“Aye, he did,” Alix agreed. “Does he have anything better to wear?”
Bab nodded.
“Then go and fetch it. He should be buried as befits his station as Wulfborn’s heir.” She turned to the other women servants who were standing in a knot nearby. “Go bring water and clothes, lasses. We must bathe him before he is dressed in his finest.”
The serving women scampered off to do her bidding. Bab had already gone.
Alix looked at the body upon the high board. She felt nothing for it, but then why should she? Hayle Watteson had treated her badly. He had neither loved nor respected her. She had done her best to please, to be a good wife. He had felt no such compunction to respond in kind. She had no regrets, and she would shake the dust of Wulfborn from her shoes as quickly as she could. To have remained to publicly mourn him would have been hypocritical. The winter was close, and she needed to find Margaret of Anjou quickly before travel would be too impossible.
The women returned, and together they stripped the clothing from the dead man’s body. Then they carefully washed him. They giggled and rolled their eyes at the sight of the young man’s genitals. “No wonder our Maida was so happy,” one said, and Bab cackled knowingly. A sharp look from Alix silenced her and prevented any further remarks. The older woman had brought a dark blue velvet robe whose sleeves were edged in gray rabbit fur. They dressed him in it, and Bab combed his hair before placing a strap of linen around his head and beneath his chin. His head straight now, Hayle did not appear so odd. They sewed him into his shroud, leaving only his head visible.
Alix called for candle stands to be brought and beeswax tapers to be lit. The frost had killed the last of the flowers, and so there were none. “Tell the village they may come on the morrow to pay their respects. We will bury him at noon.”
“Where is the grave to be dug?” Bab asked.
“That is Sir Udolf’s decision, not mine,” Alix answered her.
“He’d want to be next to his Maida,” Bab persisted.
“I care not, but it is still Sir Udolf’s decision,” Alix told the woman.
“The priest will not bury him. He killed himself,” Bab said.
“You are mistaken, Bab, and if you spread such a rumor Sir Udolf will see you driven from Wulfborn, and winter is almost upon us. My husband fell when he attempted to dislodge a stuck window, and it opened suddenly, throwing him off balance. This is a tragic accident. Do you all understand that?”
Bab nodded, and suddenly there was a grudging respect in her eyes for Alix.
Another woman spoke up. “Why should he be given the church’s blessing when our Maida was not?”
“Because he is the lord’s son and was heir to Wulfborn. Maida was merely a miller’s daughter. Will your family thank you if I have you driven from this place?” Alix’s voice was soft, but there was definite menace in it.
“Shut yer gob, Molly,” Bab said. “She’s right, and shows more loyalty to Sir Udolf than you are showing. Listen to me, all of you. The young lord’s death was an accident, and any says otherwise will be sorry they did.”
The serving woman threw Alix a sullen look but said no more.
“You are dismissed, all of you, with my thanks,” Alix said. She watched as they went from the hall, several of them whispering among themselves. Bab remained. Turning to her, Alix said, “Thank you. Now go and fetch Father Peter for me.”
“At once, mistress,” Bab replied respectfully. Then she hurried off.
Sir Udolf came into the hall, and walking over to his son’s body, began to weep.
“I have told all who helped me prepare him that this was an accident. He fell trying to open a window in the attics. They will be silent, for I have said that any who says otherwise will be driven with their families from Wulfborn.”
The baron looked at her with grief-stricken eyes. “You are clever,” he said slowly. “It was a kind thing to do.”
“I have but attempted to repay your kindness to me and to my father,” Alix replied. “I hope you will forgive me if I do not remain here to mourn, my lord. You will surely understand why I cannot.”
“In the morning I will send a messenger to Queen Margaret telling her of this tragedy,” Sir Udolf said, brushing his tears away.
“Will you tell her I am returning to her service?” Alix asked him.
“I will tell her of my son’s death, and then tell her I am sending to the archbishop in York for a dispensation to marry you,” Sir Udolf said.
Alix grew pale with shock. “My lord! The church will never allow you to marry your son’s widow. It is an unnatural thing! Besides, I do not wish to wed. I seek only to serve my queen in her exile. I am certain the reason she left me at Wulfborn was only for my father’s safety. She will surely take me back.”
“For whatever reason, you did not give my son an heir and now my son is dead. I need an heir for Wulfborn. I am still young enough to sire one, Alix, and I shall not be cruel to you as was my son. We already know each other. The queen has no place for you, I fear. You must have a husband, and I am in need of a wife.”
“The church will never approve such a dispensation,” Alix said stubbornly.
