at the trunks and travelling chests Hugh had stacked on the jetty. Inside, her heart was breaking—for Hugh, for the loss of her friendship with him—but that did not prevent her from feeling angry at what he had done. ‘He had no right to remove my things.’
‘Well, I for one am grateful, as it gives me a chance to make you change your mind.’
‘That will not happen. Count Richard gave me the Alfold estate and I need to see it for myself. Apparently it is much run down. I would like to set it to rights.’
‘That might not be as easy as you imagine. Think, Aude. England remains unsettled. Since Duke William took the crown, it has been a country in ferment. Remember what Count Richard told us, what happened up in the north—’
‘Alfold is in the south.’
‘The entire realm is unsettled,’ Edouard pressed on, wrapping an arm about her and giving her a conciliatory hug. ‘And irritating though you are at times, I do not want to lose you.’
‘Edouard, you are wasting words, I will not change my mind.’ She threw a dark glance towards her brother’s erstwhile friend, powerless to prevent herself from running her gaze one last time over that magnificent physique. Holy Mother help her. ‘He had no right.’
‘There is no arguing with a desperate man.’ Edouard took her by the elbow and guided her from the dockside towards the market square. ‘Besides, you really do not want to become entangled with Hugh Duclair. Remember, I do not want you speaking to him.’ His expression lightened. ‘Looks the part though, doesn’t he? Exactly like a river pirate.’
‘A river pirate? You think so?’ Aude hung back. What with that stunning masculinity, those angry, flashing eyes—the word Lucifer sprang to mind. ‘Edouard, my things! We can’t abandon them on the dock…’
Edouard gestured for his squire. ‘Raoul, be so good as to have my lady’s travelling chests returned to the Abbey lodge.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
As Raoul called over some porters, Aude allowed her brother to place her fingers back on his arm.
‘Now, Aude, I would like you to complete that confession of yours. You were about to tell me, I think, that you had booked passage to Honfleur.’
Edouard’s voice was stern, but amusement lit his eyes, it was lingering in the corners of his mouth. Aude hung her head. She did not feel particularly contrite, not when her brother seemed intent on making decisions on her behalf, decisions that were blatantly wrong, but perhaps a small show of meekness might help.
‘I am sorry to spoil your plans, Edouard, but I really have no wish to become a nun. I did try to tell you back at Crèvecoeur.’ They began walking towards the Abbey gates. ‘Believe me, the life of a nun does not appeal.’
Edouard gave her a searching look and grunted. ‘I do realise that, even though after Martin’s death I clearly recall you saying something about retiring from the world.’
Crossing the thoroughfare, they nodded a greeting to the abbot’s sentries at the gatehouse and passed under the arch and into the Abbey courtyard. The church of Our Lady stood before them with its two massive towers. The façade was bright with fresh paint—the reds and blues glowed like jewels.
Aude grimaced. ‘Yes, I remember. A person says many things in the first throes of grief that later they come to see are untrue.’
‘I can understand that, you loved Martin a great deal. Relax, Aude, I can’t see you in a convent myself, that was not my main reason for arranging the interview. I was hoping that you might be ready to consider marriage.’
‘Marriage? No!’ Suppressing a shudder, she moderated her tone. ‘One day perhaps.’ Immediately her unruly mind presented her with a disturbing image of a half-naked deck-hand. Swallowing hard, Aude thrust it to the back of her mind.
‘Aude, it was not easy arranging this appointment with the Abbot, I had to call in a few favours to get it. I insist you speak to him.’
She stiffened her spine. ‘Very well. Since you wish it, I shall meet with the Abbot. But I want to make it quite clear, I will not be forced into making vows of any kind.’
Chapter Two
Downstream at Château de Tancarville, a lookout high in the clifftop tower was idly staring at an eagle as it glided over the river below.
He yawned. Despite the wind that whistled round the heights summer and winter alike, the man’s helmet was hot and tight, and he couldn’t wait to remove it. But he was proud of his position as castle guard, so he stood firm. Duke William’s own tutor had made this castle what it was today, a defensive watchtower with clear views of Normandy for miles around.
On one side you could see the Seine gleaming like a silver snake as it wound out to the sea, and in the other direction the port of Quillebeuf. Generations ago, Viking dragonships had hidden out between raids there, as they sacked and pillaged their way inland. Jumièges, Rouen, Paris…
Nothing half so exciting had happened that morning and the sentry was bored, glad his stint was almost over.
A bell sounded the noon hour.
A rowboat was drifting at the midpoint. The rower had shipped oars and his head was turned in the direction of a mysterious wave which had formed right across the water. The lookout could not see the rower’s expression, but his stomach gave a sick lurch. He had never seen a wave like that, not on a river. It stretched from one bank to the other and it was powering upstream towards Quillebeuf and the rowboat like a serpent from hell.
A wave? Coming upstream?
‘Here, Gérard, is that a tidal bore?’
‘Can’t be, Pascal. Wrong time of year.’
‘Well, I might have had too much Rhenish last night, but that looks like a tidal bore to me. Come on, man, quick!’ he said, pointing.
Gérard looked and went grey. He swore and hastily crossing himself, leaned out over the parapet. ‘Tidal bore!’ He grabbed the rope of the alarm bell. ‘Tidal bore! La barre!’
‘That rowboat,’ Pascal added, shaking his head in horrified fascination. ‘Will it make it?’
It looked unlikely. Forced upstream by the incoming tide, the wave was gathering height as well as pace. It whipped along, bearing down on the boat faster than a man could run. Foam sprayed out along the riverbanks.
The noon bell had stopped ringing. Gérard’s alarm bell died away. Down by the river, the screaming began.
It seemed there was no escaping the interview with Abbot Bertram. Aude was determined it would not take long.
Shortly after noon, she and Edouard went to meet the Abbot in the old church, St Peter’s. They stood in the shady cool of a side passage as the chanting faded, and watched the monks file out. The rich scent of incense lingered in the air. Shafts of sunlight were falling in perfect lines through the narrow windows, illuminating here a carved bird, there an angel in full flight.
Abbot Bertram was sitting on a stone wall-bench, a compact,
