"My wife, who is also Eleanore, has just two days ago delivered our first son. She was visiting friends at the convent of St. Frideswide’s when her time came upon her. I stopped there on my way to you, my liege, to see her, and our child. I promised her I would return to take them home to Ashlin. If I must go with you when you leave Worcester, how can I keep my promise to my wife?"

"Have you no squire or other knight on your estate who might escort the lady and child?" the duke, slightly annoyed, asked.

"My lord, I have told you, we are a small holding. I suppose I should have a squire, but until I married, I had not the means to support a squire. Would I not be less conspicuous if I came to Normandy alone, with no one to notice me? I should be just another knight, as you have said, coming to make my peace with you now that the lay of the land is clear."

"It is your first child? "

"Aye." Ranulf could not help but smile. "His name is Simon Hubert. He was born on St. Hubert’s feast day the good nuns informed my wife. Eleanore thought the name manly."

Duke Henry chuckled. "And do you love your wife, Ranulf de Glandeville? I am mad with love for my Alienor! She was France’s queen, but Louis, and his monkish ways, could get but two daughters on her. He had the marriage dissolved on the grounds of consanguinity, the fool! Not only did I gain my wife’s vast holdings, poor Louis’s second wife, Constance of Castile, has delivered him a third daughter, while Alienor has delivered a son to me! I adore her! Do you love your Eleanore?"

"I do, my lord," Ranulf said quietly, admitting aloud, albeit to the wrong person, what was in his heart. "She was to have been a nun, but that her brother died. She is everything that is good, my lord. I never thought a battle-scarred old warrior such as myself might have a wife, let alone such a sweet wife."

"Stephen will last the summer, I am assured," Duke Henry said. "Take a month to settle your affairs, but be on the road for Normandy by St. Swithen's. Take passage for Barfleur, and come to Rouen. I will be taking my wife and son to meet my mother for the first time. You will join the court there. It is a good thing that you love your wife, Ranulf. You will, therefore, be careful with mine and get her to England in safety. Once you are in Normandy, we will discuss my plans for her passage."

Ranulf de Glandeville arose from his seat, and bowed low to the king. "I am yours to command, my liege."

"You will speak with no one about this, except perhaps your wife, if she can be counted upon not to gossip," Duke Henry warned.

"I understand," Ranulf replied, and backed from the small chamber out into the corridor. There was no one waiting for him. He made his way to the courtyard and into the stables, where he found his horse in a wide stall. After unfastening his sword belt, Ranulf put the weapon aside and lay down on a large pile of fresh straw in the rear of the stall. He was awakened by a narrow beam of light coming in through a crack in the wall. Arising, he peed in a corner, then buckled his sword back on, and left.

"Have my beast saddled in half an hour’s time," he told a stable-boy mucking out the stall opposite his. He went outside, splashed water from the horse trough on his face, and slicked back his hair. Following a group of priests into the bishop’s palace, he found the great hall, where breakfast was already being served. Baskets of bread were placed on the trestles, and wooden cups for ale were filled by passing servants. There was a small wheel of cheese on each table. Ranulf reached into the basket, and pulled out a small cottage loaf. With his knife he cut a wedge of cheese.

He ate in silence as he did not recognize anyone at the tables around him. Garrick Taliferro was nowhere to be seen, but that was to the good. He did not have to explain what the duke wanted with him. He ate half the bread and cheese, stuffing the remainder in his purse for the road, for he couldn't be certain when he would have the opportunity to eat again. After draining his cup of ale, he arose and left the hall. His horse was saddled and tied outside the stable, but the stable lad was not in sight. Ranulf mounted and rode out.

The sun was just coming up as he passed through the gates of the town onto the road back to Ashlin. He rode until the sun was at its midday zenith, stopping beside a swiftly flowing stream to water his horse. He let the animal graze nearby while he sat beneath a tree and finished the remainder of his bread and cheese, slaking his thirst with the icy water. Refreshed, he remounted his horse and rode onward. It was June, and the daylight remained well into the early evening. Ranulf was relieved when the monastery he had stayed at on his ride into Worcester appeared over the crest of the hill. Reaching it, he begged shelter from the porter at the gate.

He was just in time for a small meal served to guests. He was given a little loaf of bread and a haunch of broiled rabbit with a small cup of ale. The monk in charge of the guest quarters, however, took pity on Ranulf, bringing him another piece of the rabbit, for he could see the knight was hungry, and he was, after all, a big man.

"Where are you bound for, lord?" he asked curiously.

"St. Frideswide's," Ranulf answered, bobbing his dark head in thanks for the additional food. "My wife was visiting when she delivered our son there." He chewed for a moment as he thought about his words, then lied. "I was in Worcester when word was brought me by a passing traveler. I am now going to fetch her and take her home to Ashlin."

"Ashlin? You are the lord of Ashlin?" the monk said.

"I am."

"You are very near the Welsh, and they are, I am told, growing restless of late."

"The manor is well defended, good brother. Our walls are high, and my men-at-arms well trained."

"That will not help if they burn your crops and steal your livestock," the monk replied. "They do it for the pure joy of destruction. The Welsh are godless creatures, my lord."

"Then, I will ask you to pray for Ashlin and its people." Ranulf grew concerned. "Have you heard something of late, good brother?"

"They are raiding again. Just little forays over the border, here and then there. One bandit in particular is known by name. He is called Merin ap Owen, and it is said he rides with a golden-haired witch who is as bloodthirsty as he. No one is safe from them. Several weeks ago they burned a small convent, St. Bride's, murdering the elder nuns and violating the younger women before they killed them. The carnage, it is said, was terrible, my lord." The monk shook his head sadly. "You should not travel alone."

"I am well armed," Ranulf said. "Besides, I do not look like a man worth robbing, good brother."

"There is your horse, my lord."

"True, but Shadow can outrun any bandit’s pony, I assure you."

"I will pray for you, my son," the monk said. "And for Ashlin."

Ranulf was relieved that he was, that night, the only guest at the monastery and did not have to share his pallet with anyone. He arose in the gray of predawn to attend Prime in the monk’s austere church. He was then given a surprisingly hearty breakfast of oat stirabout in a trencher of warm bread. He ate the cereal and half the bread, putting the other half into his purse for later. After draining his cup of cider, he arose, leaving a coin on the table and thanking the guest-house monk, then went to the stables to fetch his horse. The beast had been treated as well as he himself had, and so in a burst of generosity, he gave another coin to the monk who managed the stables.

He rode again until midday, stopping to water and graze his mount while he devoured the remaining trencher of bread he had carried with him. He would be at St. Frideswide’s tonight, and the meal would be another simple one. He longed for home and a hearty supper of a steamy rabbit stew with a wined gravy, a plate of juicy prawns, and a sweet pudding. Cheese. As much as he wanted. Butter. A fresh crock of it for his warm bread. Ranulf laughed as he remounted his horse and continued on his journey. He had become quite used to the soft life of a landowner. Having to take to the road again as a simple knight would be quite a hardship.

Was he being disloyal to King Stephen, he questioned himself? Yet Duke Henry had asked no great task of him, and that task certainly did not conflict with his loyalty to his king. He had, after all, pledged his fealty to Duke Henry once he became king, Ranulf reasoned. Bring the future queen to England with her child in safety, and he would have done Henry of Anjou a valuable service. What would Henry do for him? Kings were known to reward their faithful servants. What did he want? The question would be asked of him.

Ranulf considered. Suddenly he knew. He wanted the king’s permission to build a castle. To seriously help in protecting the border between England and Wales, Ashlin needed to become a castle. He could not build that castle without the king’s express permission. He would ingratiate himself with the future queen in order to gain her support as well. Ranulf smiled a wry smile. His wife would be proud of him, he thought, for he was at last thinking like a husband, a father, a lord of the manor. He chuckled, and his horse’s ears twitched back for an instant at the sound.

He rode until almost dusk, finally coming into sight of the convent. With a sigh he kicked his mount into a loping canter and eagerly gained his objective. Sister Perpetua was standing at the gates, one side of which were open and the other closed. He rode through and heard the open gate slam shut behind him with a noisy thunk. Sliding from his horse, he helped her lift the heavy wooden bar into place.