Prayer and rest. Oslac the Priest had advised her to pray for her dead brother’s soul and to get as much sleep as she could in order to restore herself, but neither would come. Prayers died on her lips and sleep eluded her. She was instead held captive by grief and fear and gnawing doubt about the whole meaning of her life. What was the point of it all? Everything now seemed to have died with Guy. Even her hopes of escape.
When she eventually closed her eyes, it was in a slumber of sheer exhaustion and she did not have the strength to choose the comfort of her bed. She drifted off while sitting in the window of her chamber and her troubled head rested on hard stone without even feeling it.
Matilda was in a sleep of cold despair. How long she dozed she did not know, nor what it was that jerked her awake to face the pain once more. It may have been the insistent thud of the wind against the wall of the chamber, or the light slowly forcing its way in through the window with the stealth of a thief, or the dull ache in her bones from the awkwardness of her posture, or the cries of the gulls as they skimmed over water and marsh in search of their first meal of the morning.
As she opened her eyes, it was there. Matilda came out of her sleep and into a waking nightmare because the sight brought nothing but further apprehension. She rubbed at her eyes, then peered through the window once more to make sure that it was not an illusion. But it was still there. She had recognised it at once. The ship was long and narrow with a single, large sail that was filled by the gusting wind. Its prow was high, its draught shallow, and it was cutting through the dark water with eager purpose. The captain was navigating his way around Northey Island and setting a course for the harbour. They were still a long way from Blackwater Hall but Matilda knew whom the ship carried.
Hamo FitzCorbucion had come home.
Chapter Five
The day began early at Champeney Hall. Guests of such standing and in such number imposed considerable extra burdens and the servants were up before dawn to clean the house, prepare the table, and serve the breakfast. The visitors, too, were soon out of their beds to wash themselves before sitting down to a meal of frumenty, enriched with egg yolks and a flavouring of dried saffron, and watered ale. Canon Hubert had recovered completely from his overindulgence the previous evening and attacked his food with his customary relish, but Brother Simon, stricken with guilt at his enjoyment of the banquet, and fearing that it was the first sign of moral decay, sat in his place like a repen-tant sinner and refused even to slake his thirst with water. The two of them went off for an hour of prayer and contemplation before they addressed their minds to the temporal commitments that lay ahead of them.
Gervase Bret returned to the chamber, which he shared with Ralph, so that he could once again study the documents around which all their deliberations in the shire hall would revolve. It was laborious but highly rewarding work. Under his expert scrutiny, simple facts about property ownership yielded a complex story of fraud, misappropriation, and violent seizure. A bewildering set of figures gave him a clear picture in his mind of the geography of the whole area. Bare names like Tovild the Haunted and Reginald the Gross helped to people the landscape and define the character of Maldon. The first commissioners had been regarded with the obedient derision that greeted all royal tax collectors but the returns that they had brought to the Treasury in Winchester, and that were set down in abbreviated Latin, were an ornate tapestry of English life to the discerning eye of a man like Gervase.
Ralph Delchard had never heard of Chapter Forty-eight of the Rule of St. Benedict and he would have been astounded to learn that one of his own beliefs had monastic authority, but he was convinced that idleness was bad for the body and soul of his knights. It was important to keep them alert and well disciplined at all times. If the threatened invasion of the Danes had, in fact, taken place, Ralph would have been called to lead his knights into battle and their military worth would have been put to the test. He was determined that his men would not be found wanting in any emergency. Ralph had planned to take them on an invigorating gallop before putting them through some training exercises with sword and lance. Gilbert Champeney’s invitation to go hawking was thus particularly welcome because it enabled Ralph to combine a ride with his men and an hour’s sport.
“What have we caught so far?” he asked.
“Duck, pigeon, and pheasant,” said Gilbert, glancing at the game bag, which his servant carried. “They will make fine dishes during your stay with us. Canon Hubert tells me he is partial to hare as well.”
“Hubert will eat anything that moves,” said Ralph. “My cook has a magical touch with hares.”
“I prefer rabbit. I wish King William would bring more of them over
from Normandy. They breed well and are easier to catch.” Ralph winked at him. “Hubert gobbled them up by the dozen when he was serving the Lord in Bec.”
“We must keep the Church happy.”
They had ridden a few miles from the manor house and were on the edge of a small wood. Miles Champeney had joined them and his falcon was the most deadly of all the hunting birds. Ralph watched the young man as he un-hooded the creature yet again and flicked his arm so that the falcon left its leather perch and shot into the sky. It did not need to fly very far. Hovering above a clearing in the wood, it saw something that sharpened its instinct and concentrated all its fierce attention. The steady beat of its wings suddenly changed, its neck stretched forward, and it hurtled towards the ground with fran-tic speed. Through a cluster of trees, Ralph was just able to pick out a glimpse of its quarry as talons of steel sank into frenzied fur.
“I think you may have found your hare, Gilbert.” “Give the credit to my son.”
“He has a rare talent for hawking.”
“Hawking, hunting, and chasing women.” Ralph sighed with nostalgia. “The bounty of youth!”
“And the consolation of old age.”
Ralph chortled in appreciation. When the sport was over, the hunting party set off in the direction of Champeney Hall with a full game bag. Partridge and squirrel had also been killed, although the latter was discarded as unsuitable for the larder. Under their captain, the seven knights rode off hard and left the rest of the company to return at a more sedate pace. Ralph rode between father and son. Gervase had told him what he had learned about Miles Champeney and his friend was fascinated to know more. He tried to disguise his enquiries behind a chuckling jocularity.
“You are a true falconer, Miles,” he observed. “I like the sport.”
“Every man should have a hawk and hounds,” said Ralph. “If I were
back on my estate in Hampshire, I would be out hunting right now. The King’s business has robbed me of that delight. I am grateful that I have been able to snatch this hour of pleasure with you and your father.”
“We mean to make you enjoy your stay,” said the genial Gilbert. “Is that not so, Miles?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Guests from the King are always welcome.”
“We have been blessed by our host,” said Ralph. “You keep a splendid house, Gilbert, and you know how to take the most out of this life of ours.”
“I love Maldon. It is the next best thing to Heaven.” “Your son may not agree.”