The Valcourt Heiress (Medieval Song 7)

Lisle, whose hands were busily smoothing a huge ball of gray wool, said, “Mayhap our ways are different because men have always drunk all the ale and left none for us.”

More laughter, some of it from a few men who had drifted close.

Miggins said, “All ye little peahens, listen to me. We wring our hands, we weep hot loud tears, we shriek our woes to the heavens when something bad befalls us. I ask ye, can ye see Lord Garron wringing his hands? Mayhap crying on Aleric’s shoulder, bemoaning what the fates have dumped on his head?”

Merry sighed, rubbed her bottom again. “Nay, I cannot imagine that.”

Miggins said, “Lord Garron is a good man, not crooked like his brother, but straight in his body and in his thoughts. He is very young, mayhap not quite ripe enough, yet he is a dandy lad. He cares about all of us, Merry. He cares. Look around you. There is life again at Wareham, life and a future for all of us. What is a mug of ale when compared to what he has wrought?”

“Next you will call him a god.” Merry walked back into the weaving shed. She turned and asked, “Was Ulric your husband, Miggins?”

Miggins gave her a huge toothless grin.

An hour later, Sir Lyle and Aleric told Garron and Burnell that the new smith Garron had hired in Winthorpe, Ronsard his name, was gone, all his belongings with him and he’d stolen a horse.

“I wonder,” Burnell said, “if the Black Demon will slit Ronsard’s throat when he finds out he failed.”

22

Garron’s men returned with good news. Neither Furly nor Radstock had been attacked. Garron wasn’t surprised that neither Sir Wills nor Sir Gregory had heard about the Retribution at Wareham, for who was there to tell them? They had, appropriately, sent back a dozen men to help make repairs on their lord’s castle, surely a good sign as to their intentions. The men were immediately put to work building beds.

Garron stood on the ramparts and contemplated his good fortune in the face of what could have crushed him. Not even a fortnight had passed since Tupper had managed to winch up the portcullis, and now, instead of twenty-two starving ragtag people, there were, in addition to Robert Burnell’s men, close to sixty-five people in Garron’s great hall, all of them drinking from the dozens of wooden mugs Merry had bought in Winthorpe. Merry had told him at dinner, “The old woman informed me proudly that she had all the mugs I could need, as few could afford to buy them since they lasted forever.” She handed him a hunk of bread and goat cheese. “When I told her I would take the lot, she broke into song with her scrawny old husband, and the two of them danced a jig. So maybe I really wasn’t outbargained, since I will never forget their fine performance.”

Garron laughed. He realized as he scanned all the open land between Wareham and the Forest of Glen that he couldn’t recall having laughed so much in a very long time.

By the following evening there were four new trestle tables and eight new benches, all stout and sturdy, ready for a good hundred years of men’s arses. Garron realized there were no more dark corners in his great hall. It wasn’t the burning rush torches in the wall sconces that cleared the shadows, nay, it was the pulse of so many breaths and the pounding heartbeats of so many people.

As for the jakes, he wondered if maybe thinking about problems whilst he sat there wasn’t such a bad idea.

He and Burnell were leaving the following morning for Furly, then onward to Radstock, another half day to the north. He did not want to leave Wareham and so he tried again to convince Burnell that since Sir Wills and Sir Gregory had sent men to help, it surely meant they were eager to swear their fealty to him. Surely, a visit from him could wait.

Burnell speared a piece of baked hare on his knifepoint. “I am relieved your two keeps were left unharmed. I am pleased they sent men. It means, of course, that this Black Demon believes Arthur’s silver to be here, nowhere else. Still, the king believes that since neither Sir Wills nor Sir Gregory knows you, you are best served looking each man in the eyes as you accept his homage.”

There was no hope for it. Garron said, “We will quickly discover if either of them is stupid since with you at my side, they know the king’s shadow sits close by. If ever they considered falling out of line, they will quickly fall back in.” He began tossing his knife from one hand to the other, a fine exercise he’d always found. “If there were not so much to be done here at Wareham, it might be interesting to have Sir Gregory balk a bit. I’ve heard he’s a stubborn stoat, full of conceit and aggression. I wonder what he will do in the future? Truth be told, sir, I’m itching for a good fight. I think the king enjoyed fighting with me because I learned quickly enough to duck under those long arms of his. I tried to teach him to kick out with his big feet, but he never got the knack.”

“I watched the two of you once. My brave, agile king clouted your head and sent you flying into some yew bushes.”

Garron remembered his head had pounded for two days. “Aye, that was before I learned to leap backward, fast as a goat.”

“Did you not get your fill of fighting when you saved that kidnapped boy in the Clandor Forest?”

“There really wasn’t much to it. Because his destrier was near, their leader escaped me. You told me you couldn’t think of any lad in the vicinity who might be worth taking for ransom.”

“When I return to London, I will inquire.” Burnell drank some more ale, then softly belched.

Garron continued after a moment. “I wonder if the boy is still alive. I must doubt it, given he was alone and black-hearted men abound on God’s earth. It’s a pity, the lad had grit.”

Burnell pointed toward Merry, who was laughing at something young Ivo said to her. Her head was tilted and one of the small braids had worked itself loose and was lying against her cheek. “You told me you disciplined her—a good lesson, I say, to all the women, although I doubt your punishment will lead any of them to mind their tongues in the future.” Burnell sighed. “Women will not change, so our glorious queen assures me. She says it is simply not in their natures. The king agreed—I well remember the placid look he gave her when she spoke—but who knows? Stranger things have occurred, like the story of God raining locusts upon Egypt.”

Garron laughed, bit off a chunk of bread with his strong teeth, looked over to where their new miller, Arno, sat stuffing down his own bread dripping with gravy. The fellow certainly knew what he was doing; there was not a single piece of grit in the bread to break teeth.

“What think you, Garron?”

He shrugged. “As long as our women do what I tell them to do, why should I care about their natures?”

“Do they always obey you?”

“They do whenever I’ve sought one of them out for enjoyment.” Garron thought of Lady Blanche, one of the queen’s ladies, who’d enjoyed coming to his small bedchamber in the middle of the night and awakening him with kisses on his belly. He shuddered with the memory.