Blood Runs Thicker Sarah Hawkswood (great novels .TXT) 📖

Catchpoll came in, a half-smile on his face.

‘The priest was concerned that we wanted him to actually stand over his lord and prevent him leaving, but I reassured him that the guarding is with us.’

‘Good.’ Bradecote sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. ‘What did we do to deserve all this, I ask myself,’ he grumbled.

‘Well, we takes the task seriously, and does it as well as we can. That means sometimes it gets all knotted, my lord.’ The serjeant did not take the question as rhetorical.

‘All I want is to eat, think, and sleep, and if I fall asleep thinking it will not be a surprise. Baldwin de Lench is like a bolt of lightning – you never know where he will come to earth and what damage he will do. I pity this manor.’ He sighed. ‘I have no idea if a meal is in preparation or not. Walkelin, go and find the cook and make sure it is yet to come. I would have words with the lady de Lench alone, but when you return, await me, both of you, and we will try, and I mean try, to make sense of what Parler has given us.’

Walkelin just nodded and went out, already thinking for himself so he could contribute upon his return. Catchpoll set the stool upon its legs, and sat on it, leaning forwards and with his hands loosely between his knees. He looked as though his mind was blank, but the mind of Serjeant Catchpoll was always working if he was awake, and sometimes even when he was asleep.

Bradecote went to the solar door and knocked upon it, though he entered straight after, and was prepared to avert his eyes if it was seemly. The lady was, however, laid upon the bed on her stomach, her face turned towards the door and her hand, clenched into a fist, pressed to her mouth. The old woman was not alone, for the youthful healer was now present, and placing strips of linen, soaked in some concoction, upon the red stripes of damaged flesh. He assumed she had been brought from Gytha in her travail. For a minute or so Bradecote said nothing, his mind filled with the thought that once, when Christina would have been no older than the girl Hild, she had been the victim left in the same position as the lady de Lench now. Had anyone even been allowed to tend her, solace her? Then he frowned, because a lash was not what a man commonly carried. De Malfleur would have sought out his child-wife and been prepared for what he had planned to do to her, but if Baldwin de Lench had simply discovered the lady and the steward together, how come that he had a whip to hand? He must also surely have rendered the steward incapable before he set about the lady, for a man, other than her strange son, would not stand by and see a woman he cared for being hurt and demeaned. Asking questions at this minute would be ridiculous, and so Bradecote simply turned away and waited, a silent presence in the chamber.

A short while later Hild came and begged his pardon, so he turned about. She had a bowl of torn strips and the remnants of her poultice, or whatever it was balanced on one hip, which made her obeisance clumsy.

‘My lord, all is done as can be. I would be going back to the birthing now.’

‘Yes, of course. I hope it goes well. Look in upon the steward when you have time, if you have time before …’

‘It will be a time yet, so I can do that, my lord. Babes is oft born at night, and I think this one will be so. Mother Winflaed says … said … as it is good to keep the place dark, then the babe is not surprised by the light, nor fearful to come out into it. Too long a travail is bad for the mother and the child both.’

‘Yes. To your duty then, Healer, and God aid you.’

‘Thank you, my lord. I …’ her voice became for a moment a confidential whisper, ‘I wish I had had more time.’

‘Your time is now, and you will learn from what you do, just as you learnt from watching. A score years hence all Lench will be saying “that is what Hild the Healer says” as if it was a law from the king.’

‘Hild the Healer,’ repeated the girl, with a dawning smile. ‘It sounds right, don’t it?’

‘It does.’ He smiled at her, and she bobbed again and departed, leaving the old woman and the lady upon the bed.

‘You wants me to stay, my lord?’ the oldmother questioned, unsure.

‘There is no need. The lady is safe, and I would speak gently with her, but privately.’

The old woman looked at him, and what she saw confirmed the truth of his words. She could go with an eased heart.

‘There’s not been enough gentleness in this manor for far, far too long,’ she commented, sagely and departed, shaking her head.

Bradecote approached the bed. The lady de Lench lay now upon her side, a coverlet drawn up to her neck, with the pale face, and a hand clutching a kerchief, the only parts of her visible.

‘I warned your steward, and I see that I ought to have warned you, lady. Your husband’s son leaps to thoughts that others come to slowly. What possessed you to be alone with the man Fulk? It could do no good and immense harm.’

‘It was not intended.’ Her voice was a whisper. ‘I had thought to stay quiet and on my own, for I have much to think upon. But those thoughts brought me to weeping. I acknowledge my sin, will confess it and do whatever penance the Church sets me, but always the blame lies with the woman, the shame at least. Even Hamo thinks it. What happened