Elizabeth Chadwick - The Conquest

Rolf glanced sidelong and saw the glint of amusement in FitzOsbern's eyes. When Rolf had first started dealing with him two years ago, he had found FitzOsbern's expressionless delivery extremely disconcerting. Was the man speaking in earnest or in jest? Rolf had since learned to read the signs, but they were hardly obvious – a slight turn of the lips, a deepening of the eye creases, if you were fortunate.

'You'll thank me for the fire in his feet when you take him on a battlefield,' Rolf retorted.

'Interesting you should say that.' FitzOsbern preceded Rolf into the hall and looked around with the keen eye of a connoisseur. His gaze lit on Arlette, who was supervising the clearing away of the breakfast repast, her hands busy with a drop spindle and fluff of carded fleece.

Noticing the men, she hurried over, her pale complexion suffusing with pink.

'My lord, what a pleasure,' she said to FitzOsbern.

Rolf could tell that she meant entirely the opposite. He could see her mind flurrying to the kitchens to check if they had enough food, could see her wondering where they were going to accommodate FitzOsbern and his entourage if he decided to stay the night. She would manage, she always did, but not without a deal of anguish and hand-wringing in private.

'The pleasure is mine,' FitzOsbern returned as a matter of Form, inclining his head.

'Bring us hot wine to the solar,' Rolf said, then added to FitzOsbern, 'Will you stay to eat with us?'

'Thank you, but no. I have to press on to Rouen, and if this sleet becomes snow, the roads will be difficult.'

Rolf could almost hear Arlette's sigh of relief as she hurried away to mull a pitcher of wine. He took their guest to the long room on the floor above the hall. It had been divided up into living and sleeping quarters by the artful use of woollen curtains and embroideries. Near the window a woman was busy weaving at a tall loom. Rolf dismissed her and directed FitzOsbern to a cushioned box chair positioned close to a glowing brazier. He fetched himself the stool on which the maid had been sitting.

FitzOsbern sighed and extended his feet towards the warmth. Rolf watched his face, hunting for nuances of expression. 'You said that it was interesting that I should mention taking Hirondelle onto a battlefield?'

FitzOsbern returned Rolf's stare and the suggestion of a smile curved his narrow lips. 'I am here with the offer of a commission from the Duke himself. He needs warhorses, and you are the man to supply them.'

Rolf gently caressed the palm of his right hand with the fingertips of his left while he absorbed this information. 'How many and for what purpose?' he asked after a moment.

The thin lips twitched further into a smile and then straightened. 'The number has yet to be judged; several hundred, I would imagine.'

Rolf was stunned. 'There are not several hundred horses in the entire stud, let alone for sale.'

'I know, and those you do have, I want to purchase now for my own use.'

Rolf was totally baffled and FitzOsbern's smile developed substance. Rolf opened his mouth to demand a coherent answer, but subsided as the door swung open and Arlette came in bearing a pitcher of gently steaming dark wine and two of their best cups. The fragrance of cinnamon perfumed the air as she poured for the men and set a bowl of warm, fresh honey cakes at the guest's right hand. FitzOsbern exchanged pleasantries with her, enquiring after her health and that of the infant to whom he had sent a birth gift of an exquisitely carved ivory cross. Arlette murmured the proper responses, her grey eyes modestly downcast. Rolf fiddled impatiently with his cup, fully aware that FitzOsbern was drawing out the tedious chit-chat just to tease him.

He tap-tapped his finger ring against the side of the cup. Arlette looked at him, made her excuses and left.

'Well trained,' commented FitzOsbern, his eyes on the door. 'Robert Strongarm's daughter, isn't she? Some useful connections.'

Rolf said nothing. He had little contact with Arlette's family. Since Strongarm's death, they were mainly a network of nuns and widowed aunts, albeit with bloodlines allied to the Ducal house. He had as little to do with them as possible.

'Very well, I'll stop teasing you,' said his visitor. 'The Duke desires to take King Edward's crown from the usurper Godwinson. As you are doubtless aware, the throne was promised to William more than fifteen years ago, and Godwinson swore an oath that when the time came he would help him sit there.'

Rolf raised an eyebrow. 'No-one ever expected Godwinson to keep that oath.'

'No, but it still makes people look on him as a perjurer. There is to be a council held at Lillebonne to discuss the possibility of taking an army across the narrow sea. Will you come?'

Rolf spread his hands. 'I am only a small landholder compared to great men such as you – what difference will my word make?'

FitzOsbern began to smile again. 'What difference does anyone's word make when our Duke is set on his purpose? No, we need men of practicality there for when the decision is agreed — shipwrights and armourers, chandlers, sailmakers and the like. Numbers and quantities will have to be estimated and the work set in motion. Your task, as I see it, will be to find the extra horses that the Duke will require for remounts and such. You have contacts and you know a sound beast when you see one.'

'Do you need my answer now?'

'It would be useful.'

Feeling dazed, Rolf looked into the brazier cupped in its wrought iron stand. While he did not want to neglect the stud, the thought of buying horses at the Duke's expense, with little risk to himself, was very appealing. He could almost smell the freedom on his skin like a warm, salt wind.

He raised gleaming eyes to FitzOsbern. 'Yes,' he said. 'I will come.'

That night, lying beside Arlette in the great bed, he stared up at the ceiling, his mind ploughing one thought after another like the bows of a galley surging through a brisk sea. How much fodder would an army's horse rank need? How long did Duke William intend keeping them in one place before he embarked? The quantities of urine and dung would be phenomenal. Transporting horses on ships was never easy even in calm weather. If a storm blew up, the only resort was prayer, and Rolf was all too aware that while God was good, he was also very fickle.

Beside him Arlette raised herself on one elbow and peered down at him. 'Can you not sleep, my lord?'

In the dim light of the single night candle her body was all gold and shadows. The way she was leaning had squashed together and lifted her small breasts, giving them the hint of a cleavage they did not possess.

'I was thinking.'

'I know, I could almost hear you.' Her hand stole out to stroke his arm. 'Is it because of FitzOsbern's visit today?'

The touch of her smooth fingertips upon his bicep provoked a lazy interest lower down. Nothing drastically vigorous, for the moment FitzOsbern had departed, he had quenched his nervous excitement within Berthe's copious, greedy body. In the stables, fully clothed; five minutes of blinding oblivion.

'He wants me to buy some horses for the Duke,' he said neutrally. 'I've to go to Lillebonne to discuss the details.'

Her fingers ceased to move and her body stiffened. 'When?'

'Tomorrow.'

'So soon!'

'I've to get there and find lodgings. Besides, if I'm on the road, I might as well do some buying and selling on the way.' He reached out to cup her dismayed, delicate face in his palm. 'You know that I always come back,' he said softly. 'You know that Brize-sur-Risle is my harbour and you are my anchor. I'll bring you a bolt of silk to make a gown and thread-of-gold to trim it.'

'How long will you be gone?' Her immense eyes were troubled and he felt a pang of guilty irritation. Harbours and anchors were all very well, but he longed with all his heart for the wildness of the open sea.