“It does not matter. You live in this household, Aelfgar is your master, whether you are serf or no. If you leave, I will have you hunted down as serf. If you stay, you do as I command. Is that clear?”
Alice knew she would never leave her home, it was in her blood. Had she convinced the Norman Ceidre was his serf? She was stunned. “You are very clear, Alice.”
“Good.” Alice smiled.
While one crew felled timber for the new palisade, another was given the task of digging the huge ditch that would surround the keep. There was a natural mound Rolfe would build upon, and this pleased him greatly. Unfortunately, the village would have to be razed to make room for the bailey, but once reconstructed, it would be in a more defensible position just south of the bailey’s palisade. Rolfe himself, once certain all the tasks were being carried out correctly, stripped off his hauberk and joined those digging the ditch. He relished the use of his powerful muscles, sweat streaming down his body.
The villagers had been recruited for labor as well, their usual seasonal tasks of mowing the fields of hay postponed until after the keep was erected. At noon everyone halted for repast, the villagers fed bread, cheese, and ale on the site, and Rolfe and his men returning to the hall for mutton pies. He washed briefly outside, then took his place beside Alice. Instantly he found himself looking for Ceidre, but she was nowhere to be seen. This annoyed him.
“Why does your sister not join us?”
Alice smiled sweetly. “She has undertaken the supervision of the kitchens, my lord. And as you can see, the fare is already vastly improved.”
Rolfe had not noticed, but he was satisfied that she had not defied his edict of the night before, and he commenced his meal.
Because of the fear of fire, the kitchens were outside in a separate building behind the manor. The huge stone hearths, large enough for Ceidre to stand in, emitted vast heat, for they were constantly kept fired, day and night. Here all meats were spitted and roasted, turned by hand by a young serf, who stood naked, sweating. Here too vast cauldrons of stew simmered. Adjacent were the ovens, mostly used for baking bread, but also for baking cakes and even poultry and pheasant. In a small, separate enclosure were the pantries, where the butter was churned, and the alehouse, where the beverage was brewed. There were no windows, just one open doorway. The smoke escaped through a hole in the roof.
Everyone worked in their undertunics because of the heat, barefoot, hair pinned up. Ceidre was no exception. As she shoveled yet another loaf of dough into an oven, the heat scorching her red, flushed face, which was shining with perspiration, she wished she could go naked like Teddy, who was young enough not to care. Her undertunic, the thinnest wool because of the season, clung from her shoulders to her ankles like a second skin. In addition to the heat there was the problem of the smoke, which billowed inside in huge, thick clouds. For the hundredth time that morning, Ceidre was seized with a fit of coughing.
If only it would rain.
She fantasized a sudden downpour. She would run outside and let herself become drenched. It would be heaven.
She was no longer angry at Alice. She decided she could not blame her sister. Alice felt threatened, and Ceidre understood. The Norman did lust after her. Ceidre still found it unbelievable, and a frisson swept her, a combination of fear and something else unidentifiable. She felt the charge of some powerful emotion that she refused to comprehend. Yet Alice should have been reassured when Ceidre told her she absolutely did not want the Norman and would not have him, much less seduce him. And although Ceidre was rightly upset that Alice would try to regulate her as a serf, Alice was her sister. Ceidre forgave her.
The Norman was another matter.
She could not shake his golden pagan image out of her thoughts. He dismayed her—he angered her. His confining her to manor and village infuriated her. She would not obey. She certainly would not ask his permission when, in truth, she was free and could go as she pleased! And if he chose to beat her, she would bear it without a tear, without a cry. He was not her master, and he never would be. Just as he never would be lord of Aelfgar.
She knew, of course, that his agreeing to her new station in the kitchen was punishment for the deception of her identity. This was his punishment, thus she would pull her weight in the kitchens along with Tildie and Teddy and the others. This was the strongest reason she had for working hard, without complaint, head held high. Working harder than everyone. And after all, she was no better than any of them. In fact, Teddy was her cousin. And her mother had worked here after Ceidre was born until she had become sick. It didn’t matter that it was in a supervisory capacity.
No, she would work harder than anyone. If he thought he could make her beg for forgiveness, beg for mercy, then he was wrong. She would die before she begged him for anything. She would show the Norman she was as relentless as he. As relentless an enemy.
’Twas so hot.
Ceidre paused, feeling light-headed and weak. It was dim and smoky in the kitchen, and it became even darker. She gripped the bowl of peeled potatoes, taking a breath, fighting the need to faint.
“Get a goin’,” cried Tildie. “No time to play slug-a-bug now, girl, the lord’s already coming in from the village!”
The bowl went crashing out of her hand, shattering, the potatoes flying everywhere, into the dirt.
“You fool!” hissed Tildie. “You stupid fool! Now what will we put in the pie?”
The world became clear again and Ceidre focused on Tildie just as the woman delivered a sharp, hysterical slap to her cheek. Shocked, Ceidre drew back. Even more stunned, Tildie, realizing what she had done, gasped, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes widening into O’s of horror. The two women stared at each other through the smoke. Tildie’s full bosom, heavy with her fifth pregnancy, heaved over the mound of her belly.
“’Tis all right.” Ceidre spoke first. Her face hurt now. “I know you did not mean it.”
Tildie stepped back, and tears flooded her eyes. “I didn’t!” She started to cry. “Oh, Ceidre, how could you spill the spuds? Now what will we do! Mayhap he’ll whip us all, and me so gone with the babe!”
Ceidre put her arm around the weeping woman. “Shh, Tildie, he will not harm you. I promise.”
Ceidre was well aware that Tildie’s sentiments were not unusual. In the past few days since she had been working in the kitchens, she had realized very quickly that the serfs were wary and afraid of their new master. He was so big, and he never smiled. His eyes were so cold—mean. They had heard all the stories of Rolfe the Relentless. He was William the Bastard’s top commander. He was ruthless. At Hastings his men had slaughtered a hundred Saxon archers before they could break for the forest. He had been awarded Bramber, in Sussex. A rebellion had been stopped before it had begun, its leaders publicly hanged. Just recently he had burned York to the ground, every cottage, every shop, every tree, and every garden, after they had finally routed the Saxon rebels. And on his way to Aelfgar he had razed Kesop, not even sparing the cornfields. This was their new lord and master.
“We will bake extra bread and ’twill suffice,” Ceidre said firmly. “Hush, now, Tildie. Go and sit down outside. I’ll make the bread.”
Rolfe was smiling broadly. The ditch had been completed, the dirt removed tossed within, and now a small hill sat in the center, the foundation for the keep. Already half the palisade had been erected, the thick, stout timbered walls over twice his height—and he was very tall. In no time the new great hall of Aelfgar would be finished and the bailey would be begun.
Rolfe was only wearing his undertunic and chausses. The tunic was the thinnest wool, a rich beige that, wet with sweat, molded every rippling sinew it contained. His dark gold curls clung thickly to his head. Wiping perspiration from his eyes, damning the day for the unusual heat, he mounted and rode back to the manor, approaching from the back because that was the side where he had been working.
