'Rolf's ideas of improper tend to be somewhat liberal,' Felice said dryly. 'He has no morals below the level of his belt.'
Ailith fished a linen napkin out of the cauldron and began to bring out the water. 'I know that,' she said with a toss of her head. 'I once caught him in the stable straw with Gytha the Alewife, and from the tales I have heard, there have been many others. I know I must be careful, but I am not afraid of Rolf as I am afraid of Wulfstan. Rolf will only take what is willingly offered. Wulfstan will seize what he wants without thought. I know to which man I would rather trust my virtue.' She dropped the napkin in the large basket beside the cauldron and gave Felice a challenging glare. 'I know that it would be more convenient for you if I married Wulfstan, and for that I am sorry. If he was a good man in the mould of Goldwin, I would do so, but he isn't and there is nothing more to say.' Her chin started to quiver and she turned back to the cauldron and fished out another piece of linen.
A moment later, she felt Felice's hand on her shoulder. 'Ailith, I'm sorry, you must do as you see fit. I just don't want to see you hurt any more than you have been already.'
Ailith draped the linen over the side of the cauldron and put her arms around Felice, hugging her. 'Then let me make my own mistakes,' she said, and then with a small cry of alarm, she pushed out of the embrace and ran to the dung heap to snatch Benedict out of the muck and straw.
The baby squealed his delight at being swung up in Ailith's arms. 'Oh, you rascal!' Ailith could not help but laugh as she cuddled him. Her eyes filled with moisture. The baby would be the hardest thing to leave behind despite Rolf's assurances that she would still see him often. But as she carried him back to his mother, her decision was made and her heart was filled not only with determination, but a new sense of purpose.
Wulfstan's shop occupied a prime position in the heart of London's goldsmiths' quarter. The frontage was more generous than usual for business premises in the heart of the city. Morning sunshine gleamed on the whitewashed walls and the open counter with its cover of dark green cloth. Two apprentices were erecting a canvas awning to provide shade for the customers since the day looked set to be hot.
Rolf dismounted from Sleipnir and handed the reins to the accompanying groom. Then he asked one of the apprentices for Wulfstan. The lad appraised him, and quickly realised that Rolf was Norman and rich. Sensing new and valuable custom, he hurried into the living quarters at the back of the shop.
Rolf leaned on the counter and studied the various items hanging on the wall behind it. To one side there were pincers, snips, and engraving tools, each neatly hung in its set place. Directly before his eyes were the samples of merchandise. Their style reflected their creator. All the pieces without exception were heavy and opulent, the sort of items that said Behold, I am wealthy and to be respected. Rolf grimaced at a large disc brooch so crusted with gold that it looked like a bubbling griddle cake, and wondered how much some city burgher, eager to show off his status, was going to pay for it.
Wiping his hands and lips on a napkin, Wulfstan emerged from the rear of the shop. The apprentice followed him and returned to helping his fellow with the awning. Wulfstan looked at Rolf and the pleasant, slightly obsequious expression fell from his face and was replaced by narrow-eyed wariness.
'Lord Rolf,' he acknowledged. 'What can I do for you so early this morning? Do you wish to break your fast with me?' He gestured towards his living quarters.
Rolf shook his head. 'Thank you, but I ate at dawn. I am leaving for my lands today; indeed, my baggage wain left the city at first light. As soon as I finish my business, I'll be following it out. And when I tell you why I have come, I do not believe that you will want to offer me hospitality of any kind.'
Wulfstan's eyes flickered. He put the napkin down on the counter. 'This concerns Ailith, I think?' he said coldly.
'Yes, it concerns Ailith.'
'If you are here to warn me against pursuing my suit, you ire wasting your breath. I intend to have her.'
Rolf's dislike of the goldsmith deepened towards loathing. But she does not want you,' he said more sharply than was polite. 'To that end she has agreed to become chatelaine of my English lands. She left this morning with the baggage wain.' And then he added softly, each word biting and distinct, 'She is mine, Wulfstan, and always will be.'
The goldsmith stared at him. Then he began to shake, and uttering a roar of rage, he seized Rolf around the throat and started to squeeze. Rolf scrabbled for his dagger. The groom abandoned the two horses and ran to help his master, snarling at the gaping apprentices to pull Wulfstan off.
Passers-by hurried to help, and after a struggle, Wulfstan was finally prised from his victim. The Saxon fought against the restraining hands whilst Rolf wheezed and choked on his knees.
'May you and she be damned for eternity!' Wulfstan snarled. 'Whoremonger and whore!'
Rolf regained his feet. The goldsmith's rage was that of a child denied its own way. There was no point in continuing the scene. Wulfstan was beaten and Rolf was finding it difficult enough to draw a clean breath without the added burden of speech.
Ignoring Wulfstan, which only added another dimension to the Saxon's fury, Rolf mounted his horse and rode away. He had done what he intended, and the road ahead was clear.
CHAPTER 22
On a bright spring noontide, five days after setting out from London, Ailith came to Ulverton. On this final day, they took the road from Wareham where they had rested for the night and headed over the undulating greenery of the chalk downs towards the coast. The sky was blue, the air sparkled; so too in the distance did the sea, its horizon haze-grey. Ailith narrowed her eyes the better to focus. Everything was so different. Before this, the furthest she had ever been from London was the village of Tottenham, just a few miles from the city's hub, where she had lived before her marriage. She had never seen forests as huge and dark as the ones which had engulfed her journey, could never have imagined such vastness. The bursting Maytime greenery overwhelmed her senses, made her feel humble and afraid, but at the same time she was charged with exultation.
Now the forests were behind them. The three cobs pulled sturdily in the shafts of the baggage wain, their step brisk and their ears pricked. The driver was a taciturn little Saxon named Osred, whose speech consisted of positive and negative grunts in response to her curious questions. He had a scrawny neck and stringy arms which seemed on first glance incapable of controlling the three lively horses, but his wiry frame was deceptively strong. Wulfhild, who had opted to remain with Ailith, declared that he only required feeding up, but she said that about everyone less slump than herself. Sigrid had remained in London with Aubert and Felice, for she was soon to marry an armourer's journeyman from Southwark.
The sea vanished from sight as they entered a low dip, reappearing as the wain gained the brow of the slope. It was closer now, a glittering swell of darkest blue stretching as far as the eye could see, and filing the bay of the nearer vision. A village was cuddled down in the folds of the hills. Standing a little apart from it on another slope that showed an edge of raw earth, stood a wooden tower surrounded by a palisade of sharpened stakes, and beneath the main hill, a raised bank of earth creating a fortified compound filled with a variety of thatched wooden buildings.
Rolf appeared suddenly at the side of the wain. He had been riding Sleipnir ahead and behind all morning — to scout so he had said, but Ailith had sensed the restless anticipation that made keeping still a torture. 'Ulverton,' he announced, pointing towards the village. 'I have other holdings, of course, but this is the main one, your new home.'