Which meant that she had to make use of the time that Duncan rested to try to persuade Bartholomew of her chosen course.
In addition, she should seduce him as oft as possible before he departed, the better that she might conceive his heir. There could still be a true son. Though Anna put little stock in her sensual allure, her night with Bartholomew had been wondrous. Perhaps he found her enticing despite her inexperience. Her heart skipped a beat.
Perhaps she should put the gathering of the villagers to use in pursuing her first goal.
“I have a tale to entertain you on this cold day,” she said, raising her voice to the company. They nodded and gathered closer, more than amenable to her suggestion. “It is a tale of which many of you know parts, but I know the whole of it. On this day, perhaps we will learn the ending.”
“Anna,” Bartholomew warned in a growl, obviously anticipating which tale she would tell, but she ignored him.
“Once upon a time,” Anna began. “There was a baron who held the seal of Haynesdale. He came from a long line of noblemen who had been lords of the same holding, son after father, father after son. Their lineage was Saxon, though they had taken Danish brides when Knut held thrall in England. When the conqueror came and all old rights were swept aside, the baron of that time saw the course of change. He surrendered his seal to the new king, in exchange for the welfare of his people.”
“A wise choice,” murmured Duncan. “It is a rare man who can see his way through war with his holdings intact.”
The company nodded agreement with this before Anna continued.
“William admired the baron’s bravery and his repute. Though the holding was claimed by the crown, the crown granted it anew to the baron in exchange for his faithful service in future. The baron not only served William but took a Norman bride, at the king’s suggestion.”
“A tradition at Haynesdale, evidently,” Bartholomew said but again, Anna ignored him.
If he meant to warn her that he could not ask for her hand, he wasted his breath. She knew he was born higher than she, and she understood how such matches were arranged. She was not some witless village girl. She lifted her chin, granted him a look, and continued.
“And so it always has been with the Barons of Haynesdale: they honored the past but defended the future. They upheld the law but were unafraid to fight in defense of what they called their own. They blended the old ways with the new, just as they blended their bloodlines, to ensure the safety and prosperity of those beneath their hand. Perhaps because of their reputation for honor and justice, perhaps because their holding was not so rich as that, and perhaps because Haynesdale was a little too far from the king’s court, they were trusted by the crown.”
“Perhaps it was that they never defied a king’s will outright,” contributed Father Ignatius. “Or rose in rebellion against the crown.”
Anna smiled. “Or perhaps it was because they paid their tithes on time, and sent gifts to the king with regularity. The Barons of Haynesdale were able to pass their holding and title down through their own blood sons.”
“That is as it should be,” protested one of the company.
“With the payment of coin for the escheat, to be sure,” Duncan muttered.
“When William the Conqueror claimed this land, he took suzerainty of it all himself,” Bartholomew contributed. “He granted titles to his favored barons, but on the death of the baron, the title and holding reverted by law to the crown. So it has been these hundred years in England. When a baron dies, the assignment of his holding remains the king’s own right.”
“Some were more vigorous about this than others,” Duncan provided. “The current king, Henry, is less concerned with England than with Normandy, and prefers not to trouble himself with the assignment of holdings he deems petty.”
“Then they can pass from father to son,” said Percy.
Bartholomew smiled. “With the payment of coin to the crown, the escheat can be passed, it is true. Without one, who can say?”
Father Ignatius shook his head. “It is no better than a bribe.”
“And so it is not, but that is how suzerainty passes in England,” Bartholomew agreed.
Anna cleared her throat, disliking this evidence of his resolve. “And so it was that there was a Baron of Haynesdale who was much loved by his people, and not that long ago. He was wedded as soon as he came to hold the seal, as is right and good. His wife was chosen for him by the king himself, and it is said that he was much smitten with her charms. They wed and returned to Haynesdale, where she quickly rounded with child. It was said that the Baron Nicholas was blessed beyond all—until his wife died in the bearing of their child, and the babe was lost as well.”
Many in the company shook their heads, for they had seen women lost in childbirth. Esme listened avidly, and Anna knew she recognized the tale.
“There is a stone in the chapel by the old keep where she was laid to rest. Perhaps it has survived the burn. My mother said a thousand masses were said for the lady, and a thousand candles burned for a year in her memory. She said Baron Nicholas was broken by his loss and that he could oft been found, praying at his wife’s tomb. The loss changed him, my mother said, for he refused to consider any suggestion that he might wed again. His heart was buried with his bride. That was his conviction.”
Esme nodded sadly in recollection.
“Baron Nicholas ruled for many years without a wife, and the prosperity of Haynesdale grew beneath his care. Our markets abounded with goodness. Our granaries were filled every winter. Our sheep were fat, and our cows gave plentiful milk. The years passed and the baron grew aged. And though this is the nature of all things, there were those who began to be concerned with the future. What would happen to Haynesdale when the beloved baron died? He had no son or heir, not even a brother. Who would ensure the protection of all those who lived beneath his hand?”
A murmur passed through the company as all considered the merit of this question. More than one noted that Royce had no son and grew older, as well.
“There was a meeting in the village, for a conviction was dawning that the baron’s advisors were leading him astray. Did one of them wish to take the seal himself? It could not be borne. My father was the smith of Haynesdale village, a quiet man who considered long before making his choices. He was much respected, and so it was that he was chosen to take the concerns of the village to the baron’s next court. You can be sure that many came to listen.”
“I was there!” called an older alemaker from the group, and Esme nodded agreement. More than one in the company appeared to realize then that this was not a tale of wonder, but one of Haynesdale’s recent history. They leaned closer to listen.
