Hellion by Bertrice Small Read Free Book Online

asked Belle, “that the keep and its walls are of stone? There is no stone quarried in Suffolk, Essex, or Norfolk.”
    “My father had the stones dragged on sledges across the fens from Northamptonshire,” she told him. “The keep is only twenty-five years old. He began it the year my brother William was born. Until it was built, the old Saxon hall stood on the site. It took five years to complete. But the lady Sibylle, my father’s first wife, did not choose to live in England. My father came twice a year to Langston then. His time was spent serving the king, and then the king’s son. When he married my mother in Normandy, he immediately brought her to England because he wanted to make it their home. I was born here.”
    “I was conceived here,” he told her.
    “ What ?” Her tone was startled.
    “My mother’s family,” he said, “come from near Worcester. She was married to my father in the June before Hastings. Her family, of course, supported Duke William, soon to become England’s king. My father’s family supported Harold Godwinson, but my mother loved my father and, I am told, held her peace. When word of the battle and King Harold’s defeat was brought to her, she packed all the valuables and returned to her father’s house. She was enceinte with me at the time. She died shortly after my birth. My grandmother Emma says she could not bear being separated from my father, who was killed at Hastings. She lived just long enough to birth his son and give me my father’s name.”
    Isabelle said nothing. She might be willful and hot-tempered, but she had a soft heart, although she rarely showed it. His story was touching, even if he was a Saxon dog. Now they rodedown the village street, and she pointed out the houses of the cooper, the tanner, the carpenter, the shoemaker, the smithy, the tinker, the potter, and the miller.
    “You are remarkably well-supplied with craftsmen,” Hugh noted.
    “You may credit your family and not mine for it,” Isabelle allowed grudgingly. “They were all here when my father arrived. Beyond this village, my lord, are two other small villages. We shall get to them today. Those who till our lands live in them.”
    The villagers had spilled out into the street as the party rode past. They pointed and whispered. Finally, when the riders came abreast of the smithy, Isabelle spoke again.
    “We must pay our respects to Ancient Albert. He is the village headman, and will be offended if we do not stop.”
    They drew their mounts to a halt, and there beneath the canopy of the smithy an enormous white-haired old man sat sprawled in a chair. By his side was a slightly younger version, and then four even younger men. The elderly man peered at Hugh, and then commanded him to move his horse closer. Gazing up at the new lord of Langston, he finally said in a surprisingly strong voice, “He is of Strongarm’s line, the exact spit of him.”
    “This,” said Isabelle, “is Ancient Albert, the smithy.”
    “In truth, lord,” Ancient Albert said, “I do not smith any longer. My son Elbert and his sons do the work, and good work it is, I promise you, for I have trained them all.”
    “You knew my grandfather?” Hugh said.
    “Aye, and your father, and uncles, too. I am the oldest man in these parts, lord. I have lived eighty winters. Your grandfather was a fair man. Your father, who was called Hugh the Younger, took after him. I remember your young uncles, Harold and Edward. Such mischievous laddies, always after the girls in the village, and them happy to be caught.” He chortled, then shook his head. “Too young to die, they was, but your mother did the right thing fleeing back to her family afterthe battle. Oh, there was some who criticized, but she saved the line of Strongarm; and made it possible for me to see the day it was restored to Langston. Is it true what Eldon has told us? Is it true you have come home, Hugh Strongarm?”
    “Aye,” Hugh said, greatly moved by the old