His very quiet seemed to her only to add to his dignity. Other men might swagger through the halls, trailing mantles rich with orfrey, loudly asserting their importance, dazzling a poor stranger-maid with their splendour, but she did not think they appeared to advantage beside the straight, calm-eyed knight who made no stir, wore nearly always a soldier’s mantle of plain vermeil, and was hardly ever heard to raise his voice above its ordinary low pitch.
She made a hero of him, chiding herself for her folly: imagined him to be far above her, courteous always, but kind rather than friendly, and all the time the man was deep in love with her, and could not keep his eyes from her face if she were in the same room with him.
He saw her surrounded by younger men than himself, apparently happy in their company, and it did not seem to him that she regarded him as anything more than her brother’s friend. Ruefully he reflected that in all likelihood she considered him a greybeard. There was little enough arrogance in him, but he could not bring himself to swell a court composed of untried youths, or to sue for favours with a score of others.
Matters might have continued in this way for ever had it not been for the rude conduct of William, Lord of Moulines-la-Marche, the Duke’s cousin upon the distaff-side.
Between Raoul and this seigneur there had never been much love lost. The Lord of Moulines was of an intemperate disposition that accorded ill with Raoul’s, and he had a natural ferocity which he was at no pains to bridle. His pages were often seen to blubber out their hearts in some secluded corner, and it was no unusual thing for his horse to be led back to its stable with bleeding flanks torn by his merciless spurs. He was married, but his lady enjoyed little of his company, for at one or other of his houses there could always be found some light woman whom he had taken to mistress. None of them remained for long, since he tired of them quickly, and was ever on the look-out for a fresh charmer.
He came on a visit to the Court when Elfrida had been there some eight weeks or more, and his attention was immediately caught by her unusual beauty. It was not to be supposed that he would consider her in the light of a possible leman, but he could not be placed near such fresh loveliness without attempting to trifle with it. He had a handsome cruel face, and a manner pleasant enough when he chose. He began to pay his addresses to Elfrida, and as soon as he saw that she was a little afraid of him the beast of prey, which his foes swore lay in him, purred gently, and stretched lazy claws.
Elfrida had been warned of him. One of Matilda’s ladies had told her dreadful stories of his vengeance, so that however much she was teased by his love-making she dared not breathe a word of it to Edgar lest he should intervene and draw down the Lord of Moulines’ wrath upon his head. She contrived for some time to hold the man at arm’s length, but she was unfortunate enough to walk straight into his arms one day in one of the long galleries of the palace.
He was lounging on a bench when she rounded the bend of the stair that led down from Dame Gundred’s chamber to the gallery. There was no one else in the gallery; she had a suspicion that he had planted himself there to waylay her, and because she feared him she would have drawn back.
But he had seen her, and he sprang to his feet. ‘The fair Elfrida!’ he said, and advanced towards her.
‘So please you, lord,’ she answered in rather a small voice. He was standing before her, blocking the way. She said: ‘I must not tarry: I am stayed for.’
‘Why yes, pretty elf-maiden,’ he smiled, ‘I stay for you. Will you leave me disconsolate?’ He tried to take her hand. ‘Fie, you are a chill maid!’ he said. ‘See, does this trinket like you?’ He dangled a chain studded with garnets before her.
She replied with dignity: ‘I thank you, I must not take so precious a gift.’
‘Eh, take it, my dear,’ he said, ‘it is nothing worth.’ For a brief cynical moment he tried to remember for which of his lemans he had first bought it. ‘I would give you better things than this poor bauble.’
‘You are kind, lord, but I would have you know that I have no liking for such toys,’ Elfrida said firmly. ‘Pray you, let me pass. Indeed I am stayed for.’
He had succeeded in getting hold of her hand; he drew her towards the bench, and his right arm slid round her waist insinuatingly. ‘Nay, you would not be so cruel,’ he said. ‘Am I never to see you alone? You have a rabble of silly boys for ever gathered round you, or else you are mewed up amongst the bower-maidens. And so am I driven to a madness of desire.’ He had her fast round the waist now; his fingers gripped her side; he put his free hand up to her cheek, and pinched it playfully. The colour leaped up under his fingers. He laughed, enjoying her confusion, and let his hand wander downwards over her neck.
She made an effort to break out of his prisoning arms. ‘Loose me, lord!’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘This work ill-befits your honour, or mine. I pray you let me go! The Duchess stays for me!’
‘Quoy, mistress, you are my captive,’ he said, teasing her. ‘What ransom will you offer? I shall demand a large one for so peerless a prisoner.’
‘Lord, this jesting is unmannerly. Must I call for aid?’
He took her throat in his clasp; his face was bent close; she thought she had never seen so greedy a mouth, and gave a frightened sob. ‘Your cries shall be stopped with kisses, willow-maid. Nay, hold not off, I will do you no hurt, but only maybe wake the sleeping passion in you.’ He let go her throat, and wrapped both his arms round her, holding her breast to breast. ‘What, am I the first to sip your sweetness, little virgin?’
It was at this timely moment that Raoul came up the stair at the other end of the gallery, and walked towards the door of one of the solars. He glanced casually along the gallery, and what he saw made him pause with his hand already raising the latch. He stood still, looking towards Elfrida with an alert questioning lift to his brows.
Moulines had let her go when he heard the step on the stairs, but he still barred her passage. She was seriously alarmed; tears were starting in her blue eyes; she turned an imploring gaze on Raoul.
His hand left the latch; he came down the gallery, not hurrying, but deliberately.
‘Well, Messire Watcher?’ snapped Moulines. There was a growing note in his voice. ‘What make you here? If you want aught of me let me hear it, and so be done!’
‘My thanks to you,’ Raoul answered imperturbably. ‘I want nothing but your room, Moulines, and that as soon as may be.’
The Lord of Moulines’ temper flared up. ‘Spine of God, this to my face, upstart? You grow large in your own reckoning! Get you gone: I promise you you stand in some danger.’
‘Keep that tone for your own underlings, Moulines-la-Marche,’ Raoul said, unmoved. ‘Lady, let me lead you to the Duchess’s bower.’
She moved towards him gratefully, but Moulines pushed her back. ‘Stay you there, maiden: myself will be your escort.’ He turned a snarling face upon Raoul, and his hand fumbled at the dudgeon of his knife. ‘So, Chevalier! The Duke my cousin shall hear of this insolence.’
Elfrida saw the gleam of a smile in Raoul’s grey eyes. ‘You will find him in his chamber,’ he said. ‘Go tell him you are enraged with me. I give you God-speed on that errand.’ Amusement lurked in his voice, but he was watching Moulines’ hand, and his own hand slid to his belt.
Moulines, knowing that a complaint against Raoul would be more likely to bring down the Duke’s wrath on his own head than on the favourite’s, lost the last rags of his temper, and sprang at Raoul with his dagger out.
Elfrida cried: ‘’Ware! oh ’ware!’ but it seemed that Raoul was prepared for the savage onslaught. His hand flew up; steel clashed against steel; Moulines’ knife fell with a clatter to the stone floor, and Elfrida saw blood spurt from a gash across his wrist.
Raoul stamped his foot down hard upon the fallen knife. The steel broke with a snap. ‘Get you hence!’ he said, more st
ernly than Elfrida had ever heard him speak. ‘More of this, and it is I who will approach the Duke’s grace.’
The Lord of Moulines, sobered by a little blood-letting, was already rather ashamed of his treacherous assault. He said angrily: ‘You provoked me to it. Carry what tale you will to the Duke: I am not done with you yet.’ He gripped his wrist between his fingers to stay the bleeding, rolled a hot eye in Elfrida’s direction, and went off towards the stairs.
Elfrida ran to Raoul’s side, quite overcome by such bloody happenings, and clasped his arm with both her trembling hands. ‘Oh, alack, alack, what will he do?’ she asked, raising her scared eyes to his face.
His hand covered hers. ‘Why, nothing, lady!’ he said. ‘You must not be afraid of him. I will see to it he comes not near you again.’
‘But it is for you I am afraid!’ she said. Her lips quivered. ‘He is so stark a man, and it is I who have brought it all upon you, and I know – I have been told how dreadful is his vengeance.’
Raoul looked first surprised, and then amused. ‘William of Moulines’ vengeance! Why, lady, you have no need to fear for my safety. I have known that hothead these many years, and this is not the first time there has been steel drawn between us.’ He saw that she was still pale and frightened, and drew her towards the bench. ‘I have a mind to let some more of his blood for alarming you so,’ he said. ‘Will you not rest here awhile? I will stay beside you, and keep off the ogre.’
The Lady Elfrida, who was stayed for by the Duchess, sat down upon the bench without demur, and smiled rather wanly at her preserver.
Raoul knelt, still holding her hands in his. ‘There, he is gone, child,’ he said. ‘You are quite safe. Presently, when you leave trembling, I will take you to the Duchess, and you will forget this unmannerly brawl.’
She looked shyly at him. In his eyes was a light that set her heart fluttering. She looked away. ‘Messire, you are so very kind,’ she murmured. ‘I thank you for your protection. Indeed, I – I have no words to tell you …’ Her voice faded away; she hoped he would not think her very silly, but was afraid he must.
There was a tiny silence. Raoul broke it, saying in a low voice: ‘You have no need to thank me. I would ask no more of fortune than to be allowed to serve you.’
Her hand jumped under his; she raised her eyes to stare at him. ‘Serve me?’ she echoed. ‘Me? I – thought you did not like me, messire!’ The words were out before she could stop them. She blushed rosily, and hung her head.
‘Like you, Elfrida!’ Raoul gave an odd laugh. He bent his head, and kissed her slight fingers. ‘I think I worship you,’ he said.
A tremor shook her; he could not read her face, but she did not draw her hand away. ‘If I were to journey into England, to seek out your father,’ he said, watching her, ‘could you find it in you to wed a Norman?’
This was swift work, too swift for Elfrida. She said faintly: ‘Indeed, messire, indeed – I think I must go to the Duchess, who stays for me.’
He rose at once, fearing that he had alarmed her. They walked slowly down the gallery. Elfrida’s hand lay on his arm. She stole a glance at him, wondering whether he would say any more, dreading lest he should, afraid that he would not. She searched in her mind for a phrase that should give him hope yet not dishonour her maidenly decorum. She could think of nothing, and they had almost reached the Duchess’s apartments. In desperation she said: ‘My father has granted me this boon, that I shall not be wed until my brother returns to England. It is a vow I made to Our Lady long years ago, messire.’
Raoul stopped, and faced her. ‘But when he does return, Elfrida?’
‘I do not know – I do not think that my father would wish to see me wed out of England,’ she said shyly.
She looked so sweet he had hard work to keep himself from kissing her there and then. She pulled her hand free of his hold on it, and drew back to the door of the bower. When her fingers clasped the latch she ventured to peep at Raoul again. She stood hesitating; the dearest little smile trembled on her lips; she said, breathless at her own daring: ‘I do not – dislike Normans – myself, messire.’
He started forward, but she was gone before he could reach her, and the door had shut with a clang behind her.
He sought Edgar in his chamber that night as the bell for couvre-feu was ringing through the streets. Edgar was seated by the table inspecting his hunting-spear by the light of a cluster of candles. He looked up as Raoul came in, and smiled.
‘Holà, Raoul!’ He pushed a stool forward with one foot. ‘Sit! I have seen nothing of you all day.’ He saw Raoul look significantly towards the page, who was collecting an armful of weapons for the chase, and stretched out a hand to grasp the boy’s shoulder. ‘Off with you, Herluin,’ he said. ‘Take that gear with you, and see there is no speck upon my spear when next I go hunting.’
Herluin said: ‘No, lord,’ in a meek voice, and sped forth.
Edgar looked inquiringly at his friend. ‘Something of moment, Raoul?’
‘Yes,’ Raoul answered. He did not sit down, but wandered over to the platform under the window, as though irresolute.
Edgar watched him with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘What dire happening are you going to tell me? You rode my horse Barbary out to Lillebonne this day: have you lamed him? Or is it that your good father will not send the greyhound from Harcourt that he promised me?’
Raoul smiled. ‘Neither.’ He turned, and came back into the inside of the room. ‘Edgar – could you see your sister wedded to a Norman?’
At that Edgar jumped up and caught him by the shoulders. ‘What, man, is that how it is with you? Yea, with goodwill, so you be that Norman.’
‘My thanks. And your father?’
Edgar’s hands fell again to his sides. ‘Maybe, if I spoke for you. I do not know.’ He sounded troubled all at once, and there was a frown in his eyes.
‘I have little to offer,’ Raoul said awkwardly, ‘because I have not cared to hold lands and a title. I have only my knight’s fee, but I think the Duke would advance me if I desired it. There was some talk of it, but I chose rather to stay at his side, and saw no good in the possessions he would have given me. But if I took a wife …’ He paused, and looked gravely at Edgar. ‘What do you say?’
For a moment Edgar did not say anything at all. He seemed to find it hard to discover words to express his thought. When he at last spoke it was hesitatingly. ‘It is not that. No man in Normandy has more power than you to become great in wealth and in puissance. Well do I know that the Duke would advance you if you but winked an eyelid. I have no fear that you might not find means to pay the morgen-gift.’ He grinned suddenly, but the grin faded. ‘It is not that,’ he repeated. ‘Because we have been friends long years, and because I know no man more worthy to take Elfrida’s hand in wedlock I would desire it – nay, I have desired it, above all things.’ He lifted a fold of the heavy curtain that hung round his bed, and began to pleat it between his fingers. ‘But these are dreams, Raoul: foolish, idle dreams.’
Raoul stayed silent, waiting for him to go on. Edgar looked up from his pleats. ‘So deep a gulf lies between!’ he said, as though beseeching Raoul’s understanding of all that he would prefer not to say.
‘Yet you have often told me how your father took a bride out of Normandy,’ Raoul said.
‘Yes. But it was different then.’ Edgar closed his lips firmly, unable to explain further.
‘Do you then forbid me to approach your sister?’ Raoul asked directly.
Edgar shook his head. ‘I would like too well to call you brother,’ he replied. ‘My word is for you, but I fear what the future may hold. Nor’ – he smiled faintly – ‘are betrothals thus arranged. You and she are not franklins to fall in love and wed at will, my friend.’
Raoul felt suddenly impatient. ‘Heart of a man, if the Lady Elfrida will trust herself to me
I will have her in despite of every customary usage!’
‘There spoke the Norman,’ Edgar said softly. ‘Marauding, grasping, marking his prey!’
Anger rose in Raoul, but he curbed it, saying in a calmer voice. ‘That was not deserved. Though I speak wildly you know full well I will do nothing out of the honourable way.’
‘I do not doubt you,’ Edgar said. ‘But I see a weary road ahead.’
Spring was in Raoul’s blood, making doubts and forebodings so alien to his mood that again he was conscious of that stab of irritation. ‘God’s death, Edgar, can you not forget? What shall it signify to us little men if our leaders nurse ambitions? I will not think in this boding vein, I tell you!’