“So you will visit her father?”
Again Alain de Treville’s eyebrow was raised comically. “Nothing so definite. She, I am sure, will come to me.”
“How?”
“Well, I hold her young protégé in my dungeon, don’t I? His fate is very much in my hands. Unless I am very much mistaken, she will attend my manor court when the boy is arraigned.”
De Tourel’s expression became more grave. “You cannot afford to lose face, my friend, even to please the lady. You must treat this attack upon your person with the gravity it deserves. The boy must be severely punished.”
De Treville’s dark brown eyes met his squarely. “I am well aware of that, Rainald. My hold on this castle and the desmesne must be absolute, and my villeins and serfs made to be aware that I will brook no trace of indiscipline. The question is—how do I accomplish this without further antagonising my neighbour and avoid once more coming into open conflict with his daughter?”
Chapter Two
Gisela shivered as she, her father and Aldith passed under the grim gatehouse arch of Allestone Castle. Here, somewhere in one of the guardrooms, Sigurd had been confined or, possibly, he had been moved to an even less salubrious dungeon below the castle keep. As they cantered into the inner bailey, grooms hastened forward to take their bridle reins and one helped Aldith down, for she had been riding pillion behind Sir Walter.
Another attentive straw-haired young man, more stylishly dressed, with a round, boyish face hurried to lift up two arms offering to assist Gisela down. She allowed him to help her and waited until her father joined them and their horses were led away to the stables. Aldith stared bleakly at the tall keep before them and then at the ground.
Sir Walter identified himself and his daughter and servant and explained the reason for their arrival.
“I understand, the boy, Sigurd, is to be brought before your lord today and, since Aldith, here, is his mother and naturally very concerned for him, we hope your lord will not be offended by our presence at the manor court. My daughter, the Demoiselle Gisela, was present on the unfortunate occasion of the attack and is anxious to hear his fate.”
The young man bowed. “I am Huon, Lord Alain’s squire. Allow me to escort you into the hall. I know he will wish me to afford you every courtesy. I will see to it that chairs or stools are provided for you.”
Gisela thought he looked very young for a squire; indeed his polished manners and boyish intensity suggested he had only recently completed service at some other household as a page. He led them up the steps to the entrance of the castle keep and stood back politely for them to precede him into the great hall.
Aldith padded silently in the rear, looking neither to right nor to left. Gisela cast her a worried glance. She felt Aldith had little or no hope for her son’s survival. After that first day when she had arrived at Brinkhurst and wept hopelessly, they had had hardly one word from her since. She had attended Gisela efficiently as she had formerly when she had been her nurse and, privately, Gisela, who had missed her sorely, was pleased to have her back at Brinkhurst.
As she was escorted to the front of the little knot of villeins and serfs gathered for the manor court to stools brought hastily for their use by servants summoned to attend them, Gisela reached out and placed a comforting arm round Aldith’s shoulders as she seated herself. Sir Walter gently but firmly pressed the woman into a stool by Gisela’s side while he took another brought for him. Gisela took Aldith’s hand and her maid sat listlessly not even gazing round the great hall.
Gisela, for her part, stared round curiously. The hall was circular with a small gallery at one end. There was a central hearth and a lantern trap above it for smoke to escape, but it appeared it was rarely used these days for another, more ornate, hearth had been constructed beneath the gallery near the dais where, presumably, the Baron sat at meat, at the far end.
She gazed up at the huge smoke-blackened roof timbers and round at the solid stone walls. The place had certainly been built primarily for defence only, for there seemed no vestige of comfort to be had here. One arras near the dais looked dirty and torn and would do nothing to keep out draughts, nor did it do anything to soften the uncompromising grimness of the hall’s general appearance.
True, the rushes underfoot had been freshly strewn and the place was swept scrupulously clean. She tightened her lips as she thought how this new lord kept discipline within his desmesne. If his servants feared him, and he was certainly well and efficiently attended, it did not augur well for Sigurd’s chances of mercy.
There was a little stir behind the dais and the group of villagers, awkward and undoubtedly worried about their own summonses to attend this court, stopped whispering together and looked expectantly for their lord to enter. A door beneath the gallery was opened and two men stepped through.
Gisela instantly recognised the tall form of Baron Alain de Treville; behind him came a smaller, grey-haired man who walked with a stoop and advanced uncertainly as if he were short-sighted.
“Sir Clement de Burgh,” her father whispered in her ear. “The Baron’s seneschal. The man served Sir Godfrey before him for many years.”
Gisela found herself staring intently at Allestone’s lord. For the first time she could see his features clearly, for today he was devoid of his military garb and wore a tawny over-tunic over a longer brown one, with a tawny-lined brown mantle over them for the hall was chilly. She noted at once that a border of coarse linen bandaging showed beneath the tight sleeve of one arm and she swallowed uncertainly.
She had known he was tall and carried himself like a prince; now she saw he was broad-shouldered and slim-hipped also, recognising the steel-like strength inherent in that spare, well-muscled body. His hair was cut short in the slightly outdated style Norman knights adopted for convenience beneath the conical helmet. His face was oval, tanned, smooth complexioned, without the roughness she associated with life out of doors on campaign.
The features were arresting, the nose slightly over-long and very straight beneath dark level brows, which were drawn together now as he stood in the doorway and surveyed the company. His eyes were very dark brown, almost black, and she felt the chilling quality of their steady gaze and pitied those poor creatures who were trembling as they stood before him now, awaiting judgement in the body of the hall.
His mouth was held in a hard line, as if in concentration, but was long-lipped and without the trap-like rigidity she had noted in men of her father’s company whom she suspected of harshness or even cruelty to their subordinates.
His eyes, roving the hall, found and recognised his neighbours. He bowed his head courteously to Sir Walter and his daughter and smiled approval as he saw they had been given stools.
“Sir Walter, you are very welcome to Allestone. I confess I rather expected you would take an active interest in the proceedings this morning.” The mouth relaxed in a slight smile. “I bid you good day, Demoiselle Gisela. As a witness to the attack on my person, I am grateful that you have placed yourself at the disposal of the court.”
Gisela’s lips parted in her shock at the sheer effrontery of his statement—and in public. Did he expect her to add more damaging testimony than his own to the evidence which would doom Sigurd?
He was continuing to speak in that low, quiet voice that she was sure brooked no argument from underlings.
“I
