashion that men usually used when they were eyeing women.
It was not the first time that William Rufus had made his interest known. Glancing round the group of retainers accompanying the King, Benedict caught the pouting scowl of the current court favourite, a slender young man with a bright blue Phrygian cap set at a rakish angle on his blond curls.
'Will you come within, can I offer you food and drink, Sire?' Benedict enquired, thinking that it was all Rufus was going to get.
'It will do for a start,' Rufus answered, 'although I'm hoping for more…' He let the ambiguity hang in the air for just a moment too long, before adding, 'I've come to look at your horses.' A half-grin at the pouting youth. 'Time I had a new mount.'
Benedict stretched his lips in the semblance of a smile, gave the King's horse to his senior groom, and led the way towards the hall. At least Rufus had not brought his entire court, for they would have eaten Ulverton clean down to the bone. Here was just a minor entourage consisting of the King's favourites and hangers-on. No sign of the venerable Archbishop Lanfranc to lend dignity to the proceedings. This was a private jaunt. Probably the main court was keeping warm in the royal hunting lodge in the great forest to the east. Still, it was uncomfortable and annoying. He wondered if Rufus intended paying for the horse he chose. The royal stables always received a quota of beasts each autumn as part of Brize and Ulverton's feudal dues. Perhaps Rufus was going to increase his demands. He was known to have a grasping, avaricious nature.
'Where is your father-by-marriage?' Rufus asked, as he was given the lord's chair in the hall and served with the best wine. His hazel eyes roved the plastered walls with their embellishment of embroidered hangings and bannered lances. 'Skulking at Brize, I suppose, and licking my brother's boots?'
'He is indeed at Brize, Sire, for the winter season. His wife is sick unto death and he is there for her sake too.'
Rufus snorted. 'It would be the first time!' he said nastily. 'Unless he's changed his spots, which I very much doubt.'
'Even so, it is true,' Benedict said with quiet dignity.
Rufus snorted. 'And pigs nest in trees,' he scoffed, and drank down the wine in five hard gulps, wiping his mouth on his gorgeously embroidered sleeve. 'Your father-in-law knows a good excuse when he sees one!'
'Do you blame him?'
Rufus stared at Benedict as if he had been pole-axed. Around him, his sycophants held their breath, awaiting the explosion of the royal rage. The red cheeks darkened, the barrel chest expanded, threatening to rip the stitches on the crimson, fur-trimmed tunic. Benedict found himself wondering what would happen if someone stuck a cloak pin in Rufus's belly. Would he pop like a Yuletide bladder?
'You have a bold tongue to say that when you are scarce out of tail-clouts!' Rufus growled. It was significant that it was a growl, not a full-throated bellow. It meant that for the moment he was prepared to find Benedict's insolence intriguing. 'I wonder how bold you truly are.' He tapped his forefinger against his square front teeth, and abruptly jerked to his feet. 'Come, show me your horses,' he said. 'I need one fit for a king.'
Benedict rose too. 'A destrier, Sire?' he enquired. 'Or a palfrey?'
Rufus shrugged and hitched at his belly where it hung over his embossed belt. 'I want a beast that will make my brother Robert's eyes pop out with jealousy,' he said, and his pugnacious jaw jutted. 'The best.'
Benedict discovered that the King's taste in horses was about as dubious as his taste in clothes and cronies. Gaudy not good, brash not brilliant. He was drawn too much by markings and colour, and all the superficial cladding that meant nothing when it came to stamina, quality, and endurance. Benedict tried to interest Rufus in a young dappled grey stallion of sound conformation. The horse was alert and confident without being too spirited to handle, but Rufus dismissed it with a wave of his hand as being 'naught but a peasant's nag' – a totally unfair remark, since even the meanest horse on the stud was worth more than a peasant might earn in an entire year.
Rufus tried several animals, and declared them all unsuitable. Finally his eye settled upon a steel-grey stallion which was giving the grooms a deal of trouble, backing and sidling, rolling its eyes. Foam lathered its neck, matching the glittering white of its mane and tail, the latter switching angrily from side to side.
'That one,' Rufus said, and his lower lip joined the outward jut of his jaw. 'I want that one.'
'His temper is uncertain, Sire,' Benedict warned.
'So is mine, we'll match well.'
Benedict could not argue with that. 'He is not saddle-trained, Sire,' he said, adding a rapid 'thank Christ' beneath his breath. The last thing he needed was for Rufus to try the brute out and get tossed into the midden.
'I've got grooms enough to break him.' Rufus approached the stallion and despite being held by two attendants, it still managed to lunge at him, teeth bared, one forehoof pawing in threat. Rufus laughed buoyantly. 'Satan!' he cried. 'I will call him Satan!'
His paramour tittered behind his hand. Benedict knew the King's reputation of disrespect for the Church. There was even the whispered rumour that he followed the old religion. Still, the name was more than appropriate to the animal. The only way to remove the devil from his nature was to geld him, and he very much doubted that Rufus would do anything so sensible.
The King went on to examine the destrier herd, and then the ponies which Rolf had brought out of the north so many years ago, and for which Ulverton was now justly famous. 'Ponies!' Rufus snorted, eyeing the sturdy, ugly little animals which contrasted so strongly with the proud, graceful warhorses. 'What in the world possessed your father-by-marriage to invest in them?'
'Is it not better to have more than one dish on a table, Sire?
