Melville’s lazy smile widened.
“Then you do not watch me often, Avis.”
“Do I not?” She replied. “Be so good as to tell me what I have missed!”
“This is how I always look when I’m with you.”
Avis’ smile faltered, and then broadened. She would never have thought that such words from such a man would give her such pleasure. Melville was still undoubtedly Norman – nothing had changed there. He was still abrupt, and rude, and at times completely incomprehensible. But something indeed had changed. Something was altered between them, and she was sure it was something within her. She could not find the feelings of anger, bitterness and resentment that she had grown up against this man.
Stretching her legs out in front of her and leaning backwards on her arms, Avis sighed. Her hands reached deep into the fur, and in doing so, her left hand brushed against something. It was Melville’s right hand: but instead of clasping it, he reached up to push her arm away. She fell backwards about to topple onto the ground, but he caught her in his strong arms.
“Melville!” Avis giggled.
He laughed at her mock scorn, and drew her in closer, eyes still shut. Avis struggled, but only to prevent an easy conquest. She settled down alongside him, revelling not only in the meagre heat of the sun, but in the pervading heat of his body. With one arm wrapped across his waist, she allowed her eyelids to dip.
Melville opened one eye to gaze down upon his wife. She was snuggled deep into him, and was totally at ease in his presence. He let out a controlled sigh of contentment. This was exactly what he had been hoping for. He wanted Avis to learn to trust him, to feel open in his presence. Perhaps, slowly, they could learn together.
“Melville?” Avis breathed.
“Hmmm?”
“Thank you.”
Melville’s heart sang. The thought that he had given Avis happiness flooded his veins with warmth and joy. Nothing could spoil this moment. Nothing could interfere with this intimacy. Nothing.
Chapter Twenty Two
The sound of a horse’s hooves became faster and louder, and eventually Melville had no choice but to pay attention to their approach.
“Avis darling?”
Avis shook her head, unwilling to return to society.
“Come on.” Melville gently lifted her up, and gave Avis enough time to pat down her flyaway hair before the horseman arrived.
Melville smiled at her wryly, acknowledging his displeasure that their time together was about to be interrupted – but he groaned aloud when the rider came into view, and he recognised the crest and livery. It was a messenger from King William.
“Melville?” Avis muttered quietly. His face had grown dark, and she was sure that he had recognised the loyalty of the man that approached them.
Melville answered briefly before the man was in earshot.
“The King.”
As Melville rose to greet the rider, he did not notice how Avis turned pale. She had not seen King William since that day, that day when her entire life had changed. Although it was obvious that this rider was not the King, she could not help but feel that her privacy was once again being attacked by that unwanted warrior. Would she ever be free of him?
The rider dismounted, and walked straight to Melville, who recognised him at once. His horse shook itself after a long and difficult ride, and began to lazily eat the luscious grass that surrounded them.
“Jean?”
The rider nodded, and then stumbled. Melville caught him, and immediately helped him to sit on the pile of rugs beside Avis, who shrunk back in fear. The man was clearly exhausted. Melville’s thoughts immediately exploded, imagining all manner of different scenarios, each with terrifying consequences. The King captured, the King in hiding, the King back in Normandy…
But then he noticed Avis. She was clearly uncomfortable with this man here, and it was unlikely that the rider would speak in her presence. General disdain for the intelligence of women led most men to conduct their business away from the gossiping ears of women. And besides, despite his posturing, he knew that Avis was still considered by most to be an Anglo-Saxon. Someone not to be trusted. Although Melville did not hold to those ideas – how could he, with such a mother – he knew that for both Avis and Jean, it would be easier if she were not here.
“Avis.” He spoke gently, and she turned to him, trying to ignore as best she could the panting man whose presence had put her so on edge. “Would you do me the courtesy of going to speak to the villagers below? I would know that they are being fairly treated, and want for nothing.”
Avis smiled at him. She knew that the request was merely a pretence to remove her from this difficult situation, but she was relieved. The presence of this unknown Norman had taken from her all of her calmness, causing tension to run throughout her body, and there was no other polite way for her to simply leave them. Avis was only just beginning to trust Melville – a new stranger, a Norman stranger, was too much.
Rising and smoothing down her skirts, she smiled shakily.
“It shall be my pleasure, my lord. I shall not be long.”
Avis did not want the rider to see her relief at leaving, but it was all she could do not to run down the hill towards the welcoming familiarity of the Anglo-Saxon village. Children scurried out to greet her, and chattered away in her own language. She agreed to join their game, and within moments was lost in the innocence of their cares and quarrels.
Melville watched her descend down the hill, making sure that she was out of earshot before he turned to Jean.
“My man!” He exhaled. “It has been many moons since I have seen you. What has happened to cause this rushed journey?”
Jean had caught his breath, and slowly raised himself into a sitting position, twisting to be opposite Melville. He spoke in a deep voice with a harsh Norman accent.
“Melville. I am so relieved that I have found you.”
Fear tugged at Melville’s heart.
“By God, man,” he said quietly. “Tell me what has happened.”
Jean and he had come across from Normandy together, two young men with nothing but everything to gain. He had saved Jean’s life on more than one occasion, and this had created a bond between them which was more similar to brotherhood than anything that Melville had ever known. To see Jean in such controlled panic was painful for Melville to see. He knew that Jean would not have ridden so fast and so hard unless a terrible event had taken place – and would not have come to him unless there was something, however unpleasant, that had to be done.
“It is the King.” Jean said dully. Melville drew in breath, but did not interrupt Jean now he had managed to begin.
“He has grown angry and tired of the actions of the ætheling Edgar.”
Melville heard the unusual Anglo-Saxon word, and tried to remember its meaning. He recalled that it described a prince that could inherit the crown. There had been many æthelings after the invasion, but not many now. With the name Edgar, he began to understand.
“You remember Edgar?” Jean asked.
Melville nodded. “He resided with our King at his court after the invasion. He is part of the royal line of this country. Young stupid fool, as I recall.”
Jean barked out a laugh.
“Young fool indeed. He has been rallying a group around him. An army. Anglo-Saxon noblemen and those traitorous to our people.”
Melville blew out of his teeth.
“More fools.”
“Fools gather.” Jean said darkly. “They are marching down to the South. Towards William, determined to depose him and take the country from us Normans.”
Melville was stunned. He knew that there were those that disliked the Norman presence. Avis’ reactions to him, and the stories that she had told him about the invasion were enough to tell him that there was a line of bitterness deep within these people, and it would take much time for that to be removed. If it ever was to be removed. He knew that William was a difficult master, dem
anding much and praising little. But he never imagined that they would be so stupid as to try and force William’s hand. From his understanding, it would take a whole nation to rise up to destroy William’s army.
Melville did not want to enter war again, but he knew his duty. He knew that he had no choice before his King.
“When do we ride to battle?” He asked Jean sadly.
Jean shook his head.
“It is much worse than that.”
Melville sighed. He glanced to check that Avis was still playing with the children. This terrible news could do nothing but force them apart by reminding them of their differences. And just when there was beginning to be an understanding between them. He raised a hand to scratch at his dark hair, and sighed again.
“Tell me the worst.”
“He’s marching on the North.”
Jean’s statement did not make sense to Melville.
“William’s marching towards the North?”
Jean smiled wryly, but with sadness in his eyes.
“No. He’s marching on the North. At the North. He plans to destroy the North. To burn every town, ransack every home, murder every man, salt every field, slaughter all cattle. He intends not to destroy the North, but to make sure that it can never be inhabited again.”
Melville sat. There was nothing to say. He could not comprehend such destruction. William’s anger was famous throughout his lands, but never before had such vengeance been seen. It would make the invasion look tame.
Jean watched Melville as he tried to understand what he had been told. He owed a great debt of friendship to this dark and serious Norman, and nothing that his friend could say would alter that. He would have given much not to relay such terrible news.
Avis threw the ball over to the tallest child, clapped as she caught it wildly, and quickly scanned the top of the hill. She could still see Melville and the rider sitting, facing each other. But as she watched, Melville dropped his head, and the rider reached over an arm to console him.
Avis bit her lip. Whatever news the strange rider has brought, it was clearly not good. Despite her desire to run up the hill and comfort her husband, she knew that until he beckoned her to return, her presence would not only be unwanted, but unhelpful.
At the peak of the hill, Melville collected himself, and placed his hand over his friend’s that rested on his shoulder.
“What does my King want from me?”
Jean withdrew his hand, and avoided Melville’s eye.
“What are you not telling me, Jean?”
Jean shifted himself, uncomfortable and unwilling to speak.
“My friend, you must tell me.” Melville spoke calmly, but it was a front to cover the panic that was rising in his throat. “There has never been lies between us. Please. Tell me the truth, however bad it may be.”
“It is bad.” Jean spoke hoarsely, his emotion overcoming him. He played with the ends of his left sleeve, unwilling to look up, but he could not avoid Melville forever.
Melville waited, more patient than he had ever had to be in his life.
“The King wants nothing from you.” Jean muttered.
Melville’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “Then…”
And then the truth poured into his mind. He realised what Jean was trying to say – why he was finding it so difficult to say, and had ridden so fast with no rest to reach him.
Melville spoke in a dry voice.
“The King does not want my aid. He plans to destroy me and mine as part of the North.”
Jean nodded. “You are in great danger,” he said gruffly. “I have had to leave his court at night to reach you, but I am not sure whether my presence has been missed. But I could not let you be unable to prepare for this great onslaught.”
Melville smiled at Jean. “My friend, you have risked much to warn me. I thank you.” His smile faded. “But I am unsure as to what path to take. There is no clear way to safety.”
Jean nodded. “It may be…” his voice faltered, but he continued resolutely. “It may be that there is no clear way to safety.”
Melville tried desperately to picture this country’s geography in his mind. There seemed to be no way to remove his household out of the way of William’s murderous path – and as William seemed determined not to call him to his side, it seemed that he did not care whether Anglo-Saxon or Norman died in his vengeful path. He certainly did not consider Melville important or valuable enough to save.
Jean’s voice broke into his reverie.
“Melville. You may have to accept…you may need to send away your wife to her people.”
“She has no people,” Melville replied. “You know that as well as I.”
“In that case,” Jean sighed. “You have no choice whatsoever.”
“I shall send her to Ulleskelf.”
“Where?”
“The village by my manor. It is underneath my protection and lordship, but not directly on the road from the South.” Melville pictured the route that William would take. “She should be safe there.”
But Jean sighed sadly.
“You do not understand. You may not be able to prevent William from taking Ulleskelf.”
Melville stared at him in horror, but Jean did not look away. Eventually, it was Melville’s gaze that faltered.
“I hate the thought that I cannot protect them.” Melville murmured. “But I must return. I must prepare.”
Jean nodded. “I must return to the King, before I am missed.”
The two men rose, and embraced. Melville did not know if he would ever see his friend again, and he could not bear it.
Walking over to his horse, Jean mounted and looked down at his friend.
“Be strong.”
“Be careful.” Replied Melville. He watched as Jean encouraged his horse to gallop faster and faster, hurtling down the hill and past waiting Avis. Waiting to hear the news.
Chapter Twenty Three
Avis saw Jean ride past her, and after a few quick words of farewell to the children, began to walk towards Melville.
He had dropped onto the ground, once again lying on his back, but Avis could tell that this time it was not in relaxation but in troubling contemplation. She sat down beside him, and waited for him to speak to her.
As the silence lengthened, she could not help but ask.
“My lord. What news?”
Melville sighed sadly, and did not answer.
“Melville!”
The sound of his name awakened energy in him, and he sat up, reaching an arm around Avis and pulling her towards him. He exhaled deeply, and Avis realised that he was drawing strength from her. Something had clearly happened to rock Melville’s very core.
“Tell me,” she said softly.
Melville looked at her. Everything in him was desperate to protect this creature from all of the concerns that Jean had brought. He wanted to carry these burdens alone; but he knew for their relationship to be based on trust he had to be open. Even if that meant he had to expose her to yet more pain.
“Avis.” He pushed her slightly away so that he could see her face completely. “I want you to remain calm.”
“Can I be honest, Melville?”
“Please do.”
Avis smiled. “There is little you can say that can scare me more than I have been scared before.”
Melville chuckled sadly. “I wish that could be true, my dear.”
The affectionate term would usually have grated on her, but now it seemed perfectly right. Avis pushed a falling lock of hair away from his eyes, and smiled.
“Whatever it is,” she said softly, “you need to tell me.”
Melville sighed. “William is tired of the restlessness of the North. Edgar your athing – ”
“Æthling.” Avis smiled.
“Æthling.” Melville tried to return the smile, but could not. “Edgar and noblemen from both our peoples are rallying against William. The King has decided to ride on the North and destroy it.”
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Avis did not understand.
“William is to destroy Edgar and his army? That surely does not concern us – unless, you are to join William’s army?”
“No.” Melville tried to explain the situation without terrifying her. “He plans to destroy every home, person, and animal. He plans to kill everything.”
Avis immediately rose. She could not even sit, she could not stay still, she could not rest.
“Such a thing – what sort of man could order such a thing, think of such a thing? It is impossible to think about even more pain and destruction in my land! This violence against her people has to stop!”
Avis was pacing up and down as she spoke, throwing her hands up in the air and gesturing wildly. She broke into a tongue that Melville did not recognise, but assumed was her natural Anglo-Saxon. Clearly, shouting in one’s mother tongue was a lot more releasing than having to do it in translation. He rose and tried to calm her.
“Avis,” he began, but he could not stop her speaking.
“You don’t understand! I have already seen obliteration of life. I cannot, I will not see it again. What are we going to tell the villagers of Ulleskelf? How can we protect them?” She stopped walking and glared at Melville. “How can you protect us? Few men survived from that village – only you and your men stand between us and death. What are we to do?”
Her fear was tangible, and Melville tried to calm her.
“This is not the end. There is much that we can do…”
But his voice trailed away. Although he did not want to admit this to Avis, Melville was not sure whether there truly was anything that he could do. William had given him land after the invasion, but he was not part of the King’s inner circle, and he was owed no favours or gratitude. There were no family ties or important friends that he could call on to protect him or plea on his behalf. He was alone. Even Jean could not stay with him. He had risked so much merely to warn Melville, but still could not remain by his side. Would there be anyone who would risk all to stand by him?
Avis had resumed pacing, muttering under her breath in phrases that Melville did not understand but could guess at. Melville stepped in front of her, and grabbed her flailing arms.