Fitz nodded slowly. “Then I accept. I will go to her in twelve days from today, and we shall be wed two days later. Tell your lady that I thank her for her generous offer, and I look forward to being a good sword for her son’s cause.”
The messenger bowed; understanding the dismissal for what it was, he left the room quietly, leaving Catheryn and Fitz alone.
“Marriage?” Catheryn whispered. “You are going to be married?”
“What of it?” Fitz said harshly. “I am a man, and a man needs a wife. Is that not what we are told?”
Fitz went back to the fireplace, and continued his watch on the flames. Catheryn shook her head, and moved towards him.
“No,” she said, “you do not have to marry again, if you do not want to.”
“Just because no one wants to marry you, that does not mean that I am in the same boat.”
Catheryn gasped. “Do you think your cruelty to me makes your viewpoint valid?”
Fitz sighed, and turned to face her. They were but fingertips apart from each other, but Catheryn dared not breach the gap.
“I can never trust you again,” Fitz said softly, his eyes full of pain, staring directly into hers. “Living with you like this… it is a torment. Perhaps God is punishing us for the words that we spoke, one night when I lay on a sickbed. We should never have revealed those feelings for each other, and now they are killed, dead in my heart. I will not remain here, and I will marry my lady Richilde. Anything is better than staying here with you.”
Chapter Thirty Three
“I cannot believe what I am hearing!”
“Believe it,” Fitz said with an air of finality. “Do you think we can pretend that what we have done is not wrong?”
“We did nothing!” Catheryn said heatedly. “Our very inaction says more about our… friendship, if that is what you want to call it, than anything else! Yes, we had feelings for each other, but surely the fact that we did nothing –”
“Did we do nothing?” Fitz broke the intense gaze between them, and began to pace in the Great Hall. “We did not betray Adeliza directly, but who knows what you said to her, what you did to her, when I was absent.”
Catheryn laughed. “You really think that I am the sort of person that could be so cruel? Perhaps you do not know me as well as you think.”
“And perhaps I know you better than you do!” Fitz cried. “I know all about your first marriage – you chose your own husband? What kind of girl were you, what kind of family was yours that permitted the rash decisions of a young woman to decide her fate?”
Catheryn bristled at the accusation. “Just because you and Adeliza were chosen for each other –”
“And is that not the way that it should be?” Fitz glared at her. “My father chose my bride, and I have chosen the bride for my son. If God be good, I shall choose another bride for Roger and a husband for my daughter. But you… you go against what is natural. You thought that you could just choose your life companion when you were young, and what is to say that you did not feel the same way when you met me. Adeliza was inconvenient, and look!” Fitz looked around the room in mock surprise. “Where is she?”
Catheryn stared at him. “It is as though grief has completely slain the man that I knew,” she said slowly. “You are a stranger to me.”
Fitz sighed. “I cared for you, once,” he said softly. “But you must see – you must see that I cannot now. My feelings for you are too entangled in the loss of Adeliza. With every passing moment, you become more repellent to me than before.”
Anger coursed through Catheryn’s veins. “In that case,” she said bitterly, “you should return me to England!”
“Perhaps I will!”
“Good!” Catheryn said heavily. “It is something that I have been asking for these last four years, and it would bring you joy to be rid of me. Let us combine the two together.”
They stared at each other, anger and bitterness and resentment lying thick between them. The combination of all three made it impossible for them to take a step forward, impossible for them to meet. The way was blocked, and neither attempted to remove the emotions that barred their way.
“Orvin!”
Fitz’s shout made Catheryn jump. Within moments, Orvin stepped through the door, nervously. He had clearly heard some, but not all, of the shouting.
“My lord?”
Fitz forced his face into a smile. “Orvin, this is –”
“He knows who I am,” Catheryn interrupted bitterly, “and better than you.”
Fitz glared at her, but then turned back to Orvin.
“Orvin, you swore yourself to me,” said Fitz. “You swore yourself to me when times are hard.”
Orvin nodded.
“Orvin, times are indeed hard. This woman needs to be returned to her country, and I never want her to return here again. I have a task for you that is long, and arduous, and I feel you should have the right to refuse.”
Orvin looked nervously from the lady who was clearly attempting not to let tears overcome her, and the man who looked as though he would never cry again.
“Tell me the task, my lord, and I shall decide,” he said finally.
Fitz breathed deeply, and then spoke. “It is this: I would ask that you go with her, and that you stay with her. That you swear yourself to her, and obey her. That you remain with her until the end of her days, or yours. And that during your years of service, you ensure that she never takes one step onto Norman soil.”
Catheryn gasped. “But what if my daughter is here – what if Annis was taken to Normandy, just as I was?”
“I care not,” Fitz said with a wave of his hand. “You are not my problem, nor my responsibility any longer.”
“But the King…” Fitz stared at Catheryn, and her voice trailed away.
“The King placed you into my hands. I could have killed you: your very life is mine to command. And now I command that you return to your homeland, and never venture here again.”
Fitz’s gaze was piercing, and Catheryn could not help but drop her own under the weight of it. He turned to the only other person in the room.
“Well, Orvin? What say you?”
Orvin swallowed. This was probably the biggest decision that he would ever have to make.
“I swore to obey you, my lord,” he said slowly, “and so that is what I will do. I will swear myself to my lady Catheryn, and ensure that she is returned safely.”
Fitz nodded. “It is a wise choice, and I honour you for it.”
Orvin bowed low, and then left the room quietly.
“And so this is goodbye.” Catheryn stared at the man who she had once believed could heal her heart from the brokenness that it felt, shattered after Selwyn’s death.
Fitz stared at her. “Both bitter and bittersweet, is it not?”
Catheryn nodded. Her feet did not seem to want to obey her. She knew that if she did not leave the room as soon as possible, she would start to cry.
Without any warning, Fitz rushed towards her. Catheryn raised her arms up instinctively, having lived too long in the world to expect comfort, but she had no reason to fear. Fitz swept her into his arms, and crushed her to him. For a moment, Catheryn thought that he had changed his mind; that all of the anger and resentment had disappeared, and he had realised that they had to be together.
But it was over almost before it had begun.
“Leave.” Fitz pulled away from her, and took a step backwards. “Leave as soon as possible.”
“You’ll never see me again,” Catheryn said quietly.
Fitz nodded. “So be it.”
Chapter Thirty Four
The sky was dark, and the waves were high.
Catheryn had hoped for a morning crossing, but just like many of her plans to return to England, this one had also gone awry. Fitz had wanted her and Orvin to be gone by sundown, that fateful day when he accepted Richilde’s marriage proposal. But it was many weeks before she was able to leave: King William had demanded ne
ws of Adeliza, and her death had brought Catheryn’s own rights into question.
The King had not liked it, but Fitz had been correct. Her life had been placed into Fitz’s hands, and it was up to him to dispose of it. Had Catheryn been a man, of course, she would never have been allowed back into her country. But she was merely a woman, and so after Christmas had come and gone, and January’s winds disappeared, it was in February, finally, that she was allowed to step onto a boat bound for England. Fitz had left almost as soon as his marriage had been decided, and had joined his new bride. Catheryn had spent months wandering around an empty castle that held nothing but memories of sadness and death.
England. As soon as Catheryn stepped down from the ship that had brought her and Orvin across from Normandy, Catheryn knew that she was home. It smelt right; the paths seemed firmer under her feet.
“My lady?”
Orvin was staring at her, a look of concern on his face.
“Yes, Orvin?”
Orvin smiled nervously. He was still not used to accompanying a woman, especially a woman whom he had heard much of as a child.
“You have been very quiet on our journey, my lady,” he said awkwardly. “Are you unwell? Do you require more rest?”
Catheryn smiled. Such a caring boy. He made her think of what her son might have been like, if he had been permitted to live.
“I am quite well,” Catheryn lied. “But I would appreciate the chance to stay somewhere tonight.”
“I shall make enquiries.”
Orvin rushed off into the darkness, leaving Catheryn standing by the horse that Fitz had reluctantly given her. It snuffled at her hand, looking for a treat.
Within moments, Orvin had returned.
“I have found an inn,” he said quickly, “and secured two rooms for this night. I did not know whether you wanted to remain here longer –”
“Decisions can be made in daylight,” Catheryn said with a smile. “Right now, I want warmth, and food, and then a bed.”
She left Orvin to rest the horse and put him in the stable, while she found a table inside the busy inn. Voices of Normans surrounded her from every side. In many ways, it was as though she had never left Normandy.
Food was brought to them, and while she and Orvin ate, not a word was spoken. It was not until they had finished that Orvin opened his mouth once more.
“My lady,” he said quietly, so that they would not be overheard, “I know that it is not my business to pry into your affairs, but now that we are in England I feel that I must ask you: what are your plans? The country that you left four years ago barely exists.”
Catheryn nodded wearily. “I will be honest with you, Orvin: I have no plans at all. My husband is dead; my son is dead; and my daughter Annis is almost certainly dead. Where would I look for her body, all these years later? I know not whether any of my family or kin are living; I have had no word from England since I was taken.”
“No word at all?”
“None. But you have been here – you must have some knowledge of what happened to them,” Catheryn said eagerly. She had forbidden herself from asking before, but she could no longer hold the question in, no matter what the answer was.
Orvin turned red, and shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.
“My family… my father knew that our King…”
Orvin looked around the room at the sheer number of Normans around them. Many of them carried swords, and a few wore the deep red of King William. Catheryn watched his gaze, and understood. You never knew when you could be overheard.
“My father knew that the usurper, Harold, would not prevail over King William,” Orvin continued slowly. “Harold may have been the brother-in-law of the previous King, but that did not mean that he could sit on the throne himself. My father did not ride out against King William, and he accepted his rule when it came. We have not heard much from the Anglo-Saxon families that we were once close with, before the Conquest.”
He glanced up at Catheryn nervously.
“You are worried,” she said slowly, “that I would judge you – that I would think ill of you because of your decision to accept King William.”
“Your husband died attempting to defeat him,” Orvin said quietly. “Can you blame me?”
Catheryn sighed, and shook her head. “You are right to be wary.”
“I think that it is best if we rest, and then, as you say, make decisions in daylight.”
“You are right,” Catheryn smiled. “Nothing can be gained from running away from the past in darkness.”
Catheryn spent the night in bitter dreams of men without faces who would not stay with her. Each time, she begged them not to go to battle, and each time, they would leave her. When she awoke, sunlight was streaming into her room, and her head hurt.
She went downstairs to break her fast, and saw Orvin, the only person in the room, sitting at a table, looking as though he was about to vomit.
“Orvin,” she said, rushing up to him. “What is wrong?”
When she got closer, she could see that he was holding a piece of parchment. Norman words were scrawled over it.
“You have news? News from whom?”
It was only then that it struck her who the news could be from. The only one that the words could be about.
“Fitz. Is he –”
“He is dead.” Orvin’s words struck like dull weights into her chest.
Catheryn sat down. “Dead?”
Orvin nodded. “In a battle near Cassel. Richilde’s son Arnulf died also. Roger has written to me, to let me know that my vow to him is now broken, and I am free to go where I choose.”
Fitz was dead. Yet another person that was precious to her, wrenched away from life. She could barely breathe; every movement seemed to be difficult, like wading through sand. The man that had seemed so vibrant, so full of life… just like Selwyn, Fitz had gone. But she had to be strong: she had to be strong for the one who could be waiting here, somewhere on these English shores.
“And… and what do you want to do?” Orvin asked nervously. A tear fell from Catheryn’s eye, but she made no motion to wipe it away. She would have time to properly grieve later.
Orvin made his decision. “We need to eat. Let us break our fast, then we can decide.”
Catheryn nodded, and Orvin gestured that food should be brought to their table.
They were still trying to eat when three Norman men strode into the room, laughing loudly.
“And she really stood up to them?” bellowed one, tall and dark.
“She did!” another replied. The three of them sat at a table close to Catheryn and Orvin, and thumped the table. Food was brought to them immediately, and all payment offered was declined with a fearful look. The woman, an Anglo-Saxon, darted away from them nervously after she had brought them their food.
“I still cannot believe it,” said the third. “King William fills me with such fear, I could never go to him and ask for protection.”
“Oh, it wasn’t her,” said the first. “It was Melville that went to the King – but while he was away, his wife made sure that the entire village was brought into their home! She didn’t want any of them to die, apparently – Anglo-Saxon scum. But then, she’s a Saxon too.”
Catheryn smiled, despite herself. That sounded like something that her own child would do. Annis could never bear for an innocent to be hurt.
“Well, I suppose a couple more Anglo-Saxons walking around won’t make much difference,” one of the men muttered. “After all, enough were killed in the Harrying of the North.”
The three men laughed darkly.
The tall man spoke again. “What was her name, anyway?”
Catheryn looked up. This woman sounded like someone powerful – perhaps she would recognise the name.
“I’m not sure,” the third man said dismissively. “It began with an ‘A’, that’s all I know.”
Catheryn’s heart leapt. Could it be – it could not be Annis?
“I know
what it was,” the second man spoke up again. “Heard it when I was serving the Queen. Her name is Avis.”
Chapter Thirty Five
Catheryn breathed out a deep sigh. It was too much, of course it was too much, to hope that the woman the men had been talking about was her daughter. Another tear escaped her, and this one she did brush away. No matter how hard she tried to forget the man she had left behind, Fitz kept forcing himself into her thoughts, and it was heartbreaking to believe that he was no longer alive.
“Ah,” said Orvin, with a tired smile. “It is not your daughter.”
“No.” Catheryn’s voice was dull. “It never could have been, I suppose. Life is not that simple.”
“Your daughter’s name is Annis. Is there anything else that we have to aid us in the search for her?”
Catheryn picked at the last morsel of food before her. “There is little, I suppose, that would mark her out from others, the countless other motherless girls that were left here after the invasion.”
Orvin smiled again, but his smile was dark. “I think your daughter had a little more on her side than that, with you as her mother.”
Catheryn laughed. “I suppose you could say that. A wild temper, however, is not always the greatest tool during a time of war.”
Orvin nodded, but did not speak.
“She has long blonde hair,” Catheryn said dismissively, “and she wears… she used to wear it behind a veil.”
“My mother always wore a veil.”
“We all did,” Catheryn said quietly. “That was the way.”
The three men that had been chatting loudly by them finished their meal, and left. Catheryn did not realise how tense and uncomfortable she was until they had stepped through the door and out into the street. Every muscle in her back then relaxed, and she breathed freely once more.
“You will get used to it,” said Orvin under his breath. “We have all had to. The Normans are everywhere now, you cannot avoid them. It is not something that you can accustom yourself to overnight, but with time, you will.”