‘Will I be as good as Helene?’ she wondered.
Arnulf felt his stomach lurch for a moment.
‘Every bit as good.’
The steward gave a signal and Arnulf guided her towards the door of the hall. Her moment had come. Bristeva was about to sing the two songs they had rehearsed.
The room was still buzzing with wonder at the performance of the magician. When they saw that he was followed by a young girl, they gave her an encouraging clap. With Arnulf at her side, Bristeva moved to the centre of the hall with a poise and confidence that impressed even her brother. She wore a blue gunna over a white kirtle. A circlet of gold held her wimple in place. Bristeva’s face had the bloom of innocence upon it. She compelled a respectful silence.
When he had positioned her, Arnulf withdrew to the side of the hall. She was on her own now. There was no hesitation. Shaking off all her apprehension, Bristeva took a deep breath and sang in a voice that seemed to fly around the room with as much delight as the white dove. The songs were simple but melodious, touching refrains which plucked at the emotions. Arnulf was delighted, Ordgar was thrilled, Amalric gave a grudging approval, Brother Columbanus wept with joy and Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances was entranced. There were no tricks or clever illusions this time. She did it all with the purity of her voice and the quiet power of her presence.
Bristeva was the real magician. When she finished, the applause was sustained and deafening. She curtseyed in acknowledgement.
Almost everybody in the room acclaimed her. Ralph Delchard was one of the exceptions. While others were looking at the girl, his attention was caught by the man with the crutch who was hobbling to stand beside a window at the other end of the hall. Edric the Cripple identified himself by his gait. He took no interest in the girl herself. His gaze was fixed on the guest of honour.
A series of images flashed through Ralph’s mind. He thought about the skill of an assassin at Woodstock. The soldiering days of his victim. The round indentations in the ground under the ash. The theft of a spirited black stallion. A housecarl in Wallingford. A revolt in Herefordshire. The loss of a leg amid brutal reprisals.
He moved just in time. When Ralph saw the dagger in Edric’s hand, he jumped to his feet and leant over to grab the bishop and pull him sideways in his chair. The dagger was already spinning through the air. It missed the guest of honour by inches and buried itself in the back of the chair.
Pandemonium ensued. Men yelled, women screamed, everyone jumped up in alarm and swirled around the room in a panic. Ralph let go of the bishop and fought his way down the hall to the window but Edric had planned his escape on this occasion as on the last.
Having flung himself from the keep, he landed in the middle of the river and was now swimming to the bank with his crutch floating behind him. His horse was tethered to a nearby tree.
Enraged to a new pitch, Robert d’Oilly pointed an accusatory finger at Ordgar and his son, roaring above the tumult in a voice of doom.
‘This is a conspiracy! Arrest them!’
Four guards pinioned the two men before they could move.
Bristeva screeched with fear before Arnulf swept her up in his arms and carried her away from the scene of confusion. Ralph darted across to her father to begin an immediate interrogation.
‘Where has he gone?’ he demanded.
‘I do not know, my lord,’ said Ordgar, quivering.
‘You planned this assassination with him!’
‘No, my lord!’
‘The pair of you will hang alongside him.’
‘Please!’ begged Ordgar. ‘My son and I are innocent. We knew nothing of this. Bring a Bible and I will swear to it, my lord. We came only to hear my daughter sing.’
‘Is she part of the conspiracy as well?’
The old man was distraught. ‘Bristeva?’
‘Distracting us with her songs while Edric lurked.’
‘No, no,’ said Ordgar with patent sincerity. ‘We are as shocked as you by what has happened. Edric must pay for his crime. I will do all I can to help you catch him.’
‘Then tell me where he will go. At once!’
‘I have no idea, my lord. That is the truth. I simply do not know.’
He turned to his son. ‘And neither does Amalric.’
But a telltale glint had come into the boy’s eye.
By the time he escorted her back to her chamber, Arnulf had managed to convince her that her father and brother were not in danger. If they were innocent — as she averred — they would come to no harm.
Edric the Cripple would bear all the blame. Bristeva was terrified that some responsibility would attach to her. If she had not sung in the hall, the steward would never have been allowed inside the place.
Unwittingly, she had given him the cover he needed. It was horrifying.
Arnulf slipped his arms around her to comfort her and she laid her head on his shoulder as she wept. The room was quiet and secluded.
They were far away from the chaos in the hall. His soothing words slowly calmed her down. His warm embrace made her feel loved and protected. Bristeva was gradually lulled into a mood of unquestioning compliance.
‘I wanted it to be so different,’ he whispered.
‘So did I.’
‘I wanted you to have your triumph in the hall then return here with me to celebrate it. Just the two of us, Bristeva. You and me. We earned that celebration.’
‘We did, Father Arnulf!’
‘Do you feel better now?’ he said, stroking her back.
‘Much better.’
‘Do not worry about anything. I will take care of you.’
‘Thank you.’
She nestled into his shoulder and did not object when his caresses grew more intimate. When he removed her wimple and dropped it on the mattress, her plait uncoiled down her back. His hand stroked it then he wound it playfully around his fingers. He brushed her head with his lips.
Bristeva was in a complete daze. She was both inebriated by her success in the hall and stunned by the murderous attack which had followed it. She needed sympathy and reassurance. Father Arnulf was providing it for her. When his hands ran down her back to caress her buttocks, she made no complaint. When he rubbed himself against her thighs, she felt no alarm. It was only when his fingers worked their way up to her breasts that she tried to pull away.
‘What are you doing!’ she said, blushing deeply.
‘Comforting you, Bristeva.’
‘You frightened me.’
‘Then I will do it more gently this time,’ he said, reaching out to take the full breasts in the palms of both hands before squeezing them softly. ‘I have wanted to do this for so long, Bristeva. You are beautiful. You asked me if you would be as good as Helene and I told you the truth.’ He pulled her hard against him. ‘Every bit as good.’
The first kiss took her breath away. Crimson with shame and pulsating with fear, she did not know what to do. Arnulf was her friend and protector. She loved him. Yet he was doing things which made her feel hurt and abused. During the second kiss, he eased her down on the mattress and rolled on top of her. There was no uncertainty now. As soon as she pulled her mouth free, she shrieked aloud. The voice which had delighted with its sweetness now became an hysterical cry.
‘Nobody will hear you, Bristeva,’ he said. ‘Be mine.’
He stopped her mouth with another kiss but it was short-lived.
Gervase opened the door and dashed in to haul the chaplain off her.
Arnulf was strong but he had nothing like Gervase’s anger and determination. While the two men struggled. Brother Columbanus slipped in to help Bristeva up and shepherd her out into the passage.
It was he who had alerted Gervase to the danger she was in.
A relay of punches finally subdued Arnulf and he lay gasping on the floor. Gervase stood over him, dishevelled but victorious. He looked at the other with utter disgust.