CHAPTER VII
According to the Duke's instructions, Hugh left Kettlethorpe for Southampton in the middle of August, on the day after the Feast of the Assumption. They had managed to celebrate this feast with some of the traditional lavishness, thanks to Hugh's and Ellis's skill at hunting. There had been venison enough for all the village, and a wild boar that Hugh had slain across the Trent in Sherwood Forest.
The sun shone, there had been dancing on the Green, while to the little church for blessing the people had brought their samples from the harvest: oats, barley, peas, beans and flax plants, in woven baskets.
It was at Gibbon's suggestion that the Swynfords made special effort to celebrate the feast day for their tenants. Hugh, intent on his departure, would never have thought of it.
In June the manor court had been held in the great Hall, and Hugh had dealt out irritable punishment to his serfs, saying that as all had grown lax there was no use inquiring into the merits of each case. He exacted immediate payment of the overdue rents and fines and clapped those who asked for time into the stocks, besides personally flogging others. He decreed boon - work at once on his home fields and would have withdrawn every able - bodied man, woman and child from necessary work on their own plots, had not Gibbon intervened, pointing out that total failure of the tenants' crops would hardly benefit the manor.
Katherine had had a litter made for Gibbon, and he had been carried into the Hall to attend the court, and when he found the strength to give advice, Hugh, after the first impatient objections, usually heeded.
So now in August, the administration of the manor had improved. New officers had been appointed from amongst the villeins, a hayward to guard the fields and pastures, and a reeve, Sim the tanner, the shrewdest man in the village. Sim was cold - eyed and slippery as a mackerel, but he was proficient at figuring on the abacus and would brook no lame excuses from the villeins it was now his duty to oversee. From having been a leader of the malcontents, and adept at petty swindling from the lord's possessions, Sim now reversed himself to guard Hugh's interests, being mightily pleased with his position and the small wage that went with it.
Gibbon had foreseen this, too, and suggested that the tanner be chosen. No life had returned to the bailiff's useless limbs, but, cared for now by a husky lad and often consulted by Katherine and the reeve, his mind had lightened and a trace of colour come into his bone - pale skin.
No new bailiff had been found, and in truth Hugh would not have known how to look for one, or spare the money for his wages. And there was another reason, scarce acknowledged to himself, why Hugh sought no new bailiff, who might be a lusty man and would inevitably see much of Katherine.
On the night of the feast, when Hugh and Katherine went to bed, he, being hot with ale and suddenly aware of how sorely he would miss her, pulled her roughly towards him and began to fumble with her breasts.
"Let me be, Hugh," she said sharply, pushing him away. "I'm queasy and tired."
His anger flared at the reminder that always she submitted to him in tense endurance, making no sound except a sigh of relief when he quitted her. But she had never before denied him outright. "By God's blood!" he shouted. "How dare you shove me from you!" And as she stiffened, turning her head from his drink - soured breath, he struck her, though not hard, across the cheek.
"Ay," she said with biting contempt, sitting up in bed and pulling her long hair around her nakedness, "like father like son. But you will not need to beat me with a blackthorn stick for that I'm barren."
"And why should I not! Why should not he have beat that mewling rag of a - " Then he caught her meaning. His clenched fists fell open and he, too, sat up, trying to see her face in the darkness. "Are you with child, Katherine?"
"So I believe," she said coldly. She had had no one to consult, and her knowledge of the signs was sparse, yet the lewd talk of Fat Mab, the Sheppey cook, had been enlightening.
"When think you it'll be born?" Hugh's voice cracked with gladness. He had hoped for this, not so much that it would provide him with an heir as that breeding would make her unattractive to other men, and surely it would change her indifference to himself.
"In May, I suppose," she answered him in the same chill tone. It seemed to her impossible, even ridiculous, that a new life had started growing in her belly, especially one in which Hugh had a share, for she felt herself as alone and untouched as ever; but she could not ignore the changes in her healthy young body, or the new exhaustion and distaste for food.
"In May?" said Hugh eagerly. "No doubt I'll be back with you. It won't take us long to beat the Castilian bastard's rabble." He flexed his broken hand to try it, as he did many times a day. It had healed well and was strong as ever.
"I hope you'll be back, Hugh." She spoke more gently, though in truth she could not imagine how it would be in May, and longed to have him go. It seemed to her that it would be bliss to be alone in bed, and freed from the importunities of this hairy, naked man.
The next morning, before the dew was off the grass, the church bell rang and all the villagers assembled to God - speed their manor lord. They gathered in the outer court beyond the moat, and Katherine stood amongst them holding the stirrup cup of strong ale.
Hugh was dressed in gleaming armour, from which Ellis had polished every trace of rust or stain. Katherine herself had mended the linen jupon which covered his hauberk of chain mail like a tight - fitting shirt. The jupon's embroidered blazon proclaimed Hugh's identity as did his silvered shield with black chevron and three gold boars' heads painted on the leather. His fighting helmet was of iron, shaped like a beehive, yet far lighter than the great ceremonial heaume he had worn at the tournament.
Ellis followed him, dressed in Lincoln green with his master's badge sewn on his arm. Wat, the stableboy, led the two great destriers, their harnesses a - jingle with tiny brass bells.
As Hugh came through the gatehouse and crossed the drawbridge, his serfs gave a polite cheer; there were a few invocations to St. George and the Blessed Mother for Sir Hugh's safe return from the wars. Though there was no special enthusiasm, and their well - wishing came rather in response to immemorial feudal custom than to any personal interest in Hugh, the little demonstration nevertheless proved that the feast yesterday had mollified them; at least they were no longer openly rebellious.
They made way for the parish priest, who lumbered through the lych-gate to give final blessing. Hugh and Ellis knelt on the ground to receive it. The priest asperged them with holy water.
Hugh arose and clambered into the saddle from the mounting block, then he sat stiff and high to look down at Katherine. "Farewell, lady," he said below his breath, and into his small truculent eyes there came a look, as though he would say more, but could not. He was at his best on horseback, where one saw neither his bandy legs nor his chunkiness. His ram's - wool hair, trimmed by Ellis, lay neat and close to his head as war - time fashion demanded, and when Katherine, smiling, proffered him the stirrup cup, he took it from her and drank with a sober grace. "God keep you, my Katherine," he said, very low.
"And you, my lord and husband," she returned. "Guard him well, Ellis," she added, her dazzling smile moving to Hugh's squire. That stolid young man started and bowed. He had never had personal interest in his master's lady, seeing her simply as one of Sir Hugh's possessions, like his horses and his manor. He had not even wondered at Hugh's choice of a dowerless maiden, for it was not his way to wonder. But now, as Katherine's smile rested on him, several impressions penetrated his slow wits. One was the astonished recognition of her beauty. Tall and slender like a young queen, she stood there in her shabby green fur - trimmed robes. Her cleft chin was held high, her great eyes shone like crystals between the thick black lashes. And her smile was brilliant and gracious as an April morning. But should there have been a smile, however gracious? This girl, so young and untried, upon being left alone by her war - bound lord, should she not have wept?