Post of the Month

~ January 2009 ~

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David & Adela ~ Written by Nikke.  Posted on the HoS Yahoo group July 2007.

Somewhere in the distance, cockcrow sounded as David walked along the passage to his son's bedchamber.

He was irritable, tense, a headache prickled at his temple. He'd not slept well, and Adela had not been there to slip into bed beside him and distract him. He had only recently accused her of being over-keen to love-make and so give him no rest - but last night, he realised, he would have welcomed being both exhausted and satisfied enough to fall asleep.

The cup of wine left in his bedchamber had gone stale. There had not been a fresh shirt to don, only yesterdays which had stunk of sweat and he had cursed his squire Chartain, and made mental note to have Adela take to task the castle laundresses.

He paused halfway along the stone passage, sighed, ran a hand through his hair and stared at the small window set high in the passage wall. It faced East and the first flush of pink summer dawn. Beyond it, he could hear the horses tramping restlessly in the stables, the squeak of a handcart being taken across cobbles. Chartain was already down there, readying their horses.

But first, Robert, David thought. _Get that over with first...._

Nothing for the ill had happened overnight, he was sure of that, for Adela would have woken him. Things could either be better or the same. He hoped they were better.

David headed on along the passage.

The first strains of dawn sunlight were also filtering through the window of Robert's chamber. Adela had left the window unshuttered all night, to allow the sweet breath of cool night enter the room. Now, with her woollen cloak wrapped around her shoulders for warmth, she sat on the stool by Robert's bedside and watched him through heavy lidded eyes.

She was alone; she had sent Elgiva down to the kitchens with instructions for the coming day, for she felt sure she would have to stay by Robert's bedside for most of it. She feared when he came round, he would be dazed, would not know where on earth he was, and he would need a familiar voice in his ear to reassure him.

She wondered now whether he would recognise her voice. It had been three year since she had last seen him, last spoken to him. The day that David had received that letter from Sir Richard of the Lea informing him that Owain of Clun had taken his daughter. She had remained in the background of the study as the clerk had read out the contents of the letter to David and Robert. She had known better than to interfere as David had angrily berated Robert, had seen the determined look steal over Robert's face in the candlelight as David had left the study, and had known somehow that this was the start of David losing his son in ways he had not thought possible.

She had risen from her seat in the corner of the study and had gone across to the young man, who had snatched Sir Richard's letter from the clerk, bid him leave and then had wandered uneasily up and down the study, reading through the letter for himself. She had placed her hands on Robert's shoulders and faced him in the candlelight, and he had looked up from the letter at her with such solemnity that fear had stirred deep inside her. She had never been a mother, but she had felt that it had been as good as a mother's instinct, a mother's fear for her son just then. The calm helplessness of knowing she could not stop this stubborn young man upon whatever course of action he had decided upon.

_"Whatever you do, have a care with it,"_ she had told Robert quietly.

He had sighed, folded her into his arms in a hug against him as though needing the comfort, rested his cheek against hers, and then had held her away from him and looked at her.

_"Look to him."_

He had meant his father, and she had shivered as she had watched him turn and leave the study, for it was an unnatural thing for a son to say about his father. Usually it was the father instructing that his son be looked to.

It had been the last time that she had seen Robert. Until yester-eve.....

Cockcrow sounded from the fields beyond the castle. Adela stretched her cramped limbs where she sat on the stool, leant over Robert and looked at him. He lay on his right side, facing her, one pillow at his back to keep him turned on his side, his cheek crumpled against another. One hand lay up by his face, its fingers curled, relaxed. He breathed softly, fair lashes shuttering his eyes. It minded her of when he had been a small boy in her charge. Would that children could never grow up but remain innoccent.

She and Elgiva had disrobed him last night as gently as possible, washed him and garbed him in David's last fresh shirt which she had taken from his clothes chest. He now was no longer muddied and most of the blood had been cleansed from his face and hair. Rosemary and lemon balm had been scattered over the blankets. Cleanliness was important for infection not to take a grip on a wound, and the sweet aroma of the herbs would hopefully cleanse the air of any impurities.

Adela gently removed the cold compress from where it was lain across Robert's left temple and studied the wound. An ugly cut at the hairline, but now plugged with dried blood and so bleeding no longer. The bruising spread outward from the wound; black and blue in various shades across his temple and forehead, reaching down to his left cheekbone and closed left eye.

She turned to the stool by the bed upon which sat a fresh bowl of water, and rinsing the compress out, wrung it through.

She and Elgiva had sat with him all night. Saying little, just watching over him. She had dozed and Elgiva had watched him, then Elgiva had dozed and she had watched him. He had not come round. Every now and then by the light of the candles ranged around in the chamber, he had stirred slightly, turned his head a little, twitched the hand up by his face, sometimes sighed softly as though rising up through the mists of unconsciousness - only to descend again and be still once more.

Adela looked up as the door creaked open and David quietly entered. He was dressed for riding, morning stubble on his chin. His eyes were anxious as they looked at her and then wandered past her to the stil figure in the bed. She tried to smile at him and held out her hand in invitation.

David came softly over to her, took the offered hand and kissed the inside of her wrist, then moved to stand by her where she sat, and laying an affectionate hand on her shoulder, stared down at his son. "How is he?" David whispered.

Adela stroked the hair back from Robert's bruised forehead. "He's better, I think. His skin is cool and damp, so no fever, and he has stirred in response to his name being said. I am sure he shall have a mighty headache when he wakes, though."

"Thanks to the heavy-handedness of Hugh and the others," David said grimly.

Adela shook her head to herself in thought as she looked down at Robert. "Well, my love, what did you expect. You wanted him - you must have known that an ambush would have panicked him to the point where he fought if cornered."

David had not thought, and fell silent.

"He could not SEE who attacked him," Adela continued. "If he had been able to, he would have for sure recognised Hugh and some of the others and he would not have attacked them. He used to go fishing with Ingram's son down by the river near Fearnley. As it was....Robert was procured for you at a price. The price of Walter the hayward's life and maybe Potkin's eye."

David sighed, conscience pricked, and slapped his riding gauntlets uneasily against his thigh. "I must go and see Walter's widow. He has a son, doesn't he?"

"Three, all half-grown."

"I'll see what I can do for them." David folded his arms and stood there in thought. He glanced down at Adela's face and frowned. "There's something else. What is it."

"Herfast is dead," Adela replied.

David was taken aback. "That sly old devil of a cook?"

Adela re-applied the compress to the side of Robert's forehead. "He died during the night, apparently. Elgiva told me about it; they found him this morning in his bed off the kitchens, stone cold and as stiff as a board."

David watched her tend Robert, anxious for any possible signs his son gave of coming round. "What was the cause - pestilence?"

Robert stirred at the touch of the cold compress against his forehead and gave a slight moan; she hushed him soothingly as one would a child, and then glanced up at David who stood by her. "No, they think it was his heart. He'd been complaining of pains there."

"Thank the stars it's not the pestilence - that's the last thing we need here at Huntingdon, it's been a sticky June so far." David unlaced the neck of his shirt. "Hay's to be got in, and then there's the harvest - we can't have that failing. I remember when I was a boy, it failed several summers in a row and brought England to the brink of starvation."

Adela sighed. "Midsummer's coming up and no master-cook."

"I daresay the undercooks can manage and you can oversee any problems in the kitchens - and we'll not be holding a lavish feast. Not this year. We'll keep to ourselves."

"You're riding out somewhere?" Adela said, seeing him pull on his gauntlets.

"Out to the common with Chartain - have a new bird to try I brought back from Navarre with me, and it's been cooped up in the mews ever since. That little merlin I brought back also is yours, you know - you'll have to try her out sometime. When the boy's recovered," and David nodded at where Robert lay, hiding how he felt; the fear within that this all too precious son would not recover. He spoke briskly. "When the boy's recovered, I daresay a ride out in the air with a hawk on his wrist would do him well. Of course, he'd have to be put on a leading rein, but I'll warrant he can still sit a horse."

Robert stirred, sighed slightly, turned his head aside on the pillow.

"Robert?" Adela said gently, leaning over him, still stroking his hair. His eyelashes flickered, but he was still again.

"He doesn't look blind," Adela said quietly, still stroking his hair.

"Wait till he opens his eyes," David said grimly, "you'll see that the pupils have turned pure white. 'Tis a fearful thing to behold. No wonder some of the villagers around Sherwood thought him bewitched, I hear. God knows what sort of accident or illness caused that effect."

He moved away to the foot of the bed, and beckoned Adela. She rose from the stool and came, where she faced him and looked at him, and he spoke in a low voice. "He may be blind, but he is still marriageable. I would hope that he is still capable of getting children - well, the child he has with the scar-faced whore is proof of that, isn't it? I hear he fathered her after going blind."

Adela spoke low in reply. "Is the child healthy?"

"Looked so to me." David had barely given the infant a second glance at the time but now he recollected the plump limbs and bright interested face.

Adela sought to calmly reason. "Then why have all this bother. Bring the child here, she is his daughter, and you will have an heiress...."

David shook his head. "I want a BOY. A son of Robert's body, not a daughter. Besides, that child's illegitimate, borne by that woman of Robert's in Sherwood."

"But Tuck married them, I heard...." Adela began.

"And Tuck's outlawed. Hugo's probably had him excomunicated a thousand times over by now," David said wryly. "That wedlock therefore would not be considered legal or binding, and so can soon be put asunder."

"Then bring Robert's woman here and have the ceremony done properly by the Archbishop of Canterbury if that makes you happy, God's teeth -" Adela half-lifted her hands in exasperation, "- if he is happy with her, let him have some happinness. If they already have a healthy daughter, then the chances are they'll have healthy sons."

David raised a dark eyebrow at her. "The woman is a tailor's daughter from Leicester."

Adela smoothed down her skirts and faced David. "So? An honest living. I shall always be the daughter of the steward on Eleanor's father's estate. No matter how we trace our heritages back through time, we will always find that we are descended from Noah who was but a humble carpenter. All of us."

David shook his head again. "I already have arranged someone more fitting for Robert. In Navarre."

Adela was so taken aback that she drew back from him a small step. "You have been....thinking about this," she observed, surprised.

David nodded. "For quite some time, now. As soon as I heard Robert had gone blind....I knew I had to get him out of that damn forest. For his own good." He turned and looked across the foot of the bed to where his son lay amongst the pillows. "Never been able to control him - even when he lived under my roof before all this nonsense of leading a bunch of outlaws in the forest, he was always wilful and stubborn, and resistant," he muttered. "It's different now; it HAS to be." He looked at Adela. "It WILL be," he finished in determination.