De Tourel snapped at the boy, who was staring in dawning horror at the blood welling up on his master’s sleeve through the improvised bandage, “Get that Jewish physician here at once and bring warmed water and towels. Your master has been wounded.”
The boy scuttled off and de Treville leaned back, grimacing as the pain of the wound was beginning to make itself felt.
“Stand up,” Rainald de Tourel ordered. “Let me help you off with your hauberk. The boy will be back soon with your physician. How in the name of the Virgin could this happen and you well guarded, I hope?”
De Treville did as his friend commanded and gave only the slightest of grunts as the painful business of divesting him of his mailed hauberk was concluded. He explained briefly what had occurred.
“I cannot, in justice, blame the men for being off guard. My back was turned and I had no expectation of the attack. God be thanked I heard the boy approach over the fallen leaves, though he moved like a cat, and was in time to prevent him stabbing me in the back or, more likely, the neck.” He grinned faintly. “I have the lad securely locked in the guardhouse.”
“You should have hanged him out of hand,” de Tourel commented tersely, “and left the body dangling from the keep to show the rest of the villagers you mean business.”
“Yes, I might well do that after he’s been brought before me in the manor court, but the lady will not like that. Already she considers me a Norman barbarian and a tyrant to boot.”
“What lady is this?”
“Ah, I forgot to tell you that bit. The two Saxons were defended by a young termagant, the daughter of my nearest neighbour, the Demoiselle Gisela of Brinkhurst. I think she was far more concerned about the boy’s fate than my survival, more or less told me the whole business was my own fault for insisting on my right as desmesne lord.”
Rainald made a comical gesture. “She appears to have made an impression on you, my friend. Ah, here is your physician and the boy with water and towels.”
An elderly Jew, clad in the dark blue gaberdine robe of his calling, came unhurriedly to his master’s side and bent to examine the wounded arm. Behind him hovered the alarmed Huon.
“Mmm,” the physician murmured. “It does not appear too serious, my lord, but we must cut your sleeve and lay it bare, then we shall know more. Our most imperative task is to ensure there is no dirt or fragments of cloth in the wound. It may need to be stitched.”
Alain grimaced again. “Oh, very well, Joshua, submit me to your torments. I’ll not complain.” He set his teeth again as the physician opened his small chest containing instruments and medicaments, extracted a slim, long blade and slit the long woollen sleeve of the tight-fitting tunic de Treville wore beneath his hauberk, then with gentle fingers probed the cut.
The Jewish physician worked quickly and in silence, gesturing to Huon to come close with the metal dish of warmed water. He declared it unnecessary, after examination, to stitch the wound, but drew the edges together carefully after cleansing it with vinegar and wine, which made de Treville gasp and curse briefly, then he bound up the wound, made obeisances to the two Norman knights and, waving to the boy to withdraw with him, left the hall.
He had advised de Treville to drink watered wine to replace the blood loss, but not to overheat his system with too much wine and to eat sparingly and take himself off to bed as soon as convenient. De Tourel poured for his friend and watched, frowning, as Alain drained the cup.
“That fellow is a treasure. I hear he has saved your life on more than one occasion—but then, you saved his hide, I understand. He should be and is grateful.”
“Joshua is a fine physician and, more importantly, knows when to hold his tongue from too much gratuitous advice.” Alain de Treville’s long lips curved into a smile. “As you perhaps do not know, he was taken by routiers, his house burned and his family murdered. It was lucky my company came along in time before they roasted him over a slow fire to make him divulge the whereabouts of treasures he did not possess. We put the fellows to flight and rescued Joshua ben Suleiman. He has been in my service ever since and has saved my hide many times on campaign.” He laughed out loud. “Faith, I think he was hoping for a quieter life since we settled here at Allestone, but this affair bodes ill for our hopes.”
“Are you having trouble with your villeins?”
“No, just with my neighbours, it seems.”
De Tourel’s merry brown eyes met the darker ones of his friend and they both laughed.
“Do you anticipate trouble with her father?”
“I sincerely hope not, since I intend to further my acquaintance with the lady more closely.”
“Ah, then she is pretty?”
De Treville raised one eyebrow as he considered. “Truth to tell, I am not sure, she was so hooded and muffled in her mantle. I could see by the way she carried herself that her figure is pleasing and she is fair. I saw just a glimpse of tawny hair and—” he laughed joyously “—what counts most with me is that she has spirit enough to match that of two good men. By the saints, Rainald, I was greatly taken with the wench.”
De Tourel looked thoughtfully round the sparsely furnished and appointed hall, noting its lack of tapestries and hangings to keep out the draughts and only the most elementary luxuries.
“You know, Alain, it is more than time you considered taking a wife. This place needs an efficient chatelaine to oversee the work and enhance its comforts. Allestone is a fine castle and you are fortunate to have it within the King’s gift, but it could be considerably more comfortable.
“Incidentally, I am on no particular business, as you asked when you first came in. I am on my way to join the royal army. It’s likely Stephen will lay siege to Wallingford soon and will need my support. The last time I was at Court he asked after you and, strangely enough, expressed a hope that you would soon marry and get an heir.”
He gave a little regretful sigh. “He sorely misses the late Queen, you know. That was a love match indeed and he thinks we should all be so blessed. Her death was a terrible blow to him.”
Alain nodded thoughtfully as he sipped his watered wine and experimentally moved his sore arm. “She was a fine woman and as good a commander as her lord. I do not know what he would have done without her on many occasions. Think what pains she took to have him released when the Empress held him prisoner.”
“So, this little demoiselle is unwed?”
“Yes, so I hear.”
“Not betrothed?”
“I have heard nothing about that.” Alain laughed again. “Do not take my telling of this encounter too seriously, my friend. I have talked with the demoiselle but once, but I confess my curiosity to see her at close quarters is piqued. She has Saxon blood, as do many of the knights and squires in the shire. If I took one of their women to wife, it might be pleasing to the community and be more likely to achieve their willing co-operation in the defence of the district.
“I think one or two look on me as an interloper, especially since I was born in Normandy. She is young and appeared healthy; she could give me sturdy children, I think. I have no great need for her to possess a large dower, though that, too, would prove beneficial. You might be right. The time has come for me to settle
