A sly expression crossed John’s face. “Aye, I have,” he said. “What I have heard was that your chief forester, Osbert, was the man who encouraged the poachers, to line his pockets with their bribes of silver.”
Loud talking and shouts erupted in the crowd, and Eleanor steeled herself for the onslaught. No one would speak of Osbert thus. She dared not look at Hugh, who no doubt was wearing a triumphal smile on his arrogant face.
“John,” she began, “from whom did you hear these lies?”
“Milady,” John said smoothly, “’tis not easy to remember which villagers or peasants I have heard speaking of this, but ‘twas common knowledge in some quarters.”
“This is only hearsay!” exclaimed Eleanor, hotly. Agnes could speak, Eleanor thought, and possibly clear Osbert’s name, but that might cast aspersions on her own reputation, perhaps. Would Agnes be willing to do so? She turned to William, who was surveying the scene with half-closed eyes, leaning back in his chair. “What say you, William? This is not evidence of wrongdoing, and it does lead us down a closed path. Even if it was Osbert—which it most certainly was not—he did not work alone, and the others are still at large. And it was not Osbert, I warrant it!”
From the corner of her eye, she caught Hugh staring at her, quizzically, his eyebrows raised. What was he thinking?
Marry, but she was an obstinate one, Hugh thought. She would not let this Osbert go—and he was dead! Osbert would not know how she was trying to save his reputation! Eleanor would be better off trying to prove to William that she could indeed manage her own forests, but instead, she was worrying about clearing Osbert’s name.
“It may well have been Osbert, and we shall never know,” William answered, in a smug tone. “As far as others who may be involved, they might not be of Strathcombe and have gone to another place.” He looked intently at Eleanor. “Methinks you need help managing your forest, Milady.”
He inclined his head slightly in a mock gesture of courtesy, and Eleanor’s forehead throbbed with the effort of holding her tongue. What she would love to say to him. William needed help managing his lecherousness. His body odor. His grooming. His groping hands. Eleanor clenched her fists inside the sleeves of her surcoat.
William continued in a low voice, so no one near could hear. “And I, for one, am waiting eagerly in anticipation of sharing that task with you,” he said, with a leer.
Eleanor felt a shudder run down her back and she forced herself to arrange her face in as pleasant an expression as she could, so he would not guess the depths of disgust such a suggestion filled her with. Then, to her chagrin, she could not help but glance over at Hugh. He was still staring at her with a puzzled look on his face and his mouth a tight line.
“I thank you for your concern, William,” Eleanor said. “But still I do not think it was Osbert.”
Agnes rushed toward Eleanor, curtseying low, and when she looked back up at Eleanor, her face was streaming with tears. “I must speak!” she cried. “Please let me speak!”
“Agnes, nay,” Eleanor said softly, putting a hand on Agnes’s arm to try and calm her. “’Tis over.”
The crowd’s murmuring grew louder, and people moved in closer. Eleanor instinctively took a step back, pulling Agnes with her, which placed her even closer to William. He smelled even worse than he had at the meal, sitting next to her. He must be sweating profusely because of the unspoken challenge to his authority from Hugh, and, indeed, she saw dark, wet circles under his arms. Why did the man never wash?
“Who is this woman?” William asked. “One of your servants, Eleanor? Does she not know ‘tis not the place for her?”
“I must speak, sire, to clear Osbert’s name!” Agnes said, her lip trembling.
William’s eyes narrowed and he looked at Eleanor. “Can you not control even your servants, much less your forests?”
“William, I—” Eleanor began. Behind Agnes, she saw Hugh had risen to his feet, arms folded and face implacably stern.
“Osbert—he and I—we—” Agnes blurted. She turned to face William. “He told me many things, sire, the things lovers tell each other.”
The crowd erupted into loud talking and even a few shouts. Eager faces moved in even closer. At the edge of the gathering, Gilbert the Steward sighed. He had done his best with Agnes to dissuade her from pursuing Osbert, but, obviously, the enticements of love were stronger than his logic.
Eleanor tightened her grip on Agnes’s arm, but Agnes shook her head and gently took Eleanor’s hand off, leaving her free. “Nay, Milady,” Agnes said to Eleanor. “I must. I have watched you and how you have shown and proven your loyalty these years to all whom you care for—and I cannot but do the same. I must speak more of Osbert.”
The crowd edged closer, their conversations and exclamations louder. Touched by Agnes’s declaration, Eleanor patted her on the shoulder. The dear soul—she had no idea what she was risking—or did she?
What a scene! Hugh scoffed silently. Agnes was risking all—her reputation, her name—for her lover. Even Eleanor had challenged her liege lord on the stalwartness and faithfulness of her dead servant—and all for the sake of loyalty. He would never do thus. ‘Twas all foolishness. Then Hugh frowned. Searching Eleanor’s earnest face again, he wondered, was there perhaps something of value to that loyalty?
Was it truly possible for anyone—for Eleanor—to be loyal?
Chapter Fifteen
“I have good reason to think myself mad, since I have set my heart on something from which I shall have neither joy nor profit.”
- Le Roman de la Rose, 13th c.
Hugh leaned back in his chair, studying Agnes’s distraught expression. What would she say in her attempt to clear Osbert’s name? Why would she risk damaging her reputation?
