“My father was no orator. He could not beguile another with fine words and clever phrases, but he spoke always from his heart. He appealed to the baron as a villein who loved his lord dearly and did not wish to see all lost upon that man’s inevitable demise. Baron Nicholas listened to him, his fingers toying with his own beard as he sat on his great chair in silence. There were those who feared there might be retribution for my father’s audacity, and perhaps my father shared that concern. But when he had said all he had come to the court to say, and I doubt it was lengthy, Baron Nicholas thanked him, then left the court.”
The company was silent, their interest clear.
“There was no word from the baron for a week, though once again, he was seen in the chapel, praying at his wife’s tomb. The candles were lit once more and burned through the night, and masses were sung in her honor again. And at the end of the week, the baron strode into his bailey and called for his horse. He rode out that very day with a retinue of courtiers, journeying south to the king’s court with a speed that would have done a younger man proud. It was said later that he strode directly to the king in his chambers, then dropped to one knee and asked his sovereign to suggest a bride for him to wed.”
There were nods of approval at the baron’s decisive choice.
“The year was 1163, and King Henry II had just returned to England. He was intent upon putting his kingdom in order, and he liked that Baron Nicholas had remained loyal to him when Stephen and Matilda had challenged his claim. He also was impressed by the purpose shown by this older knight in his determination to do what was right. He vowed to ponder the question, then invited the baron to the board. A lady in the queen’s service ensured that she sat near Baron Nicholas, for she was intrigued by him. Gabriella was a beauty and a widow. Her nature was as different from the baron’s beloved wife as could be. She was said to be stubborn and outspoken. Her first husband had jested that she was better suited to lead an army than to ply her needle at embroidery.”
There was a chuckle in the company at this, and Anna saw Bartholomew glance her way. “Many a man would prefer such a woman as his partner,” he said quietly and Anna blushed. The company nudged each other at that and her face burned as she continued.
“Gabriella and the baron discovered that evening that they were both equally forthright. Baron Nicholas said he would never love another as he had loved his wife. Gabriella assured him that she would never love a man as she had loved her lord husband, and here, too, they found common ground. They were both practical, as well, and spoke of finances and expectations, their notions of justice, their taste for luxury, and a hundred other matters that first night. By the time the court retired for the night, each was convinced of the merit of the other.”
Anna continued. “It was said that Baron Nicholas prayed that night for his wife’s blessing for him to wed this lady, in order to ensure the security of his holding. He was granted a sign, in the sudden leap of the flames on the candles in the chapel and took this as her agreement. The king had witnessed the felicity between the pair at his board the night before and pronounced that Baron Nicholas should wed the lady Gabriella. They exchanged their vows before the court the next day and returned the Haynesdale.”
“I wager she was welcomed,” said one of the men in the company.
“Aye, she was. The lady won the hearts of the villagers quickly, for she was kind yet firm. She gave alms and she granted good counsel and had an unerring sense of what was right. Those in service in her hall were treated well, and she suggested new possibilities to the baron. Their match appeared to be amiable, and indeed, she rounded with child within the year. The baron was seen to be concerned, but the lady might have been fearless. One the anniversary of their nuptial vows, Lady Gabriella delivered onto him a healthy son. The babe came quickly, as if she wanted to see her husband’s fears set to rest as quickly as possible, and there was much merriment in Haynesdale.” There was applause at this and Anna turned to the priest. “Father Ignatius, did you baptize the boy?”
“Indeed I did. He was named Luc, which was the name of Baron Nicholas’ father, and Bartholomew, in memory of Lady Gabriella’s first husband. In the tradition of Haynesdale, his names blended two strains, just as the alliance of the marriage had done. He was a most robust child. Handsome and well wrought.”
Anna saw Bartholomew start at the mention of the boy’s name.
“He had a valiant heart,” Esme contributed. “It could be seen even when he was a boy, and he possessed a generous nature. He played with my Oswald when the lady Gabriella came to visit me.”
“There was the day,” sighed a woman. “We did not appreciate our good fortune in our baron and his wife until they were gone.”
Anna saw how Bartholomew observed the company. “It seemed all went well at Haynesdale but in truth, there was trouble brewing,” she said. “The baron battled a neighbor on his northern borders, one whose holding was not so prosperous and who had an avarice for what was not his own. His name was Royce, and it is said that once he saw the lady Gabriella, his attacks grew in ferocity. The two barons treated and it was believed that all might be at peace, for a few years at least. The boy was four summers of age when Royce’s men came in stealth. It was Christmas and Baron Nicholas had invited those on his holding to feast in his hall. The ale was tainted, by command of Royce, and all slept too soundly that night. The villains crept into the keep at Haynesdale, slaughtering any who awakened to challenge them, and murdered Baron Nicholas in his own bed. His wife would have been taken captive, for Royce desired her for his own, but she fled the hall, disguised as a servant.”
Esme crossed herself. “God in Heaven, but I remember that night,” she said softly.
Anna swallowed. “In truth, my mother gave the lady her own garb and aided in her escape. She came to our home, which must have been humble to her, but my mother said she was gracious and grateful. When the keep was set ablaze by the attackers, my father kept the lady from trying to aid those who were surely lost. They said the keep of Haynesdale became the old baron’s funeral pyre.”
More than one crossed themselves. “The old burn is still haunted,” muttered someone. “You can hear their cries of pain when the wind rises.”
“At Christmas,” added another grimly.
“Fiend,” said a third and spat at the ground.
“By morning, the fire was spent, the keep reduced to ash and the air filled with lingering smoke,” Anna continued. “Villagers had been gathered up by the attackers and imprisoned. My parents had retreated to the forest with the lady and her son and watched in horror as Royce’s men strode through the remains of the village, setting fire to homes and routing those who were hidden away. It was declared repeatedly that Royce would show mercy if the lady Gabriella surrendered herself to him.”
There was silence at this, and more than one woman eyed Anna with compassion, for her own ordeal was not as secret as she might have preferred. Again, she saw Bartholomew take note of the reaction and felt his gaze upon her.
Her cheeks were hot, but she continued. “My mother said the lady Gabriella seemed to be filled with new resolve by this sight. There were three men loyal to her husband beyond doubt. My father found them, at her request, and they stood witness as she declared the plan. She knew there could be no triumph for her son on this day, not when he was such a young boy. She charged the knights to take her son to the queen, whose court was in Aquitaine, and surrender him to her safekeeping. She wished for him to come of age in that court, to train as a knight, then return to avenge his father.”
She took a deep breath. “To ensure that he would be known as the rightful heir, Lady Gabriella had my father heat the signet ring of the Baron of Haynesdale and press its mark into the flesh of the boy, right over his heart. He was branded with the evidence of who he was, that none could doubt him on his return.”
More than one villager grimaced in sympathy and Bartholomew looked at the ground.
Anna paused. “My mother said he was born valiant, for though the flesh was seared and the pain must have been considerable, the son of Baron Nicholas did not make a sound.”
There was a murmur of approval at this.
“The lady then kissed her son’s brow and bade him be good, and she did not watch as the knights disappeared into the woods with the boy. My mother said she wept silent tears. Then she strode back into the village, challenging Royce to show the mercy he had promised. She said she would come to his bed if he released the villagers. He did, and they watched in awe as she mounted behind him on his steed and went to his holding to become his new wife.”
“Poor lamb,” Esme said.
“There were those who thought the lady had been disloyal to her husband’s memory, and still others who believed she had seen only to her own advantage. My mother said she had seen the love blossom unexpectedly between the baron and his wife, and she advised all to wait and see. And so the tidings of the truth came within days. The lady Gabriella had hidden a knife and attacked the new baron when he came to her bed. She had stabbed him in the eye before he realized her intent, then when his men were summoned to his aid, she plunged the dagger into her own heart. She killed herself before them all, rather than pledge herself to him, and avenged her lord husband. Royce bears the mark of her rejection still.”
