The following morning Ranulf took his leave of the court, along with his friend, Sir Garrick Taliferro. Together the two men rode for a time until finally Garrick turned onto the road west into Glouster and Ranulf headed northwest toward Ashlin. With luck, he would be home in time for Christmas. Home! His Eleanore! Their son!
"My lord! My lord!" Pax called shortly after Garrick had left them. "We must stop and rest the horses. They are sorely winded. I, too, am anxious to get home, but 'twill take far longer if the horses die under us, and we must walk."
Laughing at himself for his boyish impatience, Ranulf heeded his squire’s warning. They slowed their mounts to a walk and finally stopped at a small inn nearby to rest the night. The innkeeper’s wife fed them bread and stew. They slept with their animals, however, for the area was remote and poor. They could as easily awaken in the morning to find their beasts gone and Ranulf’s armor with them. The following day the lord of Ashlin manor kept a more reasonable pace. The weather, while cold, was at least dry. The next few nights they managed to find shelter at monastery guest houses, where there was at least some element of safety for them and their horses.
Finally on the afternoon of December twenty-fourth, they realized the landscape about them was familiar, and now they unconsciously hurried their horses. Coming over a hill, they saw Ashlin valley below them and the manor with its village just beyond its hill. Even the animals, sensing home, moved more quickly. Ranulf saw the sheep in the meadows and the cattle browsing in the pastures nearby. Relief swept over him. The Welsh had left them in peace despite their active raiding season of the summer past. He noted with pleasure that while the drawbridge was down, one side of the gates were firmly shut. His instructions had been followed to the letter.
There was no one in the fields at this time of day except two cowherds preparing to bring the cattle in for the night; and a few shepherds watching over the sheep. He waved to them. He could see the men-at-arms patrolling the walls, and then he heard the trumpet that was sounded to alert the gate that visitors were coming. He longed to push his mount into a gallop and race through his gates. Instead he held the warhorse to a sedate walk, clopping across the drawbridge and into the village.
"Welcome home, my lord," the man on the gate said, but there was no smile for him.
Ranulf and Pax rode down the village street to the manor house. It was growing dark, and he could barely see the smoke from the chimneys, the flickering light from the tiny windows of the cottages. A sheaf of light poured suddenly onto the ground before his home as the door was flung open. Ranulf dismounted and handed the reins of his mount to Pax.
"Take the horses to the stables," he said, and hurried inside.
"My lord, welcome home!" Cedric came forward, signaling a servant to take the master’s cloak.
Ranulf looked about the hall, recognizing the servants and Father Oswin, and saw a cradle by the fireplace that obviously contained his son. He walked over and was amazed at the child who stared back up at him. This could not possibly be his son. "Where is Simon?" he asked to no one in particular.
Alyce giggled, then reached into the cradle and picked up the child. "This is your son, my lord."
"But…"
"You have been gone five months, my lord," Alyce explained. "Babies grow quickly. Here." She thrust Simon into Ranulf’s arms.
Father and son stared at each other with the same eyes, the same expression. Ranulf was astounded, seeing himself mirrored so clearly in Simon’s face. "By the rood!" he exclaimed. "He surely is my spit!"
"He is, my lord," Alyce agreed, taking back her charge.
"Welcome home, my lord," Father Oswin said, coming to his side. "I am well pleased that the lord of the manor will be here to celebrate the first of Christ’s Mass tonight."
Ranulf nodded, looking about the hall, searching. "Where is my wife?"
"Come, my lord, and let us sit," the priest said.
He stood stock-still. "Where is Eleanore, good Father?"
"Kidnapped by the Welsh last autumn, my lord," the priest replied bluntly, then added quickly, "but she is alive."
Cedric pushed a goblet of wine into his master’s hand.
Ranulf drank deeply. "How do you know? And how did it happen that my wife was vulnerable to such an attack? Where was Fulk and the rest of you that my lady was stolen away so easily? Why have you not yet recovered her safely?" Ranulf’s voice was rising, as was his temper, which few had ever seen, and certainly not here at Ashlin. There was a red mist forming before his eyes as his rage rose.
"Sit down, my lord," the priest instructed, drawing his master to a chair by the fire. "I will explain it all if you will but sit."
Ranulf sank heavily into the carved armed chair.
"Shortly after you left, a girl, badly beaten and as thin as a willow wand, came to Ashlin and begged sanctuary. The lady gave it to her. We healed the girl’s wounds and fed her, and the lady included her among her women. Some weeks later a swineherd from the convent of St. Frideswide’s came to say the convent was under attack. The abbess had sent this man for our help. Nothing would do, my lord, but that the lady must send Fulk and enough men to drive off the Welsh."
"Had there been an attack on the convent?" Ranulf asked.
"Yes, and no," the priest said, and went on to explain the rest, concluding, "When we realized the lady was gone, we were frantic."
Fulk, who had hurried into the hall, took up the tale. "I rode with my men through the night to reach Ashlin when I realized we had been deliberately drawn away, and that the swineherd had been sent by the Welsh themselves to lure us off. It rained for the next three days, my lord, and we could not search because there was no trail to follow. Finally, when the weather cleared a bit, I sent Sim out to find the lair of the bandit, Merin ap Owen, for I was certain it was he who had stolen the lady. Sim was gone for almost three weeks, but when he returned we knew for certain that it was indeed Merin ap Owen who held the lady captive. Sim had seen her, well guarded, walking on a hillside by the bandit’s castle. It was much too dangerous for Sim to attempt to steal her back, so he returned to tell us what he had seen."
Ranulf nodded, the red mist was fading slightly, but now there was a fierce, burning anger centered in the middle of his broad chest.
"Soon then, a ransom demand was delivered by one of the Welshmen’s men. Merin ap Owen was aware that you were away. He says he will keep the lady safe until your return. You are then to sell all the cattle and the sheep that you possess to ransom her. When you have the monies, you will make a signal by lighting pitch torches all around the perimeter of the walls. Someone will always be watching, and when the signal is received, Merin ap Owen will come in several days' time to make the exchange with you. We were forced to allow his messenger to return to Wales to say that we understood his wishes, my lord."
"It was well thought out," Ranulf said slowly. " I would not have believed a bandit so clever."
"He is of noble blood, my lord, but wicked, rumor has it," Fulk replied. "I am so sorry, my lord! It is my fault! I should not have let the lady send me to St. Frideswide's!"
Ranulf shook his head. "Nay, Fulk. You obeyed your mistress as you should have done. Had the girl, Arwydd, not betrayed my wife, none of this would have happened. Even if you had been here, there would have been no help for it. You know how you like your food and drink, my friend. With your appetite, you might still be sleeping. Praise God you were not, and knew what to do afterward." Ranulf clapped his captain comfortingly on the shoulder.