Anne Herries - Medieval Brides

‘That’s honest,’ Cecily said, smiling. ‘And, since I happen to think hoisting sacks of grain is not a job for a girl, I agree—you can be my maid. It would seem that neither of us knows exactly what that might entail, so we shall learn together.’

Matty gave a little skip. ‘Thank you, my lady, you won’t regret it.’

‘I trust not. First, let me help you with that bed, and this mess that Sir Adam has created, and then you can help me change. It’s time I went back to the cookhouse to see whether either of your brothers has the makings of a cook.’

Cecily had not forgotten her promise to look at Edmund’s broken leg. When she came down from changing into Emma’s gown, she sent for him and asked that he should wait for her outside the Hall, on the bench facing the village green. That way she could take advantage of the last of the daylight and examine him properly.

The air was icy, and on her way out Cecily snatched up the blue cloak Adam had lent her and wound it round her shoulders. She was glad to put it on—not only on account of the cold, but also because Emma’s blue gown revealed far more of her shape than her novice’s habit had done, and she felt very self-conscious.

Outside, Adam’s men were toing and froing from the Hall to the armoury and stables, a constant flow of traffic. And, late though it was, a clanging from the smithy down the road told her that the armourer had been put to work.

As Cecily took her seat next to Edmund on the bench by the Hall wall, a swirl of gold leaves blew past the pillory and came to rest in a drift by the stocks. Adam emerged from the armoury with Sir Richard and started walking back to the Hall.

‘Bloody fiends,’ Edmund muttered, glowering sullenly at the two knights. ‘They took my weapons—even my seax, for God’s sake. A housecarl without a seax. I feel naked, unmanned.’

‘You are alive, Edmund, and that is surely a blessing,’ Cecily murmured. Lightly, she touched his leg, and lifted it onto her knee to begin unwrapping the splint bindings. ‘How long since you broke it?’

Edmund shrugged, and his silver bracelets jingled. ‘Can’t remember, exactly.’

‘Sometime before Hastings, I think you said?’

Another shrug. ‘Must have been—otherwise I would have accompanied your father and Cenwulf.’

‘It should be healing by now.’ Setting aside the splint and bandages, Cecily probed Edmund’s calf. ‘This bone?’

‘Aye.’ He winced.

‘Does it hurt when you bend the knee?’

A scowl between his brows, Edmund nodded.

Puzzled, Cecily watched as Edmund flexed his leg. The bone seemed to have knitted together cleanly enough, there was no scarring, the skin had not been broken, and as far as she could see his movement was not restricted.

Adam and Richard had reached the Hall door, and though she was concentrating on Edmund, Cecily’s sixth sense told her that Adam had paused on the threshold to look her way before following Richard inside. Always he watches me. Always. I must be wary.

Tentatively, Edmund put his foot on the ground. Cecily stood and offered him her arm. ‘Here—try and put your weight on it.’

Edmund’s gaze met hers. ‘Must I?’

‘Yes. I need to see how you do—how otherwise can I help you?’

Biting his lip, Edmund rose and, clutching at her for support, gingerly put the weight on his injured leg. ‘Ah, Sweet Christ, Cecily—it’s agony!’ He fell back onto the bench.

Cecily frowned. Something was not right here. A clean break, as this had been, and well knit together…

‘It shouldn’t be this painful, Edmund. Not after all this time. I cannot think what is wrong. Perhaps you need to rest it awhile longer?’

Retrieving the bandages and splints, she set about rebinding Edmund’s leg. At least he hadn’t gone pale when he’d tried to stand, and there had been no sweat on his brow—a sure sign of trouble. Nor had Edmund complained of feeling sick when he put his weight on his leg, as sometimes happened if breaks did not heal well. The continued pain was a mystery.

‘Best not take any chances. We’ll keep these on,’ she said. ‘Use your crutches, but test it with your weight now and then, and I’ll look at it again in another week.’ She smiled. ‘Perhaps the odd prayer to Saint Swithun might help?’

‘My thanks,’ Edmund said, but he did not smile back.

She made to rise but, bracelets chinking, Edmund stayed her with his hand. ‘Don’t go—not yet,’ he said, in a swift undertone. ‘There’s something we must settle, and quickly, while those bastards are out of earshot.’

‘Edmund?’

‘We must get Philip away from here.’

Cecily raised a brow, and would have responded, but Edmund silenced her with a swift headshake.

‘He should not be at Fulford,’ he said urgently. ‘Not with the place crawling with the bastard’s men. We must get him away.’

Heart sinking, Cecily shook her head. ‘Away? No, Edmund. He’s so small. He must stay here, with Gudrun.’

Edmund’s gaze was wintry. ‘You think him safe here?’

‘Yes…No…I don’t know.’ Cecily gripped Edmund’s hand. ‘But he needs his wet nurse. And I don’t think Sir Adam would hurt him, if that’s what you mean.’

Her hand was flung aside. ‘Not hurt him? You think a man come here to win lands for himself would spare the real heir? How can you say that when half of southern England is laid waste?’

‘Half of southern England?’ A shiver ran down her spine. ‘What do you mean?’

Edmund flung her a scornful glance. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know.’

‘Edmund, I don’t know. I have been stuck in a convent these past four years, Mother Aethelflaeda kept us in ignorance. Please explain.’

‘After Hastings, Duke William thought to march to London unopposed. But he thought wrong.’

‘There was resistance?’

‘Yes.’ Edmund’s eyes were bleak. ‘And in retaliation the bastard cut a bloody swathe through the south. Every town and village he came across was fired and put to the sword. Women were raped, children killed—’

Cecily’s hand was at her mouth. ‘No! No, Edmund.’

‘Yes!’ Face tight with hatred, he leaned closer. ‘I am telling the truth! It was not like Winchester. Around London the bastard’s men even burnt the grain in the storehouses, and they killed the animals, ensuring that even if some poor souls did manage to escape they’d starve to death later. Cecily, William of Normandy won’t be happy until every Saxon in England is food for crows.’

Catching Edmund’s arm, Cecily forced herself to speak with calm and conviction. ‘Adam is not like that.’

Edmund snorted.

‘He is not. Use your brain, Edmund. He didn’t kill you, he merely disarmed you! You would have done the same in his place. Adam has hurt no one at Fulford—not even Father’s hounds when they went for him. And he wouldn’t hurt Philip. This I know.’

‘You fool! You blind, stupid…You…woman.’ He gave her a little shake. ‘Adam Wymark wants the land. Philip is your father’s heir. Think, Cecily, think! Face the truth—bloody as it is. The man is a Frank. He killed to get here, and he’ll kill to stay.’

‘He won’t kill Philip—not a baby! A baby couldn’t inherit anyway. Not for years. He would have to be made ward of court or some such.’

Edmund’s expression changed to one of sudden enlightenment. ‘You’re in love with him!’

‘I am not. I hardly know him!’

‘Yes, you are. You want to marry him. I should have known when you rode in like his whore, smiling at him, speaking his language—’

‘It’s my language too. My mother was Norman, or have you forgotten?’