‘The Queen and Finnikin mentioned as such. What are the villagers saying?’
Tarah made a rude sound. ‘Those of Lord Freychinet’s village are saying they wished he was dead in a ditch someplace in Charyn and they had ten a piece.’
‘Doubt anyone will stay in Fenton, though,’ Samuel said. ‘Not if Lord Nettice buys.’
Beatriss shuddered at the thought.
‘Let’s stop awhile,’ she said quietly. ‘I see dear friends.’
She approached Abian and August, who kept their distance from the other Lords and Ladies. Abian hugged her tightly.
‘Sad day,’ August said. ‘If they waited until spring I’d have the money from the crop. Selric would have hated any of that lot getting hold of his land and people.’
Beatriss knew from Abian that August felt he had let his neighbour down. She squeezed his arm. ‘You’ve taken on more of his villagers than you can afford to, August. He would have been grateful.’
They watched Lord Nettice and his cronies, who were laughing amongst themselves. Already they were thumping Nettice’s back with congratulations, as though he already owned Fenton.
‘What I don’t understand is where he got his gold from,’ Lady Abian said, bitterness in her voice.
‘He made his money shamelessly under the impostor King’s rule,’ Beatriss said quietly.
Her eyes met Genova’s. She was huddled with her husband Makli and the survivors of Fenton. As was the case with Sennington, the village of Fenton once boasted sixty-four people and were now down to twenty-eight, most had died in the Charyn plague. What was ten pieces of gold worth to them when they were still grieving the loss of neighbours?
A moment later Trevanion approached and dismounted. Beatriss felt her face warming up under the intensity of his stare.
‘Honestly Trevanion, can’t you arrest them for their smugness?’ August said.
Abian’s fury could hardly be contained. ‘If any of their wives come near me to boast the purchase you’re going to have to bail me out of the palace dungeon tonight, Augie, because I don’t know what I’ll do to them.’
Trevanion laughed. He looked at Beatriss. ‘Would you like me to arrest Lord Nettice for purely existing, Beatriss?’
Beatriss’s stomach churned at the mention of his name. She was unable to join in the jest and all too soon Trevanion’s smile was gone and he was off to oversee the growing crowd.
It was all a farce really. The poor Fenton lot had pooled together their promised amount deciding that perhaps they would try to buy it together, but Lord Nettice doubled the amount the moment it began and it was humiliating to watch. Humiliating. Beatriss stared at the man, the word thundering inside her head. Humiliating. Humiliating. Her anger grew. She felt its rage, but there was no longer shame in it.
What had her fellow Lumaterans said about her during those early years of the impostor King’s cruel reign? That she gave them courage. That each time his men ruined her land, Beatriss the Bold refused to stop planting.
‘Four hundred pieces of gold,’ she shouted. It was what the Priestking had promised her for Sennington.
There was a stunned silence around her. August and Abian stared at her as if she had lost her senses. It wasn’t that they doubted she had money, but to buy a village? Beatriss looked across at where Lord Nettice stood with his wife alongside Lord Freychinet and their acquaintances.
‘Five hundred,’ Lord Nettice said and her heart dropped.
Every person standing on the field stared back at her, but Beatriss knew she could not match the price. The auctioneer waited.
‘Five hundred and ten, Lady Beatriss?’ the auctioneer called out, searching for her through the crowd. ‘Perhaps another go?’
‘End this,’ Lord Nettice shouted at the man, but the auctioneer refused to be rushed.
Suddenly Makli and Genova were there beside Beatriss, as were the rest of the Fenton villagers.
‘End this,’ they heard Lord Nettice shout again.
‘Lady Beatriss,’ the auctioneer called out, his voice anxious. ‘Another bid, perhaps.’
‘We have two hundred and eighty coins between us,’ Genova said. ‘Use it, Lady Beatriss. Use it all. If he wins the bid, Fenton is lost to us. The pride of Lord Selric and his beloved girls are lost to us.’
Beatriss caught Makli’s eye and she saw sorrow there and before she could stop herself, she pushed through the crowd and reached the front, her stare fixed on Lord Nettice.
‘I bid six hundred and eighty pieces of gold!’ she said. ‘Do you have the nerve to outbid me, Lord Nettice?’
‘Nerve?’ Lord Freychinet laughed, looking at his friend. ‘What has nerve to do with it? I’ll lend you the rest, Nettice.’
Lord Nettice hesitated and Beatriss dared the coward to be the first to look away. For it would not be her. Never again would she look away from this man. She stepped closer, until she was almost nose to nose with him.
‘I defy you to outbid me,’ she said. ‘I defy you.’
There was a hush from the crowd filled with confusion and anticipation and hope.
‘Sold to Lady Beatriss for six hundred and eighty pieces of gold,’ the auctioneer shouted, his words slicing through the silence.
‘What?’ There was outrage from Lord Freychinet and their companions.
‘Too fast,’ Lord Freychinet shouted at the man. ‘Too fast.’
‘End this. End this,’ the auctioneer mimicked. ‘Is that not what you shouted? Make up your mind. I’m finished for the day.’
‘This is an outrage!’ Lady Milla said.
‘Nettice! Do something,’ his wife said.
‘Leave it,’ Lord Nettice said to his entourage, his tone cold and bitter. ‘Leave it. She’s paid too much for it anyway. Fenton was always the runt of the villages.’
Through the crowd Beatriss could see Trevanion, his eyes on Nettice as if he wanted to tear the man apart. But a moment later she was surrounded by those of Fenton and lost sight of him. Abian and August were there too, as were Tarah and Samuel and anyone present from Sennington. They all seemed stunned at the quick outcome of the day’s events. Beatriss could hardly find the words to speak.
‘Did I just buy a village?’ she asked.
Then Makli laughed. ‘You did indeed, Lady Beatriss. You did indeed.’
That afternoon her home was filled to the brim with those from Sennington and Fenton. Even the auctioneer had returned with them when he heard of the ale and the sweets to be served.
‘May I make a toast?’ Beatriss called out when the sun was beginning to set and it was time for her guests to leave. Silence came over the room.
‘A toast to Lord Selric and Lady Milla and Lady Hera and Frana and Lestra. And a toast to those others we lost from Fenton and Sennington.’ Beatriss’s eyes blazed with tears. ‘We won’t have a moment’s rest this coming year, dear friends. Not a moment’s rest, but we break our backs in their names.’
There was a cheer for her words and she stood amongst them overwhelmed with fear and exhilaration. What had she got herself into? What would people say? One moment refusing to step outside her house, next moment buying a village.
Later, the man who had conducted the sale approached and took her hand, and she smiled.
‘I gather you weren’t a big supporter of Lord Nettice after what you did today?’ she asked. ‘Did he do you wrong, Sir?’
The auctioneer named Pollock shook his head. ‘I’m not interested in those who do me wrong, Lady Beatriss. There’s not enough time in the day for them. But my daughter spent five safe years in the cloisters because of you and that mad Tesadora. Won’t be forgotten by me and my wife. I can tell you that.’
She stood a while and watched them all go, but as she turned she heard the sound of a horse coming down the road. Samuel stepped out beside her.