Splendor, page 14
The knowledge tempted him, and he questioned just how far she would go. He was determined to find out.
“And I suppose you want to know what these proceedings, as you call them, are all about.”
“I assume Henry has engaged Stephen and that you fear a possible siege from those at Derby,” she said, her hands working at his shoulder.
“Ahh,” he sighed. “Your fingers are like magic.” He leaned back against the water-soaked wood. “Do the front, will you?”
She sidled around the tub on her knees and was now facing him. “That is the reason you are strengthening the castle, isn’t it?” she asked, again massaging his shoulder.
“A little lower,” he said, and her hands drifted down to attend to the right side of his chest. “In answer to your question, we could be attacked at any time. Over to the left a bit, please.” Her hands moved and he sighed again. “Now, what was I saying?”
“You mentioned we could be attacked at any time.”
“Yes, that’s true. But I have no confirmation that Henry has engaged Stephen—not yet, anyway. When such a thing does occur, I doubt those at Derby will go too far afield. At least no farther than to see to the safety of their own boundaries, that is.”
“If you aren’t concerned about those at Derby, then why the added weaponry?”
“Back to the right a bit. Ahh. That’s good. Now back the other way.” As Catherine’s hands moved, Rolfe fought back a grin. “Now lower, please.” She complied, her fingers tracing to the underside of his ribs. “Lower again.” Her hands feathered almost to his waist, then abruptly stilled. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re using me,” she accused, glaring at him.
“No more than you intended to use me,” he replied.
With a strangled growl, her hands came up from the tub. Thinking she might strike him, Rolfe reacted. Lightning-fast, he banded both her wrists in his left hand.
“Loose me,” she demanded, struggling to be free.
The action jarred his shoulder, but he held on. “Not until I learn the truth of it, Catherine.”
“What truth?”
“This.”
Releasing her hands, he caught the back of her head and pulled her to him. He kissed her hard, his tongue tracing her lips. Just as quickly, he freed her.
She fell away from the tub and rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand. “How dare you!”
“I dared because you offered.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Didn’t you?” he asked. “You were eager enough to assist me with my bath. Even used your hands in an attempt to soothe me and loosen my tongue. ’Tis not in your character to touch a naked man. Not unless you want something. I’m curious. Had I played the game differently, just how far would you have gone to learn whatever it is you’re seeking?”
“I’m not a whore,” she defended.
“No, you’re not,” he returned. “If you were, you’d presently be in that bed with your legs wrapped around my waist.” She gasped at his brashness, and he smiled. “Seek to tempt me again, and you’ll know the consequences of doing so.”
She couldn’t hold his gaze. “I simply wanted an answer,” she said.
“Then why didn’t you ask the question straight off?”
“Because I didn’t think you’d tell me the truth.”
Rolfe sighed. “Get up, Catherine, and take yourself to your corner. Before we go any further with our discussion, I think I had better get dressed.”
She nodded, then rose and went to the far side of the room, where she waited, her back turned to him.
Rolfe attended himself as best he could, first drying himself with the linen bathsheet, then donning his braies, knotting the drawstring at his waist. Next he fixed his sling, pulled it over his head, then positioned his arm inside. Last, he threw a woolen mantle around his shoulders to ward off the room’s chill.
“Come hither,” he said when he was finished.
Slowly she came forward, then stopped several feet away. “If I ask, will you tell me the truth?”
“There’s no reason for me to lie. Likewise, you don’t need to ask the question, for I already know what it is. A messenger arrived three days ago with word from Henry that your father is in England.”
“Miles too?”
He noted how her face had brightened. “Aye, the bastard made the journey.” She began to sputter, but he waved her off. “Hear me out first, then you can defend him.” After the tussle by the tub, his shoulder was now causing him pain. His mood was darkening as well. “Henry ordered that we fortify Cartbridge just in case your father should find you. We are to delay him until Henry is assured victory.”
“Then they are on their way here.”
Rolfe noticed how her smile lit not only her face but her eyes. She obviously expected to be free any day. “They are on their way somewhere. There’s no guarantee that it is here. In fact, they may never find you. We are simply securing the castle as a precaution.”
Her smile faded. “You intend to fight them, don’t you?”
“If it becomes necessary, aye.”
“My God. My father, Miles, Geoffrey—you could kill them all.”
“If you’re worried about Miles, you shouldn’t be.”
She frowned. “Are you saying you have no intention of harming him?”
“I’m saying he has no intention of putting himself in harm’s way. By chance, should your rescuers find you, I doubt you’ll see Miles anywhere near the castle wall. More than likely, he’ll be out in yon wood, hiding behind a tree.” He could see his words didn’t set well. “Apparently you disagree.”
“You have continually maligned Miles, but you give no reason as to why you do so. You say you know him better than I, but you offer no proof. Is it because he favors Stephen and you approve of Henry? Is that why you attack him as you do? Simply because you are on opposite sides?”
Rolfe realized the time had come for her to learn the truth about her betrothed. He reached out and took her hand, then pulled her along to where the stool sat. “Seat yourself, milady,” he said, “while I do the same.”
As she perched on the stool, he shoved a chair close to her, then ensconced himself in it.
“This is my proof, Catherine.” He lifted his arm and showed her the scar. “As is this.” He pointed to the one at his waist. “There is another on my right thigh.”
“I remember,” she said, looking at her hands.
From when he’d boldly undressed in front of her at the abbey, he surmised, then continued on. “These wounds resulted from a raid by the Turks as I and a group of about two hundred Norman knights were traveling the road to Antalya five years ago during the Crusade. We had allied with Louis, but were well behind his army and were trying to catch up.
“Two men who were very close to me were also on the road that day. Robert de Bayeux was my mentor; I loved him as I would a father. Francis, his son, was like a brother to me. Also on that road was your betrothed.”
“Miles?” she asked, frowning.
“Aye. He was there. I can tell by your expression you didn’t know he was once a knight.”
“N-no. He never told me that.”
“I’m not sure I would tell anyone either if my sword and spurs were stripped from me, then broken as a mark of disgrace for my cowardice.”
“Are you accusing Miles of being a coward?”
“I’m not accusing him of anything. ’Tis a fact,” Rolfe said. “He was proved guilty of losing his courage and fleeing a battle. Two men died because of it.”
For a moment she was very quiet, then she asked, “Your mentor and his son?”
“Aye.”
“But many men lose their lives while in battle,” she proclaimed. “I don’t understand why Miles was singled out as the cause of their deaths.”
“That day we were taken unawares. One moment all was peaceful; the next, the air was filled with terrifying cries as the Turks streamed down the hillsides upon us. Robert and Francis were to one side, Miles with them. At the first wave, Miles fled, leaving father and son to fight alone. By the time I was able to battle my way to them, it was too late. They had been hacked to death, their remains mutilated.”
“How do you know it was Miles? It could have been another knight.”
She was unwilling to believe her betrothed could do such a thing. Rolfe intended to put her straight.
“It was Miles, all right. I recognized him. I also saw him run, as did a dozen other men. We later found him among a pile of rocks, hiding from us all. Then and there, in front of his peers, he met his disgrace as each of us who witnessed his cowardice testified against him. The implements of knighthood were stripped from him and broken. He was exiled from our company.”
Besides he and Garrick, Rolfe didn’t know if any of the men who’d observed the event were yet alive. While Garrick had returned to Normandy with him, the others had traveled on to Jerusalem. Short of food and riddled by disease, only a small portion of the French army that had journeyed along the road to Antalya survived to join their king. Rolfe imagined that many of the Norman force were among the casualties, for he’d not seen or heard of any of them since.
“So you see, Catherine, I have good reason to call him a coward, a weakling, a bastard, because he is all of these. Robert and Francis were not the only ones to die that day. There were many. In fact very few of us survived. But of those who lived and of those who died, all stood their ground, except one.”
“Miles,” she whispered.
Rolfe watched her closely. She seemed to have drifted into another realm, possibly trying to comprehend what he’d told her. “I do not lie, Catherine. If you doubt my word, you may ask Garrick. He was there. That is how we became friends.”
She looked up at him. “Your mentor—you said he was like a father to you, and his son, a brother. How is it you met?”
“I was seven when Robert de Bayeux came to Mont St. Michel on a pilgrimage. He spotted me, befriended me, and asked the monks if he could give me a home. The brothers agreed, for it was a time of unrest. Henry Beauclerc had just died, and Stephen had usurped the throne. The inhabitants of Avranches supported Stephen, while the Benedictines favored the rightful heir, Matilda. At the time, I think the good brothers wanted to get me as far from the mount as possible. As it later proved out, those at Avranches, Geoffrey among them, eventually attacked the abbey and burned the town.”
“How do you know Miles’s father was among them?”
“Ask Brother Bernard. He’ll confirm that it was so.”
“I will,” she said.
By her tone, he knew she refused to believe what he said was true. He wondered what it might take to convince her. More so, he questioned why he felt it was even necessary. Once he released her, he doubted he’d ever see her again. Why then was he so intent on persuading her?
“Just think, Catherine: Had Robert de Bayeux not plucked me from the mount, I might presently be a monk instead of a knight.” Her expression clearly told him what she thought of that idea. “I agree. I would have fallen far short of the piety expected of those who are affiliated with the order. As it was, Robert became my mentor and lord. He trained me to be a knight. Francis and I grew up together. Though he was two years older than I, we were the best of friends, brothers at heart. They were my family. And because of Miles’s cowardice, they are now gone. My question is this: Knowing the sort of man Miles really is, do you still hope to marry him? Think about it. Think long and hard.”
She acted as though she were about to say something, but a knock sounded on the door.
“Sire, ’tis me, Aubrey.”
The announcement came through the wood, and Rolfe shook his head. “I suppose he thinks I wouldn’t know him simply by his voice.” He rose, found the key, and unlocked the door. “About time you presented yourself,” he said upon opening the door. “Where have you been?”
“In the cellars, sire. But ’tis not my fault.”
“The cellars?”
“Aye. Her nurse summoned me down there, saying she needed some cloth, so she could make her lady a tunic. She claimed she feared there were rats. Once in the storeroom, she shoved me down, slammed the door, and locked me inside,” Aubrey announced. “I beat on the door from the time it happened. ’Twas a long while before someone heard me.”
Rolfe’s brow arched questioningly as he turned to look at Catherine; she had paled slightly.
“I—I asked Eloise to keep him below while I got some answers,” she said.
“Your plan was well conceived, milady. But as you are now aware, not in the least necessary.”
“I suppose I should have known better,” Aubrey stated, his dejection apparent.
“Aye, you should have,” Rolfe returned. “As I told you before, Aubrey: No matter who she is, never put your trust in a woman.”
“’Tis your move, milady,” Brother Bernard said.
Catherine stared absently at the chessboard. Her head was yet reeling from what Rolfe had told her about Miles. Though it had been a good week since their conversation, she still didn’t know what to believe. The Miles she knew was not at all like the man Rolfe had described. She supposed there was one way to settle the matter. But she’d been reluctant to ask Garrick about that day at Antalya. In truth, she feared he’d confirm Rolfe’s story, and she wasn’t certain she could face the knowledge that Miles was indeed a coward.
“Milady?” the monk prompted. “Have you grown tired of the game?”
“No,” she fibbed. “I’m just thinking about which man I should move.”
She and Brother Bernard sat in the great hall. Since the fortifications had been completed and the stores laid in, she was no longer locked in her room during the day. However, her newfound freedom did have its drawbacks. She was constantly supervised.
Today it was Brother Bernard’s turn to keep watch over her. Still examining what she’d been told about Miles, she decided to take advantage of her time alone with the monk. After all, she believed that one’s perception of the truth could vary widely from another’s. She wanted to know how Brother Bernard viewed the matter.
“How long have you known Rolfe de Mont St Michel?” she asked, moving her knight.
“Since the day the hounds found him on the marshes. ’Twas considered a miracle—one of many for the mount that bears the Archangel’s name.”
“He told me the story, but I was skeptical about its merit.”
The monk moved his rook. “You should not have been, my child. He was abandoned on the marshes. Just as the tides came in, he was found by one of the hounds and dragged by his swaddling to the safety of the mount. There are at least two dozen of my brethren at Mont St. Michel who will confirm that it is true. As far as your skepticism, I’ve never known Rolfe to lie about anything.”
Catherine moved her bishop and heard the instant clicking of the monk’s tongue. “What’s wrong?”
“Are you sure you want to do that?”
She studied the board. “Aye.”
“’Twas a mistake, I fear,” he returned, taking her bishop with his own.
As Catherine concentrated on her next move, she asked, “What do you know of Geoffrey d’Avranches?”
“He is a neighbor to Mont St. Michel—an untrustworthy one at that.”
“Why?” she inquired. “Because he supports Stephen?”
“That is part of it, but mainly because he was considered instrumental in inciting the townspeople of Avranches into assailing the abbey and burning the village at its base. His politics are motivated by greed. When Henry became duke of Normandy, Geoffrey wisely became less vocal, and certainly far less bold. However, he yet practices his chicanery, albeit in the cleverest of ways. ’Tis your move, milady.”
“Aye. I’m thinking,” she said. She didn’t know if she should accept the monk’s opinion as true. His own views might be biased because of his affiliation with Henry and his closeness to Rolfe. “Tell me: Who is Robert de Bayeux?”
“Try your rook,” he suggested.
“Thank you. I will.”
After her move, it was the monk’s turn to study the board. “I take it Rolfe has told you something of his past,” he said, touching his knight. Shaking his head, he withdrew his hand. “And I assume you are uncertain whether or not to believe what he’s said is true.”
“Some of it is difficult for me to accept,” she admitted.
“Such as?”
“He claims my betrothed is a coward—that Miles was the cause of Robert de Bayeux’s death.”
“And young Francis’s,” the monk inserted.
She released a long breath. “Aye. His too. Do you know that this is so?”
“I was not on the road to Antalya. Nor was I at the abbey when Rolfe brought Robert’s and Francis’s bones to the mount for burial. I can tell you only what the other brothers have said. Rolfe was devastated by their deaths. Because of it, his faith in God was shaken. He has not recovered his faith, nor has he forgiven the man whom he names as the cause of his great sorrow. I do know that if Rolfe says it was your betrothed, then it is so. As I said before, I have never known him to lie.
“As for Robert de Bayeux,” the monk continued, “he was a good and generous man. He took Rolfe into his care, raising him alongside his own son, treating both equally. I would say Robert did exceptionally well, for Rolfe is a man who is readily trusted. He is loyal and forthright. In fact, even among my own brethren, he would rank far higher than most. I say this because I know him. So, milady, if you doubt him, perhaps you need to become further acquainted with him. ’Tis the only way to ease your mind.”
