Fulke’s smile reassured Ranulf that his friend would enjoy the task almost as much as he himself would enjoy making good on the promise to make the miscreant cry for his mother. It was a good day.
It had taken less than two days for Fulke to extract the information Ranulf desperately wanted. Sitting at the high table with his seneschal, his steward, and master builder, Ranulf was discussing the progress on the fortifications of the curtain wall enclosing his castle when he looked up from the plans to watch Fulke enter the hall. It was still early, so the great hall was almost empty.
Ranulf indicated for Fulke and Gilbret to follow him into his private chamber behind the hall. Whatever they had to say, it needed to be in private. Ranulf nodded his dismissal of the builder and clerics, then walked behind the curtain.
He sat and offered Fulke and Gilbret some wine, then waited for Fulke’s report.
Looking very satisfied with himself, Fulke delivered the much anticipated information. “The sot bleeds like a babe.”
Ranulf didn’t need to enquire as to who the “sot” was.
“He lives?” Ranulf’s casual tone belied his anxiety. It was essential he remain alive. Evidence was no good if dead. Fulke had been told not to go too far, but then Fulke was not always apt to remember his lord’s orders when it came to extracting information from prisoners.
“Blooded, ’tis all.” Fulke took a leisurely swallow of his wine. “He won’t be rutting anytime soon.” A devilish smile spread across his face.
Gilbret’s hand moved in a protective gesture towards his crotch. “Never fear, Gil, yours are too small to warrant my attention,” Fulke crowed.
“Says he whose balls are the size of acorns,” Gilbret sniggered.
The three men laughed and drank with the ease of men who had an easy comradeship.
Ranulf directed the conversation back to Fulke and the mercenaries. “Did he give a name?”
“Aye, Cessford’s the one who set them loose.” Fulke ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. “Methinks Cessford seeks bigger game.”
Ranulf agreed. “He’s a fool if he thinks I’ll cede my lands.” Ranulf suspected the earl wanted to force him off his estates. What Ranulf couldn’t understand was why the old fool thought he could get away with it.
Sir Gilbret’s mind must have traveled in the same direction. “He’s building castles under the guise of protecting the borders. You, my lord, stand in his way.”
Fulke, never one to let an opportunity to state the obvious pass by, offered his considered opinion. “Cessford’s castles are appearing quicker than sores on an old whore’s cunt.”
Ranulf was about to put a piece of cheese in his mouth, but the vivid image stole his appetite. “Ah, Fulke, you have a gift for words.”
The three men guffawed.
“Perhaps he wants to harry you enough to get you to the negotiation table?” Gilbret suggested.
Ranulf considered the chaos the fighting between King Stephen and King Henry had created. For years, the north had been almost totally lawless, offering great opportunity for unscrupulous men to snatch land from those too weak to protect their estates.
“The man wants your lands. Plain and simple, and by refusing to relinquish Elsdon he must think he has an advantage,” Fulke said.
Ranulf thought that was the most likely reason for the attacks. His mind traveled back to the last time he had seen Cessford. It was years ago, at Henry’s court in Rouen. Cessford had taken control of d’Argentan land during Stephen’s reign, but Henry had commanded them returned to Ranulf. Cessford had been livid.
“Remember Rouen? Perhaps he wants you to consider his daughter again?” Gilbret looked at Ranulf.
Yes, he remembered the earl’s words clearly. “Think on it, d’Argentan, a marriage between my daughter and you.”
“An alliance between us has always been his ploy. Thank God his daughter is married,” Ranulf said, his relief evident to his companions.
“She was a haughty wee bitch. No mistake. But she was a beauty,” Fulke added.
“I’d sooner bed a goat than face Lady Cicele’s derision daily,” Gilbret added.
Ranulf had refused the offer of Cessford’s daughter. The man had stormed from the hall, but not before delivering a chilling warning. “Refuse me, and your house will be as ash.”
Were the burnings at Catcleugh, and Byrness an attempt to turn his estates to ash? Ranulf had good reason to loathe Cessford, but his recent attacks had fanned the embers of loathing into a seething hatred.
“Never will I align myself with that sotten,” Ranulf snarled. The venom in his tone was enough to cause the two knights sitting on either side of him to exchange a look, which Ranulf didn’t bother to interpret. “I’ll turn monk before a de Saussay harpy finds her way into my bed.”
Ranulf studied the parchment in his hands. Although surprised to receive it, he decided his meeting with the abbess of St. Leonard’s would be straightforward, and to his advantage. He set Gilbret to work on overseeing the construction of the curtain wall and guard tower. Ranulf was pleased with the work already completed. He allowed himself a sense of satisfaction. If all went as planned the stone fortifications would be finished by summer’s end.
He was relieved that the prisoners had been sent to his keep at Otterburn. Ranulf didn’t like the distraction they created among his men.
It wouldn’t be too long before Cessford found out that his mercenaries were detained at Otterburn, awaiting Henry’s verdict. It was a mystery why Cessford refused to heed the king’s order to relinquish the adulterine castle at Elsdon. Ranulf was hopeful the fool could be persuaded without too many more casualties. The earl was a decisive, uncompromising, and brutal soldier. He didn’t put it past him to try something stupid. An outright attack on Fulke was not out of the realms of possibility.
Ranulf had given Fulke strict orders to keep his men out of a fight. “A show of strength may be enough to turn Cessford’s bowels to liquid.”
Ranulf smiled, remembering his constable’s grim disapproval. “Methinks a sword to the man’s throat may be of more use.”
Ranulf secretly hoped Fulke was wrong. He didn’t want to waste time and men on the earl. Cessford was nothing more than a thorn in his side, but a thorn that could cost him dearly if he wasn’t removed from the castle sooner rather than later.
Two villages had been ruined. What kind of man destroyed the very people he was sworn to protect? English lives, the king’s taxes, and the threat of being decreed a traitor didn’t seem to worry Cessford.
“A pox on the worm.” Ranulf cleared his throat. The taste of Cessford’s treachery still lingered in his craw.
He couldn’t do anything for the people of Elsdon until he had Cessford under control. It rankled. At least with Cessford’s mercenaries in custody the earl would have to appear before the king and give an account. That would offer some protection to the villagers from more of Cessford’s ruthless brigands.
The situation was dire. No crops were planted. Stock had been slaughtered and left to rot where they fell. Grain had to be sought and planted before the season changed. The people would starve come winter unless he could source grain and stock. He would set Gilbret to the task.