Hellion.

Bertrice Small.

For my best friend on the East End.

Andrea Aurichio.

What would I do without you, babe?.

Prologue.

ENGLAND.

August 1100.

King William Rufus held his Easter court at Winchester. At Pentecost he was in Westminster. At that time, a village in Berkshire reported blood welling from the earth, and many who claimed to have seen it attested to it. When word of the phenomenon was brought to the king, he laughed.

"These English," he said. "They are such a superstitious lot."

The priests shook their heads glumly and muttered amongst themselves. The king was a most ungodly man who lacked respect for portents and all things holy. He would surely meet a bad end, and his wicked companions with him. But those who knew William Rufus best appreciated that while he might be a harsh man with little patience for those whose beliefs were rooted in ignorance or fear, he was fair with those who served him honestly.

The fat season for red stags began August first, and William Rufus was at his hunting lodge in the New Forest with several companions and his youngest brother, Henry. Many were surprised that Henry Beauclerc-so called because of all the Conqueror's sons, he was best educated-was so friendly with the king, for William Rufus's heir was not Henry, but rather their eldest brother, Robert, Duke of Normandy. Still, the prince seemed to hold no grudge, which was unusual in an age that lived by conquest.

On the second day of August the hunt was scheduled to begin at dawn, as was customary, but early that morning a foreign monk spoke with the king's friend, Robert fitzHaimo, telling him of a warning vision he had had in the night. The king agreed not to hunt that morning, although he did not fear the monk's vision. He was dyspeptic, having eaten and drunk far too much the night before.

"I am so filled with an ill wind," he mocked himself, "that the deer would hear me coming from a great distance and hide; but we'll hunt this afternoon."

So after the midday meal William Rufus and his companions went into the deep forest to stalk deer. Finding a spot near a stream with the well-muddied tracks of beasts all about, the king dismounted, waiting silently in the bushes for a stag to come to drink. He knew that his companion, Walter Tirel, was nearby. The other hunters had scattered, as was the accepted routine in such a hunt.

Suddenly, without warning, an arrow flew through the air and buried itself in William Rufus's chest. Astounded, the king grasped at the arrow, stumbling noisily into the clearing by the stream. He had heard no one, but then his eyes met those of his assailant. A face stared from the foliage. The king smiled, recognizing the face. His look was one of admiration, almost approval. Then he fell facedown in the mud as death reached out to claim him.

The greenery didn't even rustle as William Rufus's assassin slipped away. Walter Tirel entered the clearing, looking about him. Seeing the king, he raised a mighty shout of alarm. Within moments the place was filled with the king's other companions, including Henry Beauclerc, open-mouthed and astounded by the scene that greeted them.

"Mon Dieu, Walter! You have killed the king!" Robert de Montfort said for all to hear.

"Non! Non!" Tirel replied. "Not I my lord! The king was dead when I arrived. We were together, but he hurried on ahead of me. I found him so. I swear it!"

"It was an accident, I am certain," Robert fitzHaimo said. "You are known for an honorable man, Walter, and had no cause to kill the king."

"Is this place cursed?" de Montfort wondered aloud. "The king's brother, Richard, was killed all those years ago in a similar accident, and last spring his own nephew died the same way. A hunting accident."

"It was not my arrow that killed the king," Walter Tirel said doggedly.

"Yet it must be your arrow," de Montfort said, bending down. "See, it is one of the two the king gave you himself this day. Do you not remember, Tirel? A blacksmith came with six arrows before we left this afternoon. The king praised the smithy's craftsmanship. He kept four of the arrows for himself, and gave you two. You do not have two now, do you?"

"I shot one earlier," Tirel insisted. "You yourself were there when I shot at that first stag from a-horse. I missed the beast and could not find the arrow. Do you not remember?"

"It is an accident," fitzHaimo said soothingly. "A tragic accident. There is no blame to assign. Perhaps, though, it would be best if you returned to your lands in France, my lord. Poix, isn't it? There will be some who are hotheaded enough to seek revenge for this unfortunate incident. To horse, my lord, and do not look back!"

Walter Tirel, Count of Poix, did not need to be encouraged twice. He was not so stupid that he did not realize something was amiss. However, he did not wish to take the blame for something he had not done. Mounting his horse, he galloped off, not bothering to stop at the royal lodge, but heading straight for the coast and the first boat he could find to take him to France.

"The king is dead," Robert de Montfort said softly.

"Long live the king," fitzHaimo replied solemnly.

William Rufus was buried the following day, a Friday. On Sunday, the fifth day of August, his brother Henry-who had not even waited to bury his sibling, but instead hurried to Winchester to secure the royal treasury-was crowned at Westminster, despite his father's wishes that Robert succeed Rufus. Henry, the youngest of the Conqueror's sons, based his claim on the fact that he was the only one to have been born in England.

"I am," he boldly told the barons, "the only legitimate heir of the king of England, for my father was England's king when I was born, and my own birth took place at Selby in Yorkshire. My brother, Duke Robert, was born while my father was Normandy's duke."

King Henry promised to correct all the abuses of the previous monarch, but his eyes were on Normandy, the duchy belonging to his eldest brother, Robert, who was on crusade. To this end he sent out to all the landowners in England, demanding their fealty. Henry needed to know England was completely loyal when he went to reunite his father's original holding with England. There could be no question of the two territories being separate, and there could be no question that Henry was the rightful king of England, and lord over both places.

Part I.

LANGSTON.

Winter 1101.

Chapter 1.

"You must have a wife, Hugh Fauconier," the king said with a smile. He reached out to take his bride's hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze. King Henry had been married just a little over a month. While the queen had been chosen for political reasons, he liked her well enough, and she him. They got on quite nicely for two people who had not known one another until the day of their marriage.

Edith, renamed Matilda to please her husband's Norman barons, was a very pretty young woman, with her mother's dark red hair and gray-blue eyes. And like her mother, she was a devout young woman. She had planned to enter a convent until Henry, seeking to secure his northern border while he sought to conquer Normandy, asked the Scots king for his sister's hand in marriage. The bride was quickly sent south, for the Scots king never knew when he might need the military strength of his English brother-in-law. The fact that Edith/Matilda was also a direct descendant of the last Anglo-Saxon rulers did not go unremarked.

Those near the king turned now to look at the object of his attention. Hugh Fauconier, knight, was a Saxon. He had known the king almost his entire life. "I should enjoy a wife if she would bring me as much joy as the queen has obviously brought you," he replied graciously, "but, alas, my liege, I have not the means to support a wife, nor lands on which to settle her."

"You do now," Henry replied with a small smile. "I am returning Langston to you, Hugh. What think you of that?"

"Langston?" He was astounded. All his life Langston had been but a dream. Langston was his father's ancestral home, but he had never known his father, who, with his grandfather and two uncles, had died at Hastings. Upon hearing the news of the battle, his mother had, with incredible foresight, packed up the family's valuables and fled west with her servants across England to her father's home. Hugh had been born seven and a half months later. After his mother's death, his maternal grandmother, a Norman lady distantly related to the Conqueror, had raised him. Langston had been given to a Norman knight loyal to King William.

"Circumstances have changed since my father's time," King Henry said softly. "Come and see me privately after the meal, Hugh. I will explain all to you then, my friend."

The court was at Westminster celebrating the Christmas season. While the queen's presence had brought women back into the royal circle, it was a subdued time, for the king was still in mourning for his brother, William Rufus. Then, too, there was the very distinct possibility that Duke Robert of Normandy would, come spring, attempt to overthrow his younger brother's rule in England.

Caught between his two brothers, one a duke of Normandy and the other a king of England, Henry had struggled his whole life to please them both. It had not been an easy task, and in the end his elder siblings had signed wills making the other his heir should he die without issue; and thus cutting off the younger Henry.

Then Pope Urban II had preached a call for a crusade to free Jerusalem from the Saracens. Duke Robert, tired of the factional fighting in his duchy and in the neighboring states about him, and longing desperately for a little adventure, had answered the pope's call. First, however, he'd had to mortgage Normandy to his brother, William Rufus, so he would have the silver to mount such a glorious expedition. The term of the loan was three years. At the end of that time, Duke Robert would repay King William Rufus and reclaim his lands. Robert had been on his way home from the first crusade covered slightly in glory, traveling with a new bride, Sibylle, the daughter of Geoffrey of Conversano, Lord of Brindisi, a nephew of King Roger of Sicily, when William Rufus had been killed in the New Forest, and Henry, the youngest of William the Conqueror's sons, had moved quickly to secure the treasury and have himself crowned King of England.

The barons, whatever their reasons, had not rebelled. Most believed Henry a stronger man than his eldest sibling. With Duke Robert's return, however, there was apt to be a war. The king needed all the friends he could get, for many of his lords held lands in both England and Normandy. Their loyalty would be decided based upon which of the Conqueror's sons they considered likely to win such a conflict.

Hugh Fauconier sat himself down upon a bench, still stunned by the king's words. Langston! He was to have Langston back. How pleased his grandparents would be. He wished his mother had lived to see this day, but she had died almost immediately after his birth.

"You lucky devil!" His friend, Rolf de Briard, poked him with a finger. "What did you do to deserve such good fortune, Hugh? It cannot be just because you raise the finest hunting birds in all of England." Rolf raised his cup to his tablemate, then drank down a healthy gulp of wine. "How big is the estate?"

Hugh shook his head. "I haven't the faintest idea, Rolf. I've never even seen it. I'm not even certain exactly where it is, except that it is in East Anglia. My grandmother, Emma, always spoke of its beauty. She saw it once, when my mother was married to my father."

"So the king could be gifting you with something totally worthless," Rolf considered. "What happened to the lord to whom it was given after Hastings? Is the land tillable? Is there a dwelling? How many serfs and freedmen? There is a great deal to know."

"And I'll know none of it until the king decides to tell me." Hugh laughed, his equilibrium returning in light of Rolf's good, practical common sense. "Will you come with me when I go to Langston?"

"Aye!" Rolf responded enthusiastically. He had come to court to make his fortune, and he was bored. Hugh's offer held the promise of adventure.

When the meal was over, and the musicians played softly, Hugh Fauconier arose from the trestle table where he had been sitting and moved to a spot below the high board, where the king might see him. He stood silently and patiently until finally the king's page came to lead him to a small, windowless room furnished by two chairs and a table.

"You are to wait here, Sir Hugh," the lad said, and then departed.

Hugh did not know whether he should sit or not, and decided to stand until the king came and invited him to seat himself. He paced the little room nervously. Then suddenly the door was opened and King Henry entered, the page coming behind him with wine and two goblets.

"Sit down, Sir Hugh," the king said jovially. "Wine for us both, my lad," he instructed the young page, who swiftly complied, then exited the room, leaving the men to their privacy. The king raised his goblet. "To Langston," he said.

"Langston," Hugh Fauconier said, echoing the king's toast.

Henry quaffed half the goblet, then spoke. "Langston was given to Robert de Manneville after my father came to England. He was barely more than a boy, but he saved my father's life on the battlefield. My father, as you know, was a man who knew how to reward both loyalty and bravery. He was impressed by de Manneville's dogged loyalty.

"De Manneville had a little estate in Normandy, unlike some who had come with my father to England. He married, had two sons, was widowed, married again, had a daughter. Several years ago he decided to follow my brother, Duke Robert, on crusade. His eldest son went with him. The younger remained on the estate in Normandy. The daughter, who was born here in England, has always lived at Langston with her mother."

The king paused a moment to take another drink of wine, then continued. "Sir Robert and his son, Sir William, were both killed at a battle called Ascalon, some seventeen months ago. The younger son, Richard, was so informed, and married almost immediately. Sir Robert had made out a will before he departed that named William as his heir, and Richard, should William not survive. His English lands, however, he entailed upon his daughter, Isabelle. The girl is fifteen, I am informed.

"After my brother's death in the New Forest, I sent to all those given lands here in England by my father, and then my brother, asking for their fealty. Many have given it. Among those who have not is Isabelle of Langston. Twice I have sent to her demanding her allegiance, but she will not answer my summons to come to court and pledge herself to her king. She is without the guidance of a man to advise her in her behavior. Yet what if she has ignored my call because she has been so counseled by her brother, Sieur Richard in Normandy? What if she has pledged herself to my brother, Robert? I am led to distrust this maid, Hugh.

"Do you know where in East Anglia Langston is? It is just a few miles up the river Blyth from where it empties into the sea at Walberswick. There is a stone keep overlooking the river that Sir Robert built on the site of your grandfather's hall. It is virtually impregnable, and quite strategic to the safety of the area. Langston Keep must be held by a man whose loyalty to me is without question. I believe that you are that man, Hugh.

"Though you have never laid eyes on your ancestral home, I know I can trust you for many reasons, and the most important of these reasons is that you have no lands in Normandy. You have no loyalties to be divided as I once did; as so many of my most important and strongest barons do. My brother will come in the spring to attempt to wrest England from me. If I have enough men like you to rely upon, I can easily retain what is mine, and I mean to do just that. Then I shall regain Normandy.

"The late Sieur de Manneville, however, placed Langston in his daughter's hands for but one purpose. It is her dower portion. I cannot in the name of chivalry send the girl and her widowed mother packing. I therefore instruct you to take the girl as your wife. As a noble English orphan it is my right to arrange her marriage. Her family can neither complain nor forbid me. There are no legal encumbrances to prevent it. You are not pledged to anyone, and neither is this maid. I shall send one of my own priests, Father Bernard, with you to assure the two women that this is my wish, and no ruse to steal Langston or dishonor the lady Isabelle. He will perform the marriage between you and the girl, and bring me word that all is as I have ordered. Should the girl's brother complain of my actions to his liege lord, my brother Robert, you must hold Langston firmly for me."

"How soon do you wish me to leave, my liege?" Hugh Fauconier asked the king. He was not nearly as calm as he appeared to be. His heart was hammering with a mixture of excitement and anticipation; but he would show nothing but respect before his king.

"You will need a day to have your squire pack up your belongings, Hugh," the king said. "I will send a messenger to your grandfather, Lord Cedric, informing him of my wishes. I hope that now you are to become a landowner, and a husband, you will not stop raising your wonderful birds. They are the finest I have ever known."

"Once I have settled myself, sire, I shall send to my grandfather for breeding stock. Neither my uncles nor my cousins have any interest in the birds, and will not be jealous."

"I am happy to know that, Hugh, for I should not like to see the talented line of Merlin-sone disappear. Your family has always bred the best hunting birds. Did you know that my father first met your grandfather when he came to Normandy years ago to enter a competition with his birds? That was when Lord Cedric was first won over to my father's cause. His loyalty to my father after King Edward died, and his effort to quiet the Mercian countryside, were greatly appreciated." The king smiled at his companion. "I am taking up too much of your time, Hugh, and you have much to do before you leave for Langston."

"I should like your permission to take Rolf de Briard with me, my liege," the knight said.

Henry nodded. "Aye, he is a good man to have guarding one's back, Hugh. Take him with you."

Hugh stood, and then kneeling before the king, placed his folded hands in the monarch's. "I am your man. I will faithfully hold Langston for you as long as I live, sire," he promised.

The king raised Hugh Fauconier up, kissing him on both cheeks. Then he gave him a small carved wooden staff, signifying that Henry had passed Langston formally into his vassal's possession. Bowing, Hugh departed the chamber.

Behind him Henry smiled, well pleased with his day's work. He had knighted Hugh Fauconier himself many years ago. His childhood friend had pledged his loyalty to him. His fealty to William Rufus, of course, took precedence to such an oath; but when Henry had become king last summer, Hugh had renewed his vow, and now once again for Langston. There are few I can trust like this man, the king thought. There are others who consider themselves closer to me; others richer, and certainly more powerful than this knight; but none are more loyal. There is no malice in him. The king drank down the wine remaining in his cup, and went to join his wife.

"Well?" demanded Rolf de Briard as Hugh rejoined him. "What have you been given, my friend, and is it worth the trip?"

"I have no idea as to the land involved, but there is a relatively new keep of stone, Rolf, not timber and earth. And I have to marry the girl. All in all it's not a bad bargain."

"What girl?" Rolf exploded. "There is a girl? What's her name? Is she pretty? Better yet, is she rich?"

"She is Isabelle of Langston, the daughter of the previous tenant, and I haven't the faintest idea if she is rich or pretty, Rolf." He went on to explain the history of Langston to his friend, and the king's concerns over his bride-to-be's unwillingness to swear fealty. "The maid is probably frightened by the situation, and still mourning her father and brother. She is gently bred, and helpless in this matter. I'll set things to rights in short order, and have the little bird singing a song of love by spring."

Rolf laughed. "The little bird will be closely chaperoned by her mama, my friend, and that good lady may prove a problem. She will have an influence upon her daughter that you will not, being a stranger."

"Once she is my wife," Hugh Fauconier said seriously, "Isabelle has no choice but to answer to me first. If the mother proves difficult, I shall send her off to her stepson's in Normandy, Rolf."

Bold words, and a bolder plan of action, Rolf de Briard thought, but then Hugh Fauconier had always been a direct man. Each had been sent to court at the age of seven to be raised there. Neither had any real prospects. Hugh was an orphan, and Rolf a younger son. They had immediately become fast friends. Queen Matilda had raised and educated them with her youngest son, Henry. They had traveled regularly back and forth between England and Normandy with the court, learning first as pages, then as squires; finally being knighted just before the first King William had died. The good queen, as she had been known, had predeceased her husband by four years.

The court of the second King William was a totally different affair. William Rufus had little respect for overpious and pompous churchmen. He was a direct, forthright man who rewarded loyalty with loyalty and generosity; and disloyalty with a swift, harsh hand. His was a totally masculine court of young men in splendid costumes. There were rumors, none of them proved, that the king preferred pretty boys to pretty girls. The king smiled and neither denied nor confirmed the rumors. As no one man emerged as favorite, rumors were all the Church had. Yet the king never married, nor sired any bastards.

There were tales, Rolf thought, that he and Hugh could have told, but they never did. The king was simply a man's man. He had no time for softness. Rolf and Hugh did their duty and bided their time. It was the only life they had. Now, however, Hugh was to have land of his own. Rolf, whose heart was a good one, was delighted by his friend's luck.

The two knights departed for Langston two days later, accompanied by their squires and Father Bernard, an older man of surprising vigor. They rode for four days, crossing Essex, and then went on into Suffolk. The January weather was cold, wet, and uninviting. They saw no one along their route but an occasional farmer driving his livestock from one pasturage to another. The priest had arranged for them to stay at night in the guest houses of the religious orders scattered about the countryside. A small coin gained them a hot supper, a safe bed, and oat stirabout, bread, and cider after mass before they left in the morning. There was no breakfast without attending mass, Father Bernard warned them.

"I haven't been so well-churched in years," Rolf said with a grin as they rode along on the last morning of their journey.

The priest and the squires laughed, but Hugh only smiled, more interested in the countryside about him. The area was said to be flat, but although it lacked the hills of his childhood home, there was a gentle roll to it. There were broad meadows, and fine stands of old trees. The buildings they saw were timber-framed and plastered, the roofs thatched neatly, for there was no building stone of note in the vicinity. There was an air of comfortable prosperity to the region, as well there should have been.

There were small ports that were home to fishing fleets and also welcomed trading vessels from the Baltic and Dutch states. The landscape was rich with cattle and sheep. The Suffolk area of East Anglia had been the most populated Saxon region in England owing to a law called Partible Inheritance, which allowed a man to divide his estate equally between all his children. This was not the custom in the rest of England.

As the road wound through the gentle terrain, Hugh realized that they were curiously isolated from the rest of the world. None of the large, important roads ran through the area. The air was cold and damp, the silence almost overwhelming. Away from the court and its distractions, he realized that winter was a colorful time. The branches of the trees were black against the gray sky. In the marshes the reeds and grasses ran the gamut of color from reddish-brown to gold, springing from the rich, dark earth or the ice-edged marshlands of the rivers and streams that seemed to crisscross the landscape.

The countryside, he could see, was good for pasturage, as well as for growing crops. He wondered exactly how much land Langston possessed, and whether it had enough serfs to work it. What did they grow? Did they have both cattle and sheep? A mill? With every step his horse took, Hugh Fauconier was more and more eager to see his ancestral lands.

"There, my lord, just ahead, and across the river," Father Bernard said. "It is Langston Keep, if I am not mistaken."

They were on a small bluff overlooking the Blyth. Hugh scanned the countryside. "There is no bridge," he noted.

"Then there has to be a ferryman somewhere," Rolf replied practically.

They directed their mounts down the incline and along the riverbank until they were almost directly opposite Langston Keep. There they saw across the river a flat, bargelike vessel, but there appeared to be no one about. Then Hugh's squire, Fulk, spotted a post hung with a bell on the shore. Nudging his horse over to it, he rang the bell vigorously, and a moment later a figure was seen running to the ferry.

"Good lad!" Hugh praised the young man. Then he looked across the Blyth to Langston Keep. It was, the king had said, situated upon the site of his grandfather's old hall. It was indeed of stone; and he was curious as to how the stone had been obtained. The keep was rectangular in shape, two stories high. It was set upon a motte, an earthworks mound, as was customary; giving it added height from which to spy upon the countryside about. The motte was surrounded by a wide, deep, water-filled trench. The top of the motte was enclosed with a wall, and from within the enclosure rose the keep. A wooded drawbridge stretched across the water to the keep's entrance gate. It is very impressive, Hugh thought.