Just as the army returned home the King of Norway, Harold Hardraade, decided to press his tenuous claim to the English throne. Joining with Earl Tostig, he swept down the Yorkshire coast. Young Earl Morkar sent to his brother, Earl Edwin, for help. This time a call to arms arrived at Aelfleah.

"We must go," said Aldwine Athelsbeorn.

"But why?" Eada demanded. "Did you not say you would not answer the fyrd?"

"I said I would not fight William of Normandy, but this is not William. It is that d.a.m.ned savage Norwegian, and Tostig! How can I refuse Earl Edwin's call to aid his brother? I am a Mercian, and it is Mercia's earl who asks my help. Brand and I must go."

Brand was beside himself with excitement. He was past twenty, but had never had the opportunity to partic.i.p.ate in a battle. Joyfully he prepared his weapons, sharpening his sword blade, honing his spear, while his mother grimly checked his chain mail to be certain that it was in good order.

Mairin took Dagda aside. "Go with them," she begged. "I know that it has been many years since you have smelt the winds of war, and I do not ask you to fight, but stay near them, Dagda. Bring them safely home."

Dagda did not ask her what she saw in the runes she had cast although he had seen her spread the stones upon their velvet cloth three times. He knew he would come back safely because Mairin would have warned him if he needed to take extra care.

In the days following their departure the women of Aelfleah manor completed their ch.o.r.es as if in a daze. It had been many years since their village had been touched by war. The old women shook their heads and told terrible tales while the young women fretted for the safe return of husbands and lovers. They arose at first light, and sought their beds shortly after sunset. Each found comfort in sleep. Mairin did not.

At York a great battle was fought, and the Norwegians triumphed. There was terrible slaughter of the English forces. Dagda gathered together those of Aelfleah's people who were alive and recalling his old battle skills, he circ.u.mvented the Norwegians and led them all home to their quiet valley. Seeing the look on Eada's face as he gave her the body of her only son for burial, he realized the futility of war, and wept with her.

As they stood by Brand's grave he said to Eada, "If it is any consolation, I can tell you that Brand was as brave and n.o.ble a warrior as any I have ever seen. It was an awful battle for his baptism of fire. More skilled men than he lost their lives."

She nodded silently, and he knew his words had brought her a small measure of comfort. He was grateful she did not ask the circ.u.mstances of her son's death, for Dagda did not think he could relate the truth to this gentle woman.

Mairin, of course, had asked him, and he had told her that as Brand knelt over his injured father he was struck from behind by a helmeted warrior who then disappeared back into the thick of the battle. He told her of the look of total surprise that filled Brand's blue eyes in the instant of his death.

"You cast the runes thrice," he said. "Did they not warn you of this tragedy?"

"You know how hard it is for me to see things relating to those closest to me," she answered him. "I asked the runes if father and Brand would return home. Thrice I asked, and three times the runes said they would return. It did not occur to me that Brand would be dead, and father mortally wounded. If I had been more specific I might have warned them."

"Then it was their fate," replied Dagda. "You are not to blame. How could you have known?"

Aldwine Athelsbeorn lay dying in his own bed. He called for Eada, Mairin, Dagda, the priest from the village church, and as many of his people as could crowd into his bedchamber. Gathering the last of his strength he told them, "My son is dead, but my daughter lives. It is she that I designate my heiress. It is she to whom I leave all my worldly goods, my lands, and whatever wealth I have managed to acc.u.mulate. Do you swear to me that you will give her your fealty?" He fell back against his pillows, and for a moment his eyes closed. Then they opened and focused sharply on the people about him.

A chorus of "Ayes" echoed throughout the room.

"Father," he continued, "will you swear to any who ask that it was my last wish that the lady Mairin be my heiress?"

"Aye, my lord," said Father Albert. "I will so swear upon the blessed body of Christ crucified, and upon the tears his holy Mother Mary shed."

"Mairin, my daughter, will you keep my fealty to Duke William?"

"Aye, father." The tears coursed down her cheeks. The knowledge that she was losing the wonderful man who had rescued her and who had become her parent was incredibly painful.

"And you will care for your mother?"

She nodded, reaching out to take Eada's hand, unable to speak now.

He fastened his dimming gaze upon Eada. A weak smile lit his face. "Ahh," he said, "you are as beautiful now as the day I first saw you in your father's hall. Protect Mairin. Love each other after I am gone as you have loved each other in my lifetime."

"Do not leave me, my lord," Eada wept. "What is there for me without you?" She was visibly paler.

"There is our daughter, Eada! You cannot leave her to fend for herself. She needs you! It is not G.o.d's will that you come with me. You have been the best, nay, the most perfect of wives. Never have you disobeyed me. This is the hardest task that G.o.d has ever set for us both-to go on without each other-but surely it is meant to be else he would not ask it of us. If you love me you will do this for me." He fell back again amid the pillows of his bed, ashen, his breathing now rasping painfully.

"I love you," she whispered. "There was never anyone but you, and though it pains me I will obey you, my lord, in this last thing."

He smiled faintly at her. Then he said, "I love you too, my true heart, but I must go. Brand awaits me. He is even now calling to me."

She saw the life flee from his eyes, and she fell upon his chest sobbing. For over twenty-five years she had shared his life, and now he was gone. She was alone. Then she felt Mairin's hands gently drawing her away, and held in her daughter's embrace she realized that she was not alone. The greatest gift that Aldwine had ever given her was on an autumn day long ago when he had come home from London with a giant of an Irishman, and the most beautiful girl-child that had ever been born in his keeping. Now he had put them into each other's keeping. She looked up at her daughter saying, "How do we go on, my child? I feel that you are wiser than I."

Mairin sighed. "I suppose," she said, "that we begin at the beginning, mother. We will bury father next to Brand, and then we will continue as we have always done. The harvest must be completed. None of what has happened today will prevent the winter from coming this year. If I am to feed and protect our people we must gather in all the foodstuffs that we can." She turned to the priest. "Father Albert, we will bury my father tomorrow after his people have paid him their respects. You will put in the church book that on this Michaelmas Day, in the year 1066, Aldwine Athelsbeorn joined his Lord and that it was a sad day for all his people of Aelfleah."

Those at Aelfleah did not learn until weeks later that on the same day that Aldwine Athelsbeorn had died, William, Duke of Normandy, had landed at Pevensey. Several days later the decisive battle for England was fought at Hastings, and Harold G.o.dwinson was killed along with his brothers Leofwine and Gyrth.

In London Archbishop Aldred and the townspeople attempted to place the child, Edgar the Atheling, the last in the line of Wess.e.x kings, upon the throne. Earls Edwin and Morkar swore fealty to the child. In the end, however, the archbishop, the young Edgar Atheling, Earls Edwin and Morkar, and the influential citizens of London, capitulated to William of Normandy. They gave him hostages, and swore their loyalty to him. William in return promised to be a good king to them, but he also allowed his men three days' plunder to punish the English for their resistance to his claim of sovereignty.

At Aelfleah none of this was known, for the very isolation that had protected the manor over the years also made it the last place in Earl Edwin's domain that news arrived. On St. Hilda's Day, the eighteenth of November, Mairin was returning from the woods with a party of young girls with whom she had been nutting. Having taken on her father's heavy responsibilities she had found little time for levity and had needed this respite from more pressing manor business. She rarely had time to ride Thunderer, who was restless from inactivity. Now as they came laughing and chatting from the woodland they saw a party of armed and mounted men just coming across the ford in the river. The village girls stopped. Eyeing the men warily they then looked to Mairin for direction.

"Stay by me, la.s.ses," she ordered them. "There is always safety in numbers."

They cl.u.s.tered about her like a group of chicks to a hen. The hors.e.m.e.n approached them. When the strangers had drawn level with them they stopped, and one man, better dressed than the others and obviously the leader, said, "Is this the manor of Aelfleah?"

"Who seeks to know, my lord?" Mairin answered him.

The knight's eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. Although he had spoken in English she answered him in perfect and unaccented Norman French. He had spotted her immediately as the leader of this pretty pack of females, deciding that if she belonged to the manor she would warm his bed this night. It was obvious, however, that she was not a serf. "I am Josselin de Combourg, the new lord of this manor," he said, "and who, my beauty, might you be?"

"I am Mairin Alwinesdotter, the heiress to the manor of Aelfleah, my lord. As that obviously puts us at an impa.s.se of sorts, may I suggest that you come into the hall where we may speak further on this."

"William of Normandy rules in England this day," said the knight.

"Thanks to a merciful G.o.d, my lord," she answered him piously. "The fealty of this manor has always belonged to King William. Will you tell your men to stable their own horses? My people will help them. Then they may come into the hall for refreshment." Dismissing him momentarily she turned back to the girls who accompanied her and said, "Take your nuts to the granary to be culled and stored. Then return quickly to your homes." Returning her attention to the knight, she smiled up at him disarmingly and put her hand upon his bridle. "Come, my lord, I will show you the way."

Josselin de Combourg did not know whether to be amused or angry. He wisely decided upon the former emotion. The exquisite beauty so calmly leading his ma.s.sive mount up to the door of Aelfleah's manor house possessed great presence in the face of his news. Who was she? The king had said nothing about an heiress to Aelfleah. Learning that both Aldwine Athelsbeorn and his only son had been recently killed, and that Aelfleah was near the border between England and Wales, William had given the manor to his friend. Hastings' victor would not take the estates of the Saxon thegns who had sworn fealty to him, Aelfleah was already loyal to him. Its strategic location made it imperative that it remain in loyal hands.

Mairin was furious, but knew she must remain calm in the face of this sudden danger. How dare William of Normandy offer her inheritance to this knight! What did he think would become of her and Eada without lands? Were they to be robbed of their home as well as Aldwine and Brand? It was obvious that William of Normandy was a callous man, but Mairin had no intention of sitting calmly by while someone else rearranged her life for her yet again. The lady Blanche had done so to her, and she had been powerless to prevent it. Bellisarius had done so when he killed Basil. This time she would fight! She would not let others rule her or Eada or Aelfleah and its people!

She ushered Josselin de Combourg into the Hall. Eada, who had been working upon a tapestry, arose and came forward to greet the guest. "Welcome to Aelfleah, my lord," she said in her gentle voice. "I am the lady Eada, widow to Aldwine Athelsbeorn."

Josselin was feeling distinctly uncomfortable now. The sweet-faced woman before him had not been overlooked by the king. Indeed she had been put in his charge, but try as he might he could remember no mention of a daughter. What was he to do with her? Was she also his responsibility? She had not the gentle look of her mother.

"There is a widow," William had distinctly said. "If you fancy her then marry her though she may be a bit long in the tooth for you. If she is not to your tastes you must nonetheless protect and shelter her as if she were a member of your own family. Aldwine Athelsbeorn's fealty to me demands that I see to the comfort and safety of his widow. Perhaps she will prefer returning to her brother's hall. If so, give her pa.s.sage. Perhaps she will want to remarry. If that be the case then see that she is dowered. Perhaps she will require nothing more than to remain at Aelfleah for the rest of her days. If that be the case you must treat her with kindness and give her an honored place at your table, and in your hall."

Josselin had agreed for it was the honorable thing to do. The confrontation with the daughter had complicated things immeasurably. Drawing a deep breath he said in response to Eada's greeting, "I am Josselin de Combourg, my lady Eada."

"The new lord of Aelfleah manor," said Mairin sweetly.

Josselin frowned at Mairin though it did not disquiet her in the least.

"I do not understand," said Eada, with a confused look in her eyes.

"What is to understand, mother? William of Normandy has rewarded my father's fealty to him by dispossessing his heiress and his widow of their lands! Tell me, my lord de Combourg, will my mother and I be allowed to keep our personal possessions when we are driven from our home? Must we go today, or will you give us till the morning to gather our things?" She stood glaring at him defiantly, her hands upon her hips.

Strangely he understood her anger for had he found himself in a similar situation he would have felt anger too. He could not, however, countenance her rudeness before the servants. "I am certain, my lady Mairin, that your gentle mother has taught you better manners than you show me. Obviously your doting father did not beat you enough to reinforce those lessons."

"Do not dare to speak of my father, may G.o.d a.s.soil his good soul! My father was a kind and gentle man with a care for everyone from the lowliest to the highest! He would not dispossess innocent women of their home and chattels!" Mairin's ire now overflowed; there would be no turning back. "My father," she finished coldly, "did not have to resort to physical violence to control the people about him. Whatever we did, we did for the pure love of him!"

She stood defying and embarra.s.sing him before the serfs without entirely knowing the true circ.u.mstances, yet all Josselin could think of was that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to carry her off to some secret place and make love to her. Her hair . . . that red-gold ma.s.s of living flame that crowned her hot head, was incredibly alluring, even intoxicating. He shook himself like a wet terrier to clear his head. "Be silent, Mairin Aldwinesdotter!" he roared at her.

Eada, who had been afraid, suddenly wanted to giggle. She swallowed hard to stifle the sound. The look on the knight's face was one Eada had seen many times in connection with her daughter. She found it very funny that Mairin had so easily conquered their conqueror.

Josselin turned to her. "Might I have some wine, my lady? I find I have a great thirst." He looked back to Mairin. "Sit down! No, not in the chair, but on the stool at its feet."

She glared at him outraged. There was something in his voice that warned her that for now she had gone as far as she might dare with him. Compressing her generous mouth into a tight line she did as he bid her. Eada poured the wine into a goblet, and having served the knight, she seated herself in her own chair, placing a restraining hand upon her daughter's head in an effort to calm her.

Josselin seated himself in the other chair. Looking at the two women he began to speak. "It is true that King William rewarded my many years of service to him with these lands. Had his loyal friend Aldwine Athelsbeorn lived, these lands would not now be mine. Aelfleah, although isolated, is nonetheless in a very strategic position, my lady Eada.

"From the tops of the hills that rim this valley to the west one can see Wales. The Welsh are a volatile people who have a history of running disputes with the English. The king wants peace now. I have been charged, therefore, with the task of building a castle atop these hills. One of several in fact that the king intends building to protect the border region. With the raising of that castle I hope to be able to keep the king's peace in this part of England.

"I do not believe that the king was aware that Aldwine Athelsbeorn had a daughter. I have served William of Normandy for twenty years and while he may be considered a hard man, he is a just lord, and not a man to steal from widows and orphans. If you are surprised by my arrival, I am no less surprised to find you, Mairin Aldwinesdotter. As for you, my lady Eada, the king has charged me with your care. There is no need for either of you to leave Aelfleah. It is your home."

"But, my lord," said Eada in her quiet voice, "will not your wife resent this manor's former mistress and her child within her house? It is not, alas, a big house."

"I have no wife, my lady. My duty, and lack of lands, has kept me from seeking a mate all these years. I am happy to have you remain to chatelaine this manor as you have always done."

"I will go to the king!" Mairin burst out. "If he is indeed as you say, a man of principle, then he will return my lands to me."

"And will you build the king's keep?" he mocked her.

"If that is the price I must pay, yes! Do you think I cannot do it, my lord? I love Aelfleah, but more important, it was my father's parting gift to me. It is my dowry. What man will have me without a dowry? In Saxon law a woman may inherit if there is no male heir to do so. This manor makes me a valuable and worthy bride for some man of influence. Without it I am nothing! Let the king give you other lands. You cannot have mine!"

"So you would sell yourself to the highest bidder, lady?"

"You disapprove, my lord? How strange, for when the time comes for you to choose a wife you will seek to make the best possible match. You will not choose a wife for her sweetness of character, or her intelligence, or her housewifely skills. You will seek the richest woman you can find who will have you, and favor your suit, no matter she may look like a dead codfish, and be just as cold in your bed!"

"Mairin!" Eada looked horrified. Saxon women were noted for their blunt speech, but even Eada wondered if her daughter had gone perhaps too far this time.

"Oh, mother, do not chide me! This man would rob me of my inheritance. Then he dares to look down his long Norman nose at me in scorn. Aelfleah is mine! I will not relinquish it! I am going to the king!"

"No," said Josselin de Combourg, "you are not!"

"What, my lord? Do you fear he will hear me favorably, and so you seek to prevent my going?"

"Lady, you would not know it hidden safe here in your little valley, but England is yet chaotic. There are pockets of resistance everywhere. Roving bands of malcontents are terrorizing the roads, making travel nearly impossible without an armed escort, which I cannot give you right now."

"I do not need your help," Mairin sneered.

"Oh, but you do if you are to reach the king in safety."

"Then, my lord, you should let me go for perhaps I will be killed along the way, and then there will be no one to contest your claim to my estate!"

Anger darkened his handsome face, a dull red spread across his wind-bronzed skin. "The day your father swore fealty to King William, Mairin Aldwinesdotter, I stood next to my lord. The king invited your father and his family to his coronation. He will be crowned in London at Christmastide. You, my lady, may go then to plead your case with the king. I will not prevent your going. Indeed I will personally escort you to insure your safety. For now, however, I am charged by my lord with the responsibility of building his castle. Until this matter between us is settled you will continue to run the manor as you have done since your father's death.

"Now, lady, I am hungry, and so are my men. Let there be peace between us for the time being. Your hall is smaller than I would have thought. Will there be room here for my men?"

Mairin was somewhat stunned by his easy solution to their problem. For a moment she attempted to decide where the trick in it was, then seeing Eada frown she quickly said, "Your men may have the hall, my lord. It is true the house is not large, but we do not keep many servants. Those we have sleep either in the kitchens or in the solar above."

He nodded. "I will want a tour of the house," he said.

"My mother will be glad to show you," she replied quickly.

"No," said Eada, "you must do it. I will hasten to the kitchens to see that the cook prepares enough food for our guests. Remove my belongings from the master chamber, Mairin, and place them in Brand's room. Then have linens upon the bed changed."

"Nay, lady," he said gently to her. "Until the king decides it I am not fully master here. With your permission I will sleep in your son's chamber. I will not dispossess you from your place."

For that Mairin liked him. Arising she said, "Come, my lord, and I will show you the upper floor. Then the kitchens." She led him up the stairs and into the solar with its brightly burning fireplace. Then down the little pa.s.sageway, pointing out the two smaller chambers where she and Brand slept, and on into the master bedchamber where her parents slept.

"This is a most unusual design for a house," he noted, and she smiled proudly.

"My father designed this house. It was not like this in his father's time, but my father was not the eldest, and did not expect to inherit. He traveled widely in his youth. In Byzantium, he said, people built their homes to afford themselves privacy from their noisy relations, their children, and their servants. When Aelfleah became his he redesigned it to be like the houses he had seen in his travels."

"I like it," said Josselin de Combourg.

"Do not like it too much, my lord," said Mairin mockingly. "It will never be yours."

The knight chuckled, and thought how very different this Saxon girl was from the women of the Norman court. He was not himself a Norman. He was a Breton. His father was Raoul de Rohan, the Comte de Combourg. His mother, Eve, was the daughter of a wealthy cloth merchant. His father had been married for many years to a n.o.blewoman who had given him two daughters but after her death he had seen Josselin's mother and fallen in love with her.

The disparity in their social positions was considered too great to countenance a marriage. So despite the birth of his first son, Raoul de Rohan gave in to his family's pleas and remarried a suitable wife, who, quickly producing their required heir, died in childbirth. The comte refused to remarry to suit his relations this time. He married his mistress, and moved her and Josselin back into his castle. It was Eve who raised both of her lord's sons, but it was the younger, Guethenoc, who was his father's heir.

The Comte de Combourg loved both of his sons, but perhaps he loved Josselin a bit more. Still he knew that he could not continue to favor the elder over his legitimate heir. So following the custom of the times he sent Josselin at the age of eight to be raised in the house of another n.o.bleman. Wanting him to have the best possible chance in life, he placed him at the Norman court of Duke William. There he knew his son would be safe from the usual taunts that dogged the heels of even the n.o.ble b.a.s.t.a.r.d-born. Duke William himself had been born of a union not blessed by the church.

He told his son that William's father, upon seeing Herleve, his mother, washing her linen in a local stream beneath the castle walls, found out that she was the daughter of a wealthy tanner. He had courted her and she had borne a son even as Josselin's own mother had borne him. Duke Robert had then traveled to the Holy Land on a pilgrimage, and died there. Before he had gone, however, he had made his liegemen swear fealty to his young son should he not return. William had inherited his dukedom. That was the part that Josselin didn't understand.

"How can William, b.a.s.t.a.r.d-born even as I am, be Duke Robert's heir, yet I cannot be yours, father?"

"Because his father had no other child, either son or daughter, who might inherit, Josselin. He had no wife."

"But I was born before Guethenoc, father. If you loved my mother then why did you marry the demoiselle Elisette, Guethenoc's mother? You are married to my mother now, and I am your eldest son. Should I not be your heir?"

"Had Duke Robert returned he would have probably given in to the pleadings of his family to get a legitimate heir even as I did, Josselin. Your mother, like Herleve, was not of equal birth with me. Since Guethenoc was born healthy, and poor Elisette died, I decided to no longer be separated from Eve. I had an heir my family could accept, so I married to suit myself this time. It was blind luck that brought Duke William his domain but at his court there will be few who make mock of you for your birth, my son. You have no need to be ashamed. You are Josselin de Combourg, the much-loved son of Raoul de Rohan. I hope you will take pride in it."

He had taken pride in his heritage, but he nonetheless strove harder than all the other little pages at the court of Duke William. So hard did he strive that his extra efforts brought him the attention of the young duke who was but nine years his senior. Fascinated by the serious little boy who worked so desperately to please, William sought his history. Learning of it he was strangely touched and took the child into his personal care. He understood the demons the boy faced because of his birth. He also knew that no matter how much his parents loved him it would not erase the stain of b.a.s.t.a.r.dy. Was not he, the ruler of one of the most powerful dukedoms in Europe, referred to as William the b.a.s.t.a.r.d?

Josselin grew up under the guidance of the duke, whose favor did not deter the boy from continuing to exert himself in all of his duties. When he was fourteen William sent him to the court of Baldwin of Flanders on a very important mission. He was the duke's gift to the lady Matilda, Baldwin's daughter, whom William of Normandy had singled out to be his wife. There were innumerable difficulties involved in the marriage plans, not the least of which was the bride's resistance.

Matilda announced quite loudly to one and all that she would not marry a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. The other courts of Europe t.i.ttered at the insult. The duke refused to accept her rude answer, and went to Flanders to woo her himself. It was said that he accosted her as she came from church, beating her publicly for her slander of his person. Duke Baldwin's daughter suddenly found herself very impressed with his pa.s.sion, his pride, and his sense of command. Intrigued by this bold man who had dared to lay rough hands upon her before her father and his court, she abruptly changed her mind and agreed to marry William.

The pope, however, forbade the marriage saying Matilda of Flanders must marry elsewhere. Now the lady would hear of no other for her husband but William of Normandy. She refused to even consider another match.

It was at that point young Josselin was sent to Flanders. He was now a big handsome boy of fourteen. His mission was to stay by the lady's side as her page. To tell her all he could about Duke William. To keep her amused and to bolster her spirits when she became afraid or discouraged. To make certain that she would not change her mind again. Josselin did his job well for the pet.i.te blond Matilda became even more obdurate in her refusal to marry anyone but Duke William of Normandy.

Finally Baldwin of Flanders agreed to the match despite the pope's objections. His strong-willed daughter was making his life a veritable h.e.l.l. He had had enough. Let Normandy have her. The pope was far away, and would eventually relent. Matilda and William were married. It was an extremely happy and fruitful marriage. William adored his wife, and was never unfaithful to her. It was a rarity of behavior for a man of both his times, and his position.