‘Aye, that’s true enough,’ the man called Richer said softly.
As the two meandered away, up the lane eastwards towards the castle, Serlo could only wonder what Richer atte Brooke was doing back here in Cardinham.
After all, it was fifteen years since he’d fled the vill, when all his family had died in a fire.
Gervase, steward of Cardinham Castle, watched Nicholas leave with a sense of relief. It was hard enough keeping the men working without having the master of the castle hanging around, watching everything with that stupid grin plastered all over his face. It made Gervase feel queasy. Nick had once been his best friend, but now … Well! It was better that the fool should go and leave his steward to do his work without interruption.
He sighed, leaning on his staff. Before Nicholas had married the pair of them had grown into an easy, comfortable relationship; they had become close. As castellan, Nicholas was responsible for the law all about the manor, while Gervase was in charge of the maintenance of the estates. Under them, the manor had flourished. And then, six years ago, she had arrived, the Lady Anne, and Gervase had lost his companion.
Cardinham Castle had, until then, been a quiet place. Sir Henry had won favour with the King, and was today a member of Edward’s household, surviving the many twists and turns of politics. He had been given an estate in Kent, once the possession of a man who had been proved to be a traitor, and lived with the King. He had not been to Cardinham for at least twenty years, so the place was more or less under the permanent control of Nicholas and Gervase his steward.
Anne had been a forlorn traveller, only sixteen years old, orphaned by the Scottish wars and half-starved by the famine. Nicholas had seen her, this sad little chit, and apparently been immediately smitten. His heart was hers. It was a strange sight, the grizzled old warrior so besotted. It was more than simple lust. If it had been only that, he could have taken her and been satisfied, but there was something else about her that attracted a man. Gervase had felt it too. She was fresh and fragrant — lovely; bewitching to any man with red blood in his veins. Even her melancholia was entrancing. It made a man want to slay dragons to lay at her dainty feet. She was adorable.
When the two made their oaths at the church door, Nicholas holding her hands with reverence, as though he was holding the hands of an angel, Gervase had felt his heart swell with pride, a sense that the manor was honoured. He had looked at his friend’s smiling face, glad to see him so happy. Nicholas had lost the frivolity of bachelorhood and gained the stern duty of responsible manhood. He now had a woman to serve and protect, a duty and honour he would relish, Gervase knew.
At the time, Gervase had not realised that he had lost his companion for ever.
Stumping into the vill later that day, Serlo frowned at all about him. He was in no mood for a chat. He had a task to perform — not a pleasant one, either.
Serlo had tried figuring out all the ways he could of earning a little more money. There were the tolls, of course. He’d done what he could with them, but the fact was that the threatening clouds of war were putting travellers off. Even the merchants who normally came this way had stopped. Serlo had borrowed heavily to buy ‘the farm of tolls’ — the right to charge — and it was all wasted. It was so bad, he’d gone to speak to Gervase, but the steward had only grinned smarmily at him, saying that once he’d bought the right to charge tolls there was no mechanism to reduce it or give him a refund.
The only way to make money from the tolls was to conceal a proportion of them from his brother. Alex had helped to buy the farm for a share of the profits, and it wasn’t Serlo’s fault that there were none. Anyway, Serlo could bump up the share to Alex when things looked a bit better. He didn’t want to steal from his own brother. No, but he had to show that he was competent.
That was the problem. Serlo, the younger, always felt that his brother was patronising him, even when he knew perfectly well that Alex had no intention of doing so. He was just as good as his brother, Serlo told himself: he’d not had quite the same luck. Alex always managed to make money, but when Serlo tried to do so, it never quite worked out. It wasn’t his fault; these things just happened. Alex could stick his hand into a midden and come up grasping rose petals; Serlo would find nothing but turds.
For now, the main thing was to get hold of some extra money. He’d decided to start by increasing Athelina’s rent. She had a lover — let him pay. He could afford it, God knew. He was one of the richest men about here.
He had reached her home — a large building with a door in the middle of the whitewashed wall that faced the road. Walking down the path between her vegetable beds, he saw how her plants were thriving. She could easily afford to pay a little more, he thought. He needed the money more than she did.
At her door, he braced himself, then rapped sharply on the timbers.
It was a week or more before Athelina approached her lover, and then her nerve almost failed her. She could do nothing until she had spoken to her protector — but he was unavailable again. For a long time Athelina had been used to being received with some honour at the gate, courteously escorted to the room where she could be enjoyed by her man in peace, but now, that was no more. The nearest she got was the lewd suggestion from the gate-keeper that he should service her in the place of her man.
That was proof enough. If the doorman dared try his luck, all in the castle must know that her man had deserted her. It was no surprise, after all. She’d guessed as much when she saw the strumpet in the vill. It was clear that he’d found a new woman, and had no more interest in her.
Still, all was not lost. It was not easy for her to play the whore, because she’d always made love for love’s sake, not for money, but now she must earn her keep. Whatever happened, they must not lose their home. She could not make her children suffer like that. No, she would entertain any man who could afford her. So she combed her hair, standing in front of her plate of polished copper. Studying herself, her tunic untied, she could see much still to admire. Her breasts were large and firm still, not flaccid like drained sacks; her belly was flat, her hair luxurious. In a darkened room, it was possible a man might notice her large eyes and ignore the lines of age and care. Or so she hoped.
When the knock came, she felt her heart thud painfully, but then she took a deep breath and strode to the door, pulling it wide. Giving a smile, she welcomed her visitor, stepping back into the room.
Before he could speak, she pushed the door shut, then bravely put her lips to his as her hand fell to his groin.
Chapter One
It was two days later that Richer rode back alone from a hunt with his squire and Nicholas the castellan. Richer’s rounsey had thrown a shoe, and Richer knew perfectly well that a man-at-arms looked to his horse before his own pleasure. Some day his life might depend on it. Pleasure could be sought at any time.
The vill was quiet as he clattered slowly along the stony path. He felt surprisingly relaxed. After fleeing from here in such a hurry all those years ago, he had anticipated an overwhelming sadness when he finally returned. And fear, too: this was the first time he had passed through the vill on his own, without the protection of Warin or one of the other men-at-arms.
From here the road curled up towards the church and soon, through the trees, he could see the little belltower ahead. It was only a short way from there to the place where he had been born and raised. The long low thatched cottage had had a large logpile at one side and a barn behind, where the family pig and some hens were housed. His father had been a serf — a peasant who owed his labour to the lord of the manor — but Richer had gained his freedom by running away and not being caught. He wondered what his parents would make of him now. Probably they’d be unhappy at his chosen career, a henchman for a lord, but there was little else he felt he could do. At least he wasn’t a mercenary. He earned his robes and food from his loyalty to his squire, and if he was employed indirectly by Sir Henry of Cardinham now, it was on a more equitable basis than being a mere serf like his father.