Madeleine wrote,
My uncle wishes you to find him serfs for this estate, but the truth is he has frightened many away and with his cruelty, killed others unjustly, and works the remainder to death. I need your help, my king. I need a better hand to administer this estate so graciously gifted to my father. I need a capable husband, and willingly submit myself to your election in this.
Madeleine was so absorbed, she almost signed it.
“Bring it here,” her uncle commanded.
Madeleine swallowed. One of Paul’s hounds raised its head, and she fancied she saw cruel suspicion in its eye. She rose and carried the letter to her uncle, sure he must hear her knees knocking, must see how her hand trembled as she held the parchment out to him.
He scarcely looked before awkwardly scrawling “P de P.” “Write my name in full beneath,” he commanded.
It was hard not to collapse with relief.
He smirked. “Bet you thought I couldn’t write. Better than a cross, eh? Read it back. Let me see how it sounds.”
Madeleine froze.
“Read it, damn you! If you’re fooling me and can’t write sense, I’ll have you whipped.”
Madeleine sat with a bump and stared at the sheet. Her heart scurrying, she forced herself to recollect the half-heard words. “My great and puissant liege. Hesitant as I am to disturb you during your mighty enterprise of reforming and civilizing this barbaric land . . .” She carried on, inventing when she could not remember, expecting a bellow of outrage at any moment.
When she finished, he nodded. “I fancy you changed a bit here and there,” he said, “but it sounds very well. Give it here.” He sealed it and summoned the messenger. Within the hour, Madeleine watched her letter to the king being carried away by the long-limbed runner, safe by the most severe laws from all interruption of his journey.
The messenger was heading to Winchester. Madeleine had no way of knowing how far that was, and she knew the king might not be there. He was always on the move, particularly with new troubles popping up all over the place. But the messenger would find him and soon, very soon, the king would come and bring her a husband.
Life was not pleasant for anyone at Baddersley in the next weeks. The previous year’s inadequate stores had scarcely lasted through the winter, and many people, chiefly the young and old, had died because of it. Those who had survived were weakened and dispirited.
The depleted work force was forced to toil beyond its endurance to care for crops and beasts at the same time that it built the castle. The people were subjected to blows and beatings for every small infraction. Everywhere she looked Madeleine saw weary, gray, malnourished people, and she suspected she herself was no exception. Though her uncle spent coin to buy better food, mostly for himself, even meals in the hall were poor.
Madeleine suspected that the money was running out. She knew Paul had given some to Odo when he returned to his duty, so his son might have a new sword and more fine garments in which to play the peacock. Her money. Baddersley’s money, which should be used to care for the people.
There would be an accounting when the king came.
But till then she could do so little. Since Aunt Celia took no interest in charitable work, Madeleine took over the distribution of what scraps were left from the hall table. She discovered the kitchen workers were passing out baskets of good food to their families and put a stop to it. What food there was would go to those in greatest need. She did not report the thievery to her uncle, however, for fear of what mad retaliation he would take. Had he not had one poor man hanged for letting his pigs get into the cornfields?
Every day she made herself available to those with problems, particularly medical ones, but only the Norman guards and servants asked her assistance. The English remained surly. No, more than surly.
The English hated her.
They hated Paul and
My uncle wishes you to find him serfs for this estate, but the truth is he has frightened many away and with his cruelty, killed others unjustly, and works the remainder to death. I need your help, my king. I need a better hand to administer this estate so graciously gifted to my father. I need a capable husband, and willingly submit myself to your election in this.
Madeleine was so absorbed, she almost signed it.
“Bring it here,” her uncle commanded.
Madeleine swallowed. One of Paul’s hounds raised its head, and she fancied she saw cruel suspicion in its eye. She rose and carried the letter to her uncle, sure he must hear her knees knocking, must see how her hand trembled as she held the parchment out to him.
He scarcely looked before awkwardly scrawling “P de P.” “Write my name in full beneath,” he commanded.
It was hard not to collapse with relief.
He smirked. “Bet you thought I couldn’t write. Better than a cross, eh? Read it back. Let me see how it sounds.”
Madeleine froze.
“Read it, damn you! If you’re fooling me and can’t write sense, I’ll have you whipped.”
Madeleine sat with a bump and stared at the sheet. Her heart scurrying, she forced herself to recollect the half-heard words. “My great and puissant liege. Hesitant as I am to disturb you during your mighty enterprise of reforming and civilizing this barbaric land . . .” She carried on, inventing when she could not remember, expecting a bellow of outrage at any moment.
When she finished, he nodded. “I fancy you changed a bit here and there,” he said, “but it sounds very well. Give it here.” He sealed it and summoned the messenger. Within the hour, Madeleine watched her letter to the king being carried away by the long-limbed runner, safe by the most severe laws from all interruption of his journey.
The messenger was heading to Winchester. Madeleine had no way of knowing how far that was, and she knew the king might not be there. He was always on the move, particularly with new troubles popping up all over the place. But the messenger would find him and soon, very soon, the king would come and bring her a husband.
Life was not pleasant for anyone at Baddersley in the next weeks. The previous year’s inadequate stores had scarcely lasted through the winter, and many people, chiefly the young and old, had died because of it. Those who had survived were weakened and dispirited.
The depleted work force was forced to toil beyond its endurance to care for crops and beasts at the same time that it built the castle. The people were subjected to blows and beatings for every small infraction. Everywhere she looked Madeleine saw weary, gray, malnourished people, and she suspected she herself was no exception. Though her uncle spent coin to buy better food, mostly for himself, even meals in the hall were poor.
Madeleine suspected that the money was running out. She knew Paul had given some to Odo when he returned to his duty, so his son might have a new sword and more fine garments in which to play the peacock. Her money. Baddersley’s money, which should be used to care for the people.
There would be an accounting when the king came.
But till then she could do so little. Since Aunt Celia took no interest in charitable work, Madeleine took over the distribution of what scraps were left from the hall table. She discovered the kitchen workers were passing out baskets of good food to their families and put a stop to it. What food there was would go to those in greatest need. She did not report the thievery to her uncle, however, for fear of what mad retaliation he would take. Had he not had one poor man hanged for letting his pigs get into the cornfields?
Every day she made herself available to those with problems, particularly medical ones, but only the Norman guards and servants asked her assistance. The English remained surly. No, more than surly.
The English hated her.
They hated Paul and
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