Captives: Kingdoms Rule Hearts, Page 2

“What colour does she like to wear?”

  Lina’s question came out in a rush, as though she was shocked at the impudence of asking such a personal question of a great lady, even if she was wild.

  Catheryn shrugged. “I do not think she has a favourite dress, but she loves deep colours. Red, blues, greens. Not purple.”

  Lina didn’t reply, but a smile instantly dazzled her face. The idea of having more than one dress was incomprehensible to her – the thought of having to pick a favourite had almost stunned her.

  Catheryn was enjoying talking about her family, and Lina was a particularly good audience. “What do you want to know about my husband?”

  The smile on Lina’s face disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

  Catheryn’s heart slowed. “Lina?”

  “I have to go,” Lina gabbled, trying to locate the handle of the door behind her without turning her back on Catheryn. “I cannot stay –”

  “Lina?” Catheryn said uncertainly. “What do you know about my husband?”

  “I don’t know anything about Selwyn!”

  Ice flowed into Catheryn’s veins. “How do you know his name?”

  Lina gave up the fight, and turned around. She pulled open the door, and then turned back around to face Catheryn, who was astonished to see tears in those young eyes.

  “I am sorry.” Lina’s voice was so quiet, Catheryn could barely hear her. “I am sorry to speak his name to you, my lady. I know it must give you pain as… as he did not survive the Conquest. I know that he was killed, with honour, on the battlefield. I am sorry.”

  Chapter Three

  Catheryn no longer watched the moon. She no longer knew what she was eating. She could not even have sworn that it was still Lina who came every day. Nothing mattered. Not now all of her family had been taken from her.

  The tears that eventually came threatened to drown her. Catheryn sobbed one day, and the next sat in silence, unable to understand that the man that she had loved, that she had built a life with, that she had raised their children with, was no longer on this earth. It did not make sense that there was not a place that she could go to find him.

  The dreams that had comforted her for weeks now took a terrifying and violent turn. Instead of sitting with Selwyn, riding with him and watching Annis with him, Catheryn watched in horror, every night, as Selwyn was cut down from his horse by faceless men, all wearing Norman armour. She wanted to rush to him – to protect him in the only way she knew, by putting herself between him and the swords that glinted in the sunlight. But Catheryn could never move, and she could do nothing but watch the swords bury themselves in her husband’s flesh.

  Every night, she awoke screaming.

  There seemed no end to the pain. Every evening, Catheryn tried to tell herself that tomorrow, a new day, could bring a fresh start for her. Not to love Selwyn any less, but to learn to live without him.

  Every morning, the pain had not left her.

  It seemed to possess her like a spirit. Every muscle seemed to ache with love for him, and every breath seemed a betrayal of him; the man she loved who no longer drew breath.

  At times, Catheryn would fall asleep, exhausted from whispering his name under her breath.

  There was no way for her to tell how long it was, but there was a day when she woke up and realised that she had almost forgotten Annis. Her daughter was now alone in England, with no parent or sibling to protect her. What on earth had become of her?

  Catheryn was dwelling on the thought of her daughter alone in their home one night, when she fell asleep.

  She dreamt of the night that she was taken. The Normans had stormed the village, and set each and every home alight. The children were shepherded away from their parents, and the sword taken to them. Mothers, fathers that attempted to prevent the slaughter were killed themselves.

  She had seen the flames from their home, and had known that Annis was down there in the village. Her daughter; her only daughter. Her son had been playing at her feet, but she left him playing there, in the home that she had assumed would be safe. She had run out into the darkness, without even putting on a cloak. As she neared the village, she could hear screams. Screams for the dead, screams of the dying, screams of the living that knew their lives were over.

  As Catheryn had entered the village, girls and boys that she couldn’t recognise in the dark raced past her.

  “Get away,” she yelled in the dream, just as she had done on that fateful night. “Run!”

  No child paused, but all continued. Then she saw Annis, helping some of the smaller children that could not run clamber up into a tree. Annis could not stay here. She knew what the Norman men would do to any girls of Annis’ age.

  Annis’ eyes had shone in the darkness as they were illuminated by the flames. She climbed up the tree, and gestured for her mother to join her.

  In the dream, as in her memory, Catheryn had shaken her head desperately, and turned away from the fiery village. She needed to get back to her son, to the other sons and daughters of the village that had hopefully taken sanctuary in her home.

  But she had arrived there just to watch the last child be slaughtered by a Norman who had grinned as he saw her. She was dragged back to the village, and forced upon a horse. With the last look that she cast upon her home, she looked upwards.

  In reality, her daughter had been in the tree. Staring down at her in horror.

  But in the dream, the branches were empty.

  “Annis?”

  Catheryn could not help but cry out in the dream, but she was ignored. No Annis appeared.

  “Annis!”

  Catheryn awoke, and the name of her daughter was still on her lips. But it was not the dream that had woken her: before her stood a tall man, with a bitter smile on his face.

  It was Geffrei.

  “My lord Geffrei,” Catheryn said stiffly. “Forgive me if I do not rise from my bed.”

  Geffrei looked down at the woman lying on the dirty rushes. His smile widened, and lost some of its bitterness. “Why, let me help you.”

  Geffrei reached down and grabbed Catheryn’s shoulder, pulling her up sharply. Catheryn gasped in pain as her shoulder jolted painfully. Forced to her feet, Catheryn glared at the man who had kept her prisoner for months.

  “What do you want?” she spat, all pretence at civility abandoned. “You know that no one will pay my ransom, now that my husband and son have been brutally murdered!”

  Geffrei shrugged, and lowered himself gracelessly onto the wooden chair. “You are not worth much anyway,” he said carelessly.

  Catheryn hated him, but she knew that her life was hanging in a balance that she didn’t understand. “Then why are you keeping me here?”

  Geffrei studied her silently.

  “You don’t… you don’t want to marry me, do you?” Catheryn asked quietly.

  Geffrei laughed. “You are not a particularly exciting proposition, you know. No good name, no wealth, now that the Normans have taken your lands. Besides, I am looking for someone somewhat younger than yourself.”

  Catheryn could not help but be relieved. “Good, because you disgust me, and I would not have married you.”

  “Quiet, woman!” Geffrei spat, goaded too far. “You are worth nothing, you hear? You have no sons to carry on your line, and I cannot even sell you back to your worthless husband so that he can make use of you.”

  “Then why am I even here?” Catheryn snapped back.

  Geffrei smiled. “You have a daughter, I believe?”

  Catheryn did not immediately understand what he meant. “Yes,” she said uncertainly. “Annis. Why?”

  Geffrei’s smile widened.

  “You are revolting,” Catheryn said. “You would never have my daughter even if I did know where she was.”

  “And you would like to know, I presume?”

  Catheryn’s heart leapt. “You know where she is?”

  Geffrei shook his head slowly. “As much as I would dearly love to taunt
you with that knowledge, it is not something I possess.”

  Catheryn sighed sadly. “Then what are you going to do with me?”

  Geffrei rose, and shrugged once more. “I am not sure, to tell you the truth. I have certainly gained an interesting amount of grandeur by holding a woman such as yourself prisoner. The wild woman of England. Strikes just the right amount of fear into my tenants, don’t you think? I am also waiting for members of your family to offer a ransom, but I under-estimated the extent of King William’s wrath. Few remain.”

  Geffrei swept towards the door, but Catheryn desperately lurched forward.

  “I demand better accommodation!” she said, trying to speak calmly. “Chambers better suited to the ranking which you must admit that I possess.”

  Geffrei paused. “You,” he said quietly, “are an Anglo-Saxon. You do not ask; you do not get; you cannot barter; you receive nothing; you deserve nothing.” His eyes scanned around the dirty and bare room. “Besides, compared to what you are surely used to, this is comparative luxury.”

  He left the room, and left Catheryn shaking with anger and fear.

  Chapter Four

  It was not until Catheryn felt the heat pouring through the window that linked her to the outside world that she realised it must be summer. Summer of the year 1067 – a year in which she had never seen more than the tiny square of sky visible from her room.

  She spent most of her days pacing up and down the room, trying desperately to keep her mind occupied. Lina’s daily visits had gradually returned back to normal, but Catheryn could never entreat her to discuss much more than the weather outside, and the time of year.

  Catheryn awoke one morning not from the light that usually fell on her face, but instead due to shouting.

  “Careful!” A rough voice shot through the semi-darkness. Catheryn opened her eyes slowly, and saw that the sun had not yet risen. “If you break that, it’ll be our heads!”

  Grumbles were the only reply that Catheryn could make out. Suddenly, a loud crash startled her. She stood up, and once again craned her neck, attempting to see whether she could gain a view through the window high in the wall. Once again, she was unsuccessful.

  “You oaf!”

  There was the dull sound of a fist hitting a man’s chest, and a groan.

  “They won’t like it!” The same voice was obviously angry, but there was a hint of trepidation in his tone. “And it’ll be me they blame!”

  The voices began to argue, but they must have been moving away from the wall because Catheryn could no longer catch what they were saying. She stopped trying to clamber up the wall, and sat sleepily in the uncomfortable chair.

  Something was obviously about to happen here at Geffrei’s home – something important enough to unnerve the servants. But Catheryn could not think what on earth it could possibly be.

  She started at a noise, but it was only Lina, bringing her the daily ration of pottage that she was now allocated.

  “Good morning, my lady,” she mumbled, as she set down the plate on the table, pulling a spoon out of her apron pocket and laying it down beside it.

  “Lina,” Catheryn said quietly, hoping this time to entice some information out of the girl without terrifying her. “Is your lord Geffrei… has he got celebrations planned?”

  At once Catheryn regretted her words. Lina stumbled away from her, shaking her head.

  Catheryn spoke quickly. “But something is happening, isn’t it Lina? I heard voices; they were moving something… carrying something, I think. What is –”

  And then an idea struck her that was so fantastic, so marvellous that Catheryn felt that if she even breathed it, the idea would disappear in an instant. And yet she had to ask.

  “Has Geffrei found my daughter?”

  Lina shook her head once more, but Catheryn pushed aside the negation.

  “Now, Lina, you can’t just shake your head to everything that I say! What is happening?”

  But Catheryn’s forcefulness had gone too far. Within a moment Lina had left the room, and Catheryn was alone again.

  *

  It had barely been three hours since Catheryn had once again disconcerted Lina into running away when she heard the key turn in the lock of her door. She was sitting against the wall opposite the door, and felt no need to rise. It would only be Lina; or perhaps Geffrei, determined to taunt her once more.

  But it was not Geffrei who appeared as the door swung open. It was, instead, a man who was very tall and had dark hair. He was richly dressed, with a large sword hanging from his belt. There was a short, dark haired woman by his side, and a crown on his head.

  Catheryn scrambled to her feet.

  “And this is she?” The woman was speaking over her shoulder, and as she entered the room Catheryn saw that Geffrei was not far behind them. His voice contained an oily tone that she had not heard before.

  “Yes, my lady Queen, this is the woman I have spoken of.”

  The three of them walked into the room, and the door was shut behind them. The woman was not as short as Catheryn had initially thought, and much of her was covered with a large blue travelling cloak. The dress that flowed underneath it was of the Norman style, but Catheryn could not help but begrudgingly admit to herself that it had some merits. Catheryn did not know what to do, where to look, or whether she should say anything. Thankfully, that conundrum was quickly solved for her.

  “What is your name, my lady?” King William the Conqueror’s voice was deeper than Catheryn had heard the gossips say, and the strength in each word was undeniable. It was the voice that men would follow; would fight for; would die for.

  “I am Lady Catheryn, wife of Selwyn eadlorman, Ælfgard’s daughter.”

  Catheryn did not know how she managed to command her tongue, but it formed the words that she was thinking well enough. She could not believe that the Lord of Normandy – the man that had taken England for his own, and demanded that it be his, was standing before her in her cell.

  “Well met, my lady Catheryn.” William clearly did not know or appreciate the formal Anglo-Saxon greetings, and it grated on Catheryn’s senses like sand upon silk. “You know who I am.”

  His last was a statement, not a question, but Catheryn was polite enough to incline her head. There were probably few people now in England that did not know the visage of this man. The woman beside him, however, was unknown to her.

  “This is my wife, the lady Matilda, soon to be Queen,” William continued. “She had heard of your presence here, and wanted to see you.”

  Catheryn’s eyes widened. “You had heard of me?”

  Matilda smiled. “It is common knowledge at court that various women of high-born status from England are now in Normandy.”

  “There are more of us?” Catheryn couldn’t believe it. “More women, other than myself, who have been torn away from their families to rot in Norman castles?”

  There was an edge to her voice now, but she tried to control it. It would not do to lose her temper with the King’s wife, and she was sure Geffrei would have her punished once the royal couple had left.

  Matilda’s smile weakened slightly. “Indeed,” she said, more quietly. “Many of our kind have taken the journey across the sea.”

  “You mean women?” Catheryn shot back, unable to hold back her outrage any longer. “When you say ‘of our kind’, you mean women, don’t you? You mean mothers, wives, daughters – females that could not defend themselves, and looked to men and their honour to protect them? And what has become of these defenceless people?”

  Matilda did not look away, but kept her eyes on Catheryn. Almost imperceptibly, she bit her lip. “Many were widows, and now many are wives and mothers once more.”

  “You sicken me,” Catheryn said shortly. “You force us to marry the men that killed our sons, our lovers. There is no honour in it.”

  Matilda said nothing, and her husband cast her a look, waiting for her reply. Eventually, she spoke again.

  “I cannot
deny what you say,” Matilda said simply. “I love my husband, and it would be death to me to wed his enemy. But,” and here her voice took on a new strength, “that is the way of this war. Or any war. It is a man’s game, and although we women may pay the price, some of us will gain the rewards. That is the gamble that we all take.”

  “It is not a gamble if we do not choose to play.” Catheryn’s voice caught, and she fell silent.

  “What of your husband?” It was King William who spoke now, and there was no tremor in his voice.

  Catheryn opened her mouth to speak. No sounds came out.

  “You do not need to ask,” Matilda told him softly. She moved forward as if to comfort Catheryn, but she shrank away from her touch.

  “I do not need your pity,” Catheryn said stiffly. “I just want my daughter.”

  Matilda looked confused. “My lord Geffrei, I was not aware that you were maintaining two Anglo-Saxon women.”

  Geffrei, until now forgotten, leaped forward to speak once more to his Queen.

  “Please ignore the prisoner, my lady Matilda – Catheryn’s daughter is somewhere in England, and yet she continues to complain about it.”

  “Do you have daughters, my lady?”

  Catheryn’s question seemed to have caught Matilda off-guard.

  “Daughters?”

  “Yes. I have heard of your sons, of course, but often daughters are forgotten until they are wed.”

  Catheryn saw immediately – she did not need Matilda to speak. She had daughters.

  Matilda nodded. “I have three. Perhaps another on the way.”

  Her hands unconsciously moved to her stomach, and her husband snorted.

  “God’s teeth woman, it’s a boy!”

  Matilda ignored her husband. “Or a girl.”

  Catheryn smiled. “God grant you health, whatever He blesses you with. My lady, if you had a daughter in England, alone, with no father, mother, or brother to protect her, what would your thoughts be?”

  Matilda could not help but smile at the audacity that the woman was showing. Her hair was dirty and unkempt, and there was a disgusting smell emanating from the rushes on the ground – and yet she stood, defiant.