Chapter 6
Erik sat there for a moment, contemplating the question he'd just been asked. His whole reason for being here relied on the answer he gave.
"I feel, Lord Fortingard, that feudal warfare should be applied only when necessary."
"And what, young lord, do you deem 'necessary'?"
"Well, say there are two farmers, both of whom live on the edge of their lord's property. One farmer lives under your rule, and the other under your neighbor's. These two men lived in peace together for twenty long years. Then, one day, the farmer who lives on your neighbor's land decides to expand the field he uses to plant his crops, therefore giving him a greater yield. Your farmer also wants to bring in more grain. The two expand their fields to the edges of your properties. The two meet as they are enlarging their fields and begin to argue about who has the more land. They each say that the other is on their lord's side of the boundary, and is therefore trespassing. They argue to the point of violence, and soon the one murders the other over a border dispute. Would you therefore go to war with your neighboring vassal because your borders were not properly defined and two farmers got into a fight?" Erik felt all the eyes in the room on him, but he kept his cool and inhaled.
"Of course I wouldn't clash with another lord over a stupid peasants' squabble," Findlay said arrogantly.
"Yet that is one of the main causes of feudal warfare. It seems to me that many lords are bloodthirsty and go looking for a fight, sometimes even picking them. Why must we ask for bloodshed and war when it can so easily arrive on our doorstep? If you men only knew what damage this has done in England, I am certain you would not embrace it so eagerly."
"What do we care of England? They don't come to our aide when we call for it, nor do we go to theirs. What does it matter to us if England rips herself apart? More land for us Normans, I say!" he raised his goblet to that, inciting a hearty "Here here!" from the diners.
"You are from England sir. Kicked out years ago, but Britons at heart. Your former countrymen are split into miniature kingdoms and fight each other at their borders, slaughtering their brothers and nephews and even their own sons. They are not content with their own borders and will spill over into Normandy without more than a thought at the riches and women they would claim as their prizes. Do you not see that this affects you all? You may have had an alliance with these men, or with their former king, but they respect nothing of the past. I say to you, take up your arms and prepare for the fight that will soon be on your doorstep!" Erik stared into Lord Fortingard's eyes, his own black ones hard and steady.
"How would you know these things?" he asked.
"You say I am a young lord. The neighbors we thought to be our closest allies turned on us in our most dire hour of need, killing my father and brothers, keeping my mother and sisters for their own. Our soldiers fought them fiercely, forcing them back to their keep. I was spared because I was out hunting with my men. I went to the king and begged for his help, but he just turned me out as if I was a pebble in his shoe. He refused to acknowledge the fighting, the murder, the looting and raiding. On my way back to my own manor, I stayed at an inn where I overheard plans to 'finish off the English and head south to pay a little visit to the Normans'. This is why I come to warn you, so that you might not face what I have, and suffer the same fate."
The entire hall was silent; every pair of eyes was on this young man who had lost it all, yet still survived. Ariella placed a hand on his forearm.
"Erik," she whispered. "Are you alright?" He nodded, smiling at her as though he'd not just told everyone his heart-wrenching story.
"I apologize, Lord Dowelle, for my rudeness. I did not know the full extent of your words," Findlay said, his head bent in shame.
"It isn't by any fault of yours, m'lord. I only hope that there is still enough time for the makings of a defense."
"That will be seen to immediately. Come sir, and eat your meal in peace and with good fellows." Fortingard clapped him on the back and took a swig from his goblet. A servant quickly refilled the cup.
Dinner went by smoothly, Ari keeping herself out of conversation and away from her father's wrath. The soldiers drank too much, and became rowdy before the final course was served. Even William was drunk; the only sober people the women, children, Erik and her. She grabbed Erik and made an exit with the other women, hiding their clasped hands in her skirts. They made a getaway to the door of her chamber. He cupped her face in his hands and looked down at the delicate features displayed there.
"I am sorry for your family. But I am not sorry that you are here."
"Nor am I," he responded. "Now be quiet so I can kiss you." His head bent and their lips met. It was a soft kiss, tender in every respect. He pulled away from her after a few moments. "I'm going to bed now, before I lose my decency."
She nodded, licking her lips to savor his taste.
"Good night Erik. Sweet dreams, m'lord." His fingers stroked her jaw before he turned briskly and strode down the hall, hands clenched at his sides. Smiling slightly, she turned and entered her room. Leaving her gown draped over the back of her dressing screen, she crawled into bed wearing just a chemise. She curled against the many pillows and drifted off to sleep in only a few moments, exhausted from her long day. Thoughts of Erik became marvelous dreams, pleasure to her mind and heart.
Hours later she heard the door being eased shut, felt the bed sink with the weight of another person. Groggy and annoyed to be disturbed from her fantasies, she opened her eyes just a bit.
"Erik?" she wondered aloud. In an instant she knew that it wasn't him. She cried out as the large form pushed her down into the feather mattress. Rough hands stripped her of her chemise, forced her thighs open. She scrambled away, opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth. Tears filled her eyes as she fought against this intruder; she hadn't been expecting this tonight, didn't want it to happen again.
"No, please... stop..." she begged, her breath coming in gasps. The intruder paid her no heed, and forced himself upon her. The tears spilt over, pouring out of her eyes. When he was finished, he grabbed her by the throat and slapped her.
"That will teach you to disobey me. Don't go near him again." His voice was gruff, and his breath heavy with the scent of wine. With one last touch her left her, crying and violated and desperately alone.
"Erik..." she whispered. "Save me... Erik..."
Erik sat there for a moment, contemplating the question he'd just been asked. His whole reason for being here relied on the answer he gave.
"I feel, Lord Fortingard, that feudal warfare should be applied only when necessary."
"And what, young lord, do you deem 'necessary'?"
"Well, say there are two farmers, both of whom live on the edge of their lord's property. One farmer lives under your rule, and the other under your neighbor's. These two men lived in peace together for twenty long years. Then, one day, the farmer who lives on your neighbor's land decides to expand the field he uses to plant his crops, therefore giving him a greater yield. Your farmer also wants to bring in more grain. The two expand their fields to the edges of your properties. The two meet as they are enlarging their fields and begin to argue about who has the more land. They each say that the other is on their lord's side of the boundary, and is therefore trespassing. They argue to the point of violence, and soon the one murders the other over a border dispute. Would you therefore go to war with your neighboring vassal because your borders were not properly defined and two farmers got into a fight?" Erik felt all the eyes in the room on him, but he kept his cool and inhaled.
"Of course I wouldn't clash with another lord over a stupid peasants' squabble," Findlay said arrogantly.
"Yet that is one of the main causes of feudal warfare. It seems to me that many lords are bloodthirsty and go looking for a fight, sometimes even picking them. Why must we ask for bloodshed and war when it can so easily arrive on our doorstep? If you men only knew what damage this has done in England, I am certain you would not embrace it so eagerly."
"What do we care of England? They don't come to our aide when we call for it, nor do we go to theirs. What does it matter to us if England rips herself apart? More land for us Normans, I say!" he raised his goblet to that, inciting a hearty "Here here!" from the diners.
"You are from England sir. Kicked out years ago, but Britons at heart. Your former countrymen are split into miniature kingdoms and fight each other at their borders, slaughtering their brothers and nephews and even their own sons. They are not content with their own borders and will spill over into Normandy without more than a thought at the riches and women they would claim as their prizes. Do you not see that this affects you all? You may have had an alliance with these men, or with their former king, but they respect nothing of the past. I say to you, take up your arms and prepare for the fight that will soon be on your doorstep!" Erik stared into Lord Fortingard's eyes, his own black ones hard and steady.
"How would you know these things?" he asked.
"You say I am a young lord. The neighbors we thought to be our closest allies turned on us in our most dire hour of need, killing my father and brothers, keeping my mother and sisters for their own. Our soldiers fought them fiercely, forcing them back to their keep. I was spared because I was out hunting with my men. I went to the king and begged for his help, but he just turned me out as if I was a pebble in his shoe. He refused to acknowledge the fighting, the murder, the looting and raiding. On my way back to my own manor, I stayed at an inn where I overheard plans to 'finish off the English and head south to pay a little visit to the Normans'. This is why I come to warn you, so that you might not face what I have, and suffer the same fate."
The entire hall was silent; every pair of eyes was on this young man who had lost it all, yet still survived. Ariella placed a hand on his forearm.
"Erik," she whispered. "Are you alright?" He nodded, smiling at her as though he'd not just told everyone his heart-wrenching story.
"I apologize, Lord Dowelle, for my rudeness. I did not know the full extent of your words," Findlay said, his head bent in shame.
"It isn't by any fault of yours, m'lord. I only hope that there is still enough time for the makings of a defense."
"That will be seen to immediately. Come sir, and eat your meal in peace and with good fellows." Fortingard clapped him on the back and took a swig from his goblet. A servant quickly refilled the cup.
Dinner went by smoothly, Ari keeping herself out of conversation and away from her father's wrath. The soldiers drank too much, and became rowdy before the final course was served. Even William was drunk; the only sober people the women, children, Erik and her. She grabbed Erik and made an exit with the other women, hiding their clasped hands in her skirts. They made a getaway to the door of her chamber. He cupped her face in his hands and looked down at the delicate features displayed there.
"I am sorry for your family. But I am not sorry that you are here."
"Nor am I," he responded. "Now be quiet so I can kiss you." His head bent and their lips met. It was a soft kiss, tender in every respect. He pulled away from her after a few moments. "I'm going to bed now, before I lose my decency."
She nodded, licking her lips to savor his taste.
"Good night Erik. Sweet dreams, m'lord." His fingers stroked her jaw before he turned briskly and strode down the hall, hands clenched at his sides. Smiling slightly, she turned and entered her room. Leaving her gown draped over the back of her dressing screen, she crawled into bed wearing just a chemise. She curled against the many pillows and drifted off to sleep in only a few moments, exhausted from her long day. Thoughts of Erik became marvelous dreams, pleasure to her mind and heart.
Hours later she heard the door being eased shut, felt the bed sink with the weight of another person. Groggy and annoyed to be disturbed from her fantasies, she opened her eyes just a bit.
"Erik?" she wondered aloud. In an instant she knew that it wasn't him. She cried out as the large form pushed her down into the feather mattress. Rough hands stripped her of her chemise, forced her thighs open. She scrambled away, opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth. Tears filled her eyes as she fought against this intruder; she hadn't been expecting this tonight, didn't want it to happen again.
"No, please... stop..." she begged, her breath coming in gasps. The intruder paid her no heed, and forced himself upon her. The tears spilt over, pouring out of her eyes. When he was finished, he grabbed her by the throat and slapped her.
"That will teach you to disobey me. Don't go near him again." His voice was gruff, and his breath heavy with the scent of wine. With one last touch her left her, crying and violated and desperately alone.
"Erik..." she whispered. "Save me... Erik..."