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At last, her mother bowed her head, clutching her heart.
“Perchance it is as you say. I am too frail of body. I cannot aid you in this.”
“Take heart! No lord who holds his honour dear would dare harm a lady such as yourself!” Judith said, clasping her mother’s hand.
Lady Fenice nodded with a tremulous smile on her beautiful face.
“Whose banner is the enemy under?” she asked at last, right before Judith could let herself out of the chamber.
Judith breathed in deep as she turned to face her mother yet again.
“De Brunne,” she answered in a voice which only strived to seem steady.
“Ah,” Lady Fenice muttered, and there was a long silence before she spoke again. “Daughter, I fear De Brunne will show you no mercy.”
Judith summoned all the strength she could muster, telling herself not to dwell upon the past any longer.
“Yet he may showyoumercy. And he will show my people mercy. It’s all I ask,” she said, and then hurried out of her mother’s chamber, knowing time was growing short and that she needed to be at the gates when the enemy reached them.
It was not long before Redmore’s gates were tossed open, to let in the conquering army of men who carried the azure banner with the eagle displayed. Judith stood there straight as an arrow, trying to still her thumping heart, as those who led the army rode in. There were two lord knights on horseback in their hauberks and helmets, accompanied by a man of the Church and the banner men. The lords dismounted, and they were both tall and broad of shoulders, yet one was leaner and slighter of form than the other. He walked to where she was with feline grace, as if the hauberk and helmet did not weigh heavy upon him. He spoke to her in a voice which sounded melodious, even in spite of its harsh tone. She knew that voice. She had no need of seeing the knight’s face to know who he was. He was Tristram de Brunne, and both his face and voice had long haunted her dreams.
“It seems surrendering the castle is the only wise thing you ever did,wife,” the voice uttered.
Wife. Judith straightened her spine even further, aware of the knights and soldiers now surrounding her and casting her looks of grim displeasure.
“Sire, if you recall, we are no longer wed,” she said, striving to keep her dignity.
The lord knight didn’t answer, but took the time to remove his helmet. He was, Judith noted when she looked better upon him, every bit as beautiful as she recalled him to be, even if his face was grimy with road dust and weary.
“You do not recall?” he flung at her in a bitter voice. “The Church did not agree to the annulment.”
Judith stared at him, stunned. She had not known. Surely – the letter which had reached her more than one year ago had plainly stated that the Church had agreed on the annulment for which she’d petitioned. She’d read it herself. Many times. Then how had this come to be?
“Nay,” she uttered shaking her head, but by the way Tristram was now looking upon her, it seemed he didn’t believe she had not known of this.
The tall, wispy man of the Church came to stand by Tristram’s side. He was not much older than Tristram, yet he wore a stern, disapproving expression upon his face, which nearly matched Lord de Brunne’s hardened countenance. He spoke disdainfully to Judith, “The Church’s word is law. You are still Lord Tristram’s wife, my lady, and you’re to receive heavy chastisement for the sins against your lord husband!”
Tristram halted the priest with a gesture.
“Cousin, we have decided it is upon me, and not upon the Church, to chastise my wife.”
Wife. So she was still married to Tristram, although she’d been certain the annulment had been granted. But Judith was too distraught to care about what they were talking. It did not truly matter if she was still De Brunne’s wife. She had already expected her fate would be dire, yet she had surrendered the castle so her people would be safe.
“The men and the women here, they surrendered freely. And they are not to be harmed!” she uttered, fighting hard to keep her voice from trembling.
“No one will harm them,” Tristram replied tersely, beckoning his soldiers.
The way things unfolded then took place in a daze, as Judith watched the men who’d prepared to besiege her home make themselves masters of it. Yet, true to Lord Tristram’s word, his soldiers behaved peacefully, as Sir Roderick and her own people met them with no opposition. Judith watched upon all this with relief, not caring what her own fate would be, and hoping her mother was still safely in the chambers where she’d closeted herself.
“Where is the lady Fenice?” Tristram asked, as if in echo of her thoughts, after his squires had helped him out of his hauberk.
“Please, do not harm my mother!” Judith pleaded, casting anguished glances at the grim priest and at the other man, a tall, broad-shouldered lord with brown hair about Tristram’s own age.
The priest gave her a look of sheer disdain, and wanted to speak, but Tristram silenced him.
“She’s ailing,” Judith added, knowing she was not stating the full truth, however clinging to the hope her mother would escape the besiegers’ wrath.
The priest scoffed, yet the other lord, whom Tristram had earlier addressed as FitzRolf, said with a gracious bow of his head. “No honourable knight would harm an ailing woman. Besides, my lady, it is only you who has betrayed your allegiance to your husband. Lady Fenice is guilty only of standing against King Henry. And Henry has decided to show himself magnanimous to his foes, even if they erred against him. It is known to him that your mother is already ailing, so the lady shall be forgiven for her deeds.”
