Captives: Kingdoms Rule Hearts

  Fitz could not help but grin. He had given little thought to what Marmion’s brilliant idea had been, but even if he had spent the last week mulling over the variety of things which he could do, he would never have guessed this. This was incredible.

  And yet there were Anglo-Saxons around the room who were shuffling on their feet, feeling the handles of knives, and muttering to their companions. King William was not popular with everyone, and Fitz could see that there were many men – and a few women – who would gladly accept the challenge.

  “You do know,” Osbern whispered, leaning over to his brother once more, “that they’ll be talking about this for months. Your man should be well rewarded for this.”

  “He will be,” answered Fitz, “but the shape of that reward will depend on whether anyone decides to take up his challenge.”

  “None would dare.”

  “You can never tell with these Anglo-Saxons,” Fitz reminded his brother. “You, of all people, should know of their proud nature. Not everyone has taken so well to our presence here.”

  “I say thrice!” Marmion shouted over the hubbub of voices that now filled the hall. “If anybody denies that our most gracious sovereign Lord William, and his wife Matilda, are King and Queen of England, he is a false-hearted traitor and liar, and here I do challenge him to single combat.”

  He looked around the room, his eyes glaring. Fitz could not help but admit that he was doing a very good job of being frightening and impressive. Marmion’s eyes flickered around the room, staring down the men with bitterness in their hearts. They would do nothing today.

  Thankfully, none in the room stood to accept his challenge of combat.

  “In that case,” Marmion said, with a sweep of his arm, “never again shall words of bitterness and anger be spoken against our lord King William and our lady Queen Matilda – for they have been acknowledged as our leaders here today!”

  Without saying another word, announcing his name, or even dismounting from his horse, Marmion turned his mount around and exited the room.

  Excited murmurings bubbled up from the people in the room. Fitz noticed that the most intrigued people were the women, who began to collect into groups, and giggle.

  “Well, I’ll say it,” Osbern said, slapping his brother on the back, “your Marmion did it. None shall forget this. I shall not be surprised if men and women speak of this in hundreds of years to come!”

  “Nonsense,” Fitz pushed him away. “It is merely a trick to encourage our Queen Matilda. A successful one, I grant you – but nothing that cannot be forgotten within a fortnight.”

  His words were shortened by the sound of a goblet crashing onto the floor. Everyone turned to the source of the noise to see the King standing.

  “That got your attention then,” he said in his deep voice.

  There was nervous laughter around the room. William smiled.

  “First,” he said, “my thanks to the strange knight who just entered here to defend my honour, and the honour of my wife. It was well done, and let the man who has the genius of it step forward and take my thanks.”

  Fitz sat where he was.

  “Will you not rise?” Osbern hissed.

  Fitz shook his head imperceptibly. “It was Marmion’s cleverness, not mine,” he whispered. “I shall take no credit for it, even if I wished to.”

  King William’s eyes roved around the room, but none stepped forward or raised themselves up.

  “So be it,” he shrugged. “The loss is his, and his alone. And I now continue to bestow honour and glory.” As King William spoke, Matilda was gazing up at him, her crown balanced delicately on her head, and there was such love in her face that Fitz almost felt embarrassed watching her. It had been many years since he had felt such devotion from his own wife.

  “Firstly, I honour the people of England, who are now one with us.” The King’s words were now being heeded by all within the room, especially those of English birth. One of them, a tall man, much older than Fitz was but still enjoying the vigour of life, quietly walked around from his seat to stand just beside the King. As their monarch spoke, the man began to translate for those that had not yet learned the Norman tongue.

  “I return this royal court to the old ways,” King William continued, “and keep the English traditions that made it so noble and so just. I give you the old offices that were taken from you, and give them to you as a gift.”

  As the man translated, puzzled and openly confused looks covered the faces of those English who heard his words. Fitz bit his lip. What was the King up to?

  “The office of Grand Pannetier, I return to this noble court. It has been long gone, and this court has been the lesser for it. I offer it to Roger de Beaumont, for his outstanding service, and in the hope that it shall bring honour to his sons.”

  King William’s majestic words were now met, Fitz saw, with wary smiles. Could it be that he was only going to reward his own men? Were the two nations always to be divided?

  “I also grant the office –”

  “My lord?”

  Fitz’s sleeve was pulled, and he turned away from King William to see who so desperately wanted to catch his attention.

  “Marmion?”

  The man was sweating slightly, his hair pasted to his forehead, but he was smiling broadly.

  “I must speak with you, my lord.”

  He was panting slightly. Fitz bit his lip.

  “Now?”

  “This very moment.”

  “Are you sure that you cannot wait a mere –”

  “No, my lord.” Marmion flushed at the impertinence of interrupting his lord. “Please accept my apologies, my lord, but I would not ask if it were not important.”

  Fitz sighed. Marmion was right – he had always trusted his judgement up until this point, and he had never given him any reason to doubt him. Rising, he put a hand on his brother’s shoulder to let him know that he was departing. Osbern looked confused, but Fitz nodded at Marmion, and his brother relaxed.

  “I will try to write to you,” Osbern muttered underneath his breath, without taking his eyes off his King.

  “And I shall try to write back.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Fitz followed Marmion outside the great chamber, and out into the dusky air. Evening had fallen without them realising, and everyone had nothing but good food and good company to keep them occupied. The day was almost over, and what a day it had been.

  Marmion seemed to be full of energy, but he was nervous. He kept looking over his shoulder, and twisting his head quickly to look the other way.

  “Peace, Marmion,” Fitz said gently. “There can surely be nothing of great import that you must tell me this very night?”

  “This very night – this very moment,” Marmion said with a broad smile breaking out over his face.

  “Marmion, please stop,” Fitz said with almost a laugh as the young man twisted around once more to look in the opposite direction, and winced as he pulled at his shoulder blade. “You do no good by spinning around like a man half crazed. What has got into you?”

  Marmion took a deep breath. “My apologies, my lord. It is just – I cannot quite keep my excitement.”

  “Then try,” Fitz said kindly, “or I shall be forced to return to my seat, and leave your news for another day.”

  “Then I shall speak calmly and plainly,” Marmion said slowly with a great effort. “King William has already discovered that it was I who rode in and challenged all to defend the honour of him, and his Queen.”

  Fitz’s mouth opened. “He knows? But it has been only minutes since you left the room!”

  Marmion nodded. “His servants are very knowledgeable.”

  “Call them what they are – call them spies,” Fitz said quietly, “for they are nothing less. How do you know this?”

  Marmion took another deep breath, and swallowed hard. “A man approached me. He wore the King’s colours, and he carried a sword.”

  “And? What did he
say?”

  “He embraced me.” Marmion’s voice was full of awe. “He embraced me, and said that I had done the King and the Queen great honour. He said that I would not be forgotten, and that the King wanted me to know personally that he was watching me.”

  Fitz breathed outward, and realised that he had been holding his breath whilst the young man spoke. “He said all of that?”

  “And more,” Marmion said in hushed tones, as if forgetting that he needed to keep his words a secret. “He asked who my liege lord was, and I told him that it was you, and he said –”

  “That the King wished to speak with him.”

  Fitz and Marmion both jumped, turning to face the tall man who swept silently out of the shadows.

  “Word to the wise,” King William said quietly. “If you wish to have a private conversation, alone surrounded by darkness is not the place to have it. You could be surrounded.”

  Marmion had turned a pale shade, and Fitz guessed that he looked similarly terrified. It would never do to be discovered discussing the King, especially in the dark, just after his wife’s coronation! What danger had they brought upon their heads now – and just how much had King William heard?

  “Marmion,” William said, turning to him. “You did me and my wife great honour this night. I thank you. Know that soon I shall be calling you to my royal court to become a knight of my chamber.”

  “My… my lord King, the honour is too much, I cannot possibly –”

  “Nonsense,” said King William calmly. “If I say that it is so, then it shall be so.”

  “But – but my lord…”

  “Are you defying me, boy?” King William’s voice became sharper, more dangerous, and Fitz spoke up.

  “My lord King William,” he said hurriedly. The monarch’s face turned towards him, and it had lost some of the smile that it had worn when he came out of the shadows. “Marmion I am sure feels the great honour that you are giving him, but he is a younger son. It would bring shame on his elder brother if he was to join your chamber before him.”

  Marmion’s stutterings were silenced, and he looked up into the face of the most powerful man for hundreds of miles.

  “I see,” King William brought a hand to his mouth as he pondered. “The right of primogeniture does certainly rest with your brother. Is he a good man?”

  “As good a man as I am, and I think better,” Marmion replied shakily. “I have not seen him these ten years, but I hear that he is a righteous man with a strong arm.”

  King William barked a laugh. “High praise indeed! Then write to this brother of yours, and tell him to come to me. Tell him to present himself at court, with your name as his standard, and he shall become a knight of my chamber. You can come yourself when Fitz is finished with you.”

  Marmion’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Fitz smiled, and clapped a hand on his young friend’s shoulders.

  “I am sure Marmion feels all of the respect and joy for himself and his family that you no doubt intend, my lord King William.”

  “Thank you,” Marmion stammered. “I shall write to my brother immediately – right now, my lord King, I shall write to him –”

  “That suits me well, young man,” the King interrupted, “because I have need to speak with Fitz. Go, write your letter.”

  Marmion bowed low, and then bowed to Fitz. He bowed to King William once more before Fitz muttered, and he almost fled.

  King William chuckled. “He seems a good boy – very like one of my boys. Where did you find him?”

  “He found me,” Fitz said honestly. “And he has proved himself over and over to be a man of loyalty and integrity.”

  “You like him?”

  Fitz was surprised by the question. He had not expected the King of England and the ruler of Normandy to be so interested in his opinion.

  “If you do not find it offensive, my lord King, I would ask why you care so much about my thoughts? I had not considered myself one of your confidants.”

  “A reasonable question.” William nodded. “It is true that we are not as close as we once were.”

  Fitz nodded. Having grown up in the same household, the two men could have been very close; but there was something that had always held them back. Although related, there was enough distinction to keep them wary throughout childhood, and that wariness had never quite dissipated. They trusted each other, but it was a trust based on distance.

  “Fitz, I must speak to you about the attacks that we have been suffering.”

  William’s boldness and brashness threw Fitz, but he recollected his senses quickly.

  “I want to make sure that anything I tell you remains with you,” William continued. “And that if it does escape you, that the few you would share it with are trustworthy.”

  “You offend me,” Fitz said hotly, “if you suppose that anything you impart to me could be shared with another. I am your cousin, and your servant, and your subject.”

  The two men stared at each other, neither sure exactly who should speak next. Eventually, Fitz dropped his gaze.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord King William,” he said stiffly, “if I gave offence with my rash words. But I stand by them.”

  “I would expect nothing less of you, and you were right to speak them.” William smiled. “There should be trust between us.”

  “There is,” Fitz assured him. “I know that I have little to trust you with, but I hope that you will be able to share with me anything that troubles you.”

  William nodded. “There is much to speak about, but I am… unwilling for all to know my thoughts at this time. It is vital that I trust this discussion to you completely.”

  Fitz bowed. “Then speak.”

  The King sighed. He shuffled his feet, almost as if he was not sure whether or not to continue. Fitz couldn’t believe what he was seeing: William of Normandy, William the Conqueror of England, King William who had travelled across the sea to take the land that was his once his – unsure of himself?

  “God’s teeth, man,” Fitz said eventually, “I am no mind reader!”

  William barked out a laugh. “That you are not, my friend, and I apologise once more. You have, of course, kept receiving messengers about the unrest in this land?”

  Fitz swallowed. “I have indeed, my lord, but I have not considered it serious enough to pay much of my attention to. I feel, now, that I have been in error.”

  “The error has been made by many, and I am included in that number. Hereford’s rebellion was expected, but Exeter has surprised me. I did not think them so… ungrateful. I had considered the efforts that I had made with this country to be sufficient to gain their loyalty.”

  “You must remember,” Fitz said softly, “that to many here, we are foreigners. The majority of the English have never heard of Normandy, let alone been there or known who we were. Our arrival was a shock to them, and a few years cannot undo the many that they have enjoyed owning their own land, running their own country!”

  “And yet we are here now!” King William exploded, and then hushed his voice, realising that they could quite easily attract attention. The darkness, after all, did not cloak the noises that they made. “I am here now, and I am the King!”

  “And yet their allegiance is not to you.”

  “I hope that the castles will do their work,” William sighed. “Castles have always been the perfect way to control people, back in Normandy.”

  “And yet, the people here are so different,” countered Fitz softly. “How are we to know, truly, what they are like?”

  There was a moment of silence between them as both men considered the two peoples that they were now surrounded by. On the one hand, the Normans: their own people, the culture that they had been raised with. Their voices spoke the Norman tongue, and they thought Norman thoughts. And here, the English: a foreign race of troublemakers, the people over the water. Their history was dark and mysterious, and their language a class in acrobatics for those Normans, like Fitz, who deci
ded to learn it.

  “Thankfully, no rebellions have succeeded,” Fitz said quietly. “We should be grateful for that.”

  “Gratitude can only lead a country for so long.”

  “But what else can we do?”

  “Whatever it is, it shall not be done by you.”

  Fitz blinked. “My lord King William?”

  “It is not that I do not value you, my friend,” said William heavily. “If anything, I have depended too much on you since the invasion of England. You must be tired. It has been months – nay, years since you have seen your homelands. How do your children fare?”

  Fitz swallowed, and stammered. “Well, it – it has been almost a month since a letter from my family has reached me. We move about so much, my lord.”

  William clapped a large hand on Fitz’s shoulder. “No man should go so long without seeing his wife. I found being away from Matilda torture, and I see no reason why I should detain you from your family any longer. I am sending you back to Normandy.”

  “My lord!” Fitz’s cheeks burned red, although his companion could not see them in the dark of the night. “If I have offended you in any way, please tell me – do not send me home like a child who has forgotten his manners!”

  “Peace, Fitz,” William said calmly. “I commend you for the work that you have done for me. There could have been no one better to have within my council, and beside me through these troubled times. But you will become useless to me if you do not rest. Come now: you know this to be true.”

  “I wish…” Fitz’s voice tailed off. “I wish it were not so,” he said simply.

  “And I, too,” said William. “But there it is. I shall send word for your passage across the sea to be arranged.”

  Fitz inhaled, and slowly let the breath out. There was nothing for it, then. He was going back home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Her eyes were shut, and her face was warm. The sunshine was beating down on her aching old bones, and she was enjoying the last of the sunshine of the day. The skirts of her red dress were spread around her, and every muscle within her body was desperate to relax. The summer was truly upon them, and just like every summer before it, Catheryn was worshipping it. She would soon be brown, much to the disgust of her family – but then, her family were nowhere close to her now. She would have the disapproval of others to contend with this summer.