The Valcourt Heiress (Medieval Song 7)

Burnell’s lips pursed. “You speak of carnal matters, my lord.”

“Like every breathing man I know, I find it a satisfying subject, sir.”

“You are young,” Burnell said, his voice sour. “Curses upon all young men, I say. But there is more than lust, my lord, at least there is later in life when all good things have waned.”

Aye, he thought, there was more than lust, even for young men. Garron saw Merry in his mind’s eye, bargaining with a leather merchant, and said without thought, “Sometimes women are competent and cocky and stubborn as any man.” He laughed. “Aye, sometimes they are warrior brave.”

“I find it interesting your bastard makes lists like our queen.”

His bastard? Was that her laugh he heard? “Mayhap it is common amongst women who know how to read and write.”

“Most churchmen

believe women are simple creatures, here only to birth men’s children and see to their needs. You look at me like I’ve lost my wits. Are churchmen right, I wonder?”

“Simple creatures? A man would have to be a hermit to believe such nonsense. Have you seen Merry’s writing? Have you noticed how she has gathered all the women together here at Wareham and set each to specific tasks, the men as well? The men respect her and defer to her. Aleric searches her out to ask her opinions. Now that she has Book One of Leech Book of Bald, I know she will become an excellent healer. She is many things, but she is not simple.”

Burnell chewed on another chunk of hare, dripping rich, thick gravy on his chin. He remembered in the last century, Eleanor of Aquitaine—that contentious witch with her hellhound sons—had written beautiful script. King Henry had kept her a prisoner for more years than some men lived, and look what she’d wrought. Endless plots against her husband, murdering his mistresses, setting one rapacious son against the other. Ah, but he’d heard she’d written and recited poetry to make a man’s heart bleed.

And his own precious Queen Eleanor. She read and wrote. She made lists, volumes of lists, each one to the point, each one useful. She advised the king. She kissed his bruises and bit his ear once, then kissed it, when she didn’t know anyone was about. Burnell said, “Take care, Garron, mayhap this redheaded wench will oust you from Wareham and set herself up as lord.”

Garron smiled, his eyes drawn yet again to Merry, now sitting next to Borran, doubtless discussing the repairs for the looms. Her braids were clean and shining in the rush lighting, from her own soap. She’d told him the soap she’d found at Winthorpe was too dear, and so she’d bought ingredients to make Wareham soap herself. Jasmine, she’d told him.

Garron knew, as he suspected every single man alive knew, that women were not simple. He also knew the queen was right—women would not change. They were eager when it came to passion, if a man wasn’t a lout; but during the long days, they’d criticize and nag a man until he went off to fight a war or he keeled over dead to escape.

On the other hand, he didn’t believe men ever changed, either. They coveted what wasn’t theirs, they always found reasons why what they wanted should belong to them, and they stole and hacked and maimed. Mayhap like the castellans of his Radstock and Furly keeps, Sir Gregory in particular—a man’s loyalties had to be reinforced, constantly, else he might slide off the path. Women as well?

23

That night, after he had lost two games of chess to Burnell, Garron couldn’t sleep with all the snores surrounding him in the great hall, and so he woke Gilpin, who could sleep through a raging storm, and they moved their goose-feather mattresses to the lord’s bedchamber. Garron spent a long time listening to Robert Burnell snore like a stoat, his man Dilkin sprawled on his back on the floor on a mess of blankets, snoring as loudly as Burnell, in harmony, it seemed to Garron.

He left, yawning and blurry-eyed, with Robert Burnell the next morning and ten men, all of them armed to the teeth. He left Aleric in charge.

Merry stood on the ramparts and watched them ride into the Forest of Glen, Aleric standing at her elbow. Garron had merely nodded to her and given Aleric a nice long list of instructions to give to her, which he did once the line of men had disappeared from sight.

It was a sunny morning, shining down on Aleric’s bald head. “You seem worried, Aleric. Do you believe either Radstock or Furly will resist swearing fealty to Garron? The men Sir Wills and Sir Gregory sent seem content to be here and eager to work. Do you think their masters sent them here to spy out our weaknesses?”

“Nay, I do not think that, but I do believe it wise for Lord Garron to have Robert Burnell with him. No man with a brain would resist King Edward. Sir Gregory of Furly, now that little spittlecock has more ambition than brains, but Garron will see to him. The men each man sent are workers to build, not to spy, and they can fight if they must, so that is a relief. Hobbs told me both Sir Wills and Sir Gregory were relieved to hear Garron is not like his brother. To have their new lord the king’s man is of value as well. Pali and Gilpin will speak to the men within the keeps. They will see the truth of things very quickly.

“Worry not, mistress. Despite his few years, Garron is a leader, he has taught me strategies over the years. He is a man to trust. He has a brain, bless the beneficent Saint Simian, who gave away his sandals to a beggar. He then cut his foot on a rock, and died screaming in pain a sennight later, so it was said. If there is something of value to learn in that tale, I have yet to find it.”

Merry wondered why Simian hadn’t been smart enough to consult a healer. “How do you come to be Garron’s master-at-arms?”

Aleric’s face split into a huge grin. “Now there is a tale to boil the blood. It was all about a thieving merchant, a milking cow, and a hapless gypsy. Another time, mistress. Garron will keep his possessions safe, and if Sir Wills and Sir Gregory have any brains at all, they will hold steadfast to him and his authority.

“Look yon at our magnificent cattle. Garron allowed me to select them myself since my father was a master herdsman. I could help birth a calf and milk the mother when I was just a lad. Now, the cattle will continue to graze outside the keep until this afternoon. Then we will bring them in, the dairy maids will milk them, and we will winch up the drawbridge and lower the portcullis and be snug within, fifty cattle mooing in our ears, their sweet milk warm in our bellies.

“We don’t have that many trained soldiers but we do have a lot of healthy workers. We will be fine.” He massaged his shoulder, since his muscles pulled and cramped because he’d carried more stacks of cut wood than he ever had in his life the day before, and he wasn’t a lad of twenty anymore, cursed be the passing years that simply never stopped to let a man catch up.

“Your shoulder pains you, Aleric. You have lifted too many heavy planks of wood, haven’t you, pounded in too many nails? Let me consult my herbal.”

Taking herbs for knotted muscles? Was she mad? Every soldier knew pain after a battle, and the rebuilding was worth at least three battles, but it had to be done, so no matter. He started to say it was nothing, but he said instead, “Thank you,” and continued to rub. She’d been right about that. Still—afterward, not two hours later—Garron had been full of plans, balanced again, even smiling.

She said, “Let us go over our lists, Aleric, and determine what is to be done each day.”

“Lord Garron did not leave me a separate list, just the one for you.”

So Aleric did not read. She said matter-of-factly, “No matter, I will read you what he has written and we will see.”