She did not speak to Sam until late in the evening. The squires spent the whole afternoon at various violent games. She was glad to have the time to herself. She sat in the cool hall alone with her thoughts. She tried to tell herself that it was nothing for her to have sexual congress with Ralph. She was no virgin, after all. She had been married for twenty years. She had had sex thousands of times. It would all be over in a few minutes, and it would leave no scars. She would do it and forget it.
Until the next time.
That was the worst of it. He could go on coercing her indefinitely. His threat to reveal the secret of Sam's paternity would terrify her as long as Wulfric was alive.
Surely Ralph would tire of her soon, and go back to the firm young bodies of his tavern wenches?
'What's the matter with you?' Sam said when at dusk the squires came in for supper.
'Nothing,' she said quickly. 'Davey's bought me a milking cow.'
Sam looked a bit envious. He was enjoying life, but squires were not paid. They had little need of money - they were provided with food, drink, accommodation, and clothing - but, all the same, a young man liked to have a few pennies in his wallet.
They talked about Davey's forthcoming wedding. 'You and Annet are going to be grandmothers together,' Sam said. 'You'll have to make your peace with her.'
'Don't be stupid,' Gwenda snapped. 'You don't know what you're talking about.'
Ralph and Alan emerged from the chamber when supper was served. All the residents and visitors assembled in the hall. The kitchen staff brought in three large pike baked with herbs. Gwenda sat near the foot of the table, well away from Ralph, and he took no notice of her.
After dinner she lay down to sleep in the straw on the floor beside Sam. It was a comfort to her to lie next to him, as she had when he was little. She remembered listening to his childish breathing, soft and contented, in the silence of the night. Drifting off, she thought about how children grew up to defy their parents' expectations. Her own father had wanted to treat her like a commodity to be traded, but she had angrily refused to be used that way. Now each of her sons was taking his own road through life, and in both cases it was not the one she had planned. Sam would be a knight, and Davey was going to marry Annet's daughter. If we knew how they would turn out, she thought, would we be so eager to have them?
She dreamed that she went to Ralph's hunting lodge and found that he was not there, but there was a cat on his bed. She knew she had to kill the cat, but she had her hands tied behind her back, so she butted it with her head until it died.
When she woke up she wondered if she could kill Ralph at the lodge.
She had killed Alwyn, all those years ago, sticking his own knife into his throat and pushing it up into his head until its point had come out through his eye. She had killed Sim Chapman, too, holding his head under the water while he wriggled and thrashed, keeping him there until he breathed the river into his lungs and died. If Ralph went to the hunting lodge alone, she might be able to kill him, if she chose her moment well.
But he would not be on his own. Earls never went anywhere alone. He would have Alan with him, as he had before. It was unusual for him to travel with only one companion. It was unlikely he would have none.
Could she kill them both? No one else knew she was going to meet them there. If she killed them and simply walked on home she would not even be suspected. No one knew of her motive - it was a secret, that was the whole point. Someone might realize she had been near the lodge at the time, but they would only ask her whether she had seen any suspicious-looking men in the vicinity - it would not occur to them that big strong Ralph might have been murdered by a small middle-aged woman.
But could she do it? She thought about it, but she knew in her heart it was hopeless. They were experienced men of violence. They had been at war, off and on, for twenty years, most recently in the campaign of the winter before last. They had quick reflexes and their reactions were deadly. Many French knights had wanted to kill them, and had died trying.
She might have killed one, using guile and surprise, but not two.
She was going to have to submit to Ralph.
Grimly she went outside and washed her face and hands. When she came back into the great hall, the kitchen staff were putting out rye bread and weak ale for breakfast. Sam was dipping the stale bread into his ale to soften it. 'You've got that look again,' he said. 'What's the matter?'
'Nothing,' she said. She drew her knife and cut a slab of the bread. 'I've got a long walk ahead of me.'
'Is that what you're worried about? You shouldn't really go on your own. Most women don't like to travel alone.'
'I'm tougher than most women.' She was pleased that he showed concern for her. It was something his real father, Ralph, would never have done. Wulfric had had some influence over the boy, after all. But she was embarrassed that he had read her expression and divined her state of mind. 'You don't need to worry about me.'
'I could come with you,' he offered. 'I'm sure the earl would let me. He doesn't need any squires today - he's going off somewhere with Alan Fernhill.'
That was the last thing she wanted. If she failed to keep her rendezvous, Ralph would let out the secret. She could readily imagine the pleasure Ralph would take in that. He would not need much provocation. 'No,' she said firmly. 'Stay here. You never know when your earl will call for you.'
'He won't call for me. I should come with you.'
'I absolutely forbid it.' Gwenda swallowed a mouthful of her bread and stuffed the rest into her wallet. 'You're a good boy to worry about me, but it's not necessary.' She kissed his cheek. 'Take care of yourself. Don't run unnecessary risks. If you want to do something for me, stay alive.'
She walked away. At the door, she turned. He was watching her thoughtfully. She forced herself to give what she hoped was a carefree smile. Then she went out.
On the road, Gwenda began to worry that someone might find out about her liaison with Ralph. Such things had a way of getting out. She had met him once, she was about to do so a second time, and she feared there might be more such occasions. How long would it be before someone saw her leaving the road and heading into the woods at a certain point in her journey, and wondered why? What if someone should stumble by accident into the hunting lodge at the wrong moment? How many people would notice that Ralph went off with Alan whenever Gwenda was traveling from Earlscastle to Wigleigh?
She stopped at a tavern just before noon and had some ale and cheese. Travelers generally left such places in a group, for safety, but she made sure to wait behind so that she would be alone on the road. When she came to the point where she had to turn into the woods, she looked ahead and behind, to make sure there was no one watching. She thought she saw a movement in the trees a quarter of a mile back, and she peered into the hazy distance, trying to make out more clearly what she had seen; but no one was there. She was just getting jumpy.
She thought again about killing Ralph as she waded through the summer undergrowth. If by some lucky chance Alan was not here, might she find an opportunity? But Alan was the one person in the world who knew she was meeting Ralph here. If Ralph were killed, Alan would know who had done it. She would have to kill him, too. And that seemed impossible.
There were two horses outside the lodge. Ralph and Alan were inside, sitting at the little table, with the remains of a meal in front of them: half a loaf, a ham bone, the rind of a cheese, and a wine flask. Gwenda closed the door behind her.
'Here she is, as promised,' Alan said with a satisfied air. Clearly he had been given the job of getting her to come to the rendezvous, and he was relieved she had obeyed orders. 'Just perfect for your dessert,' he said. 'Like a raisin, wrinkled but sweet.'
Gwenda said to Ralph: 'Why don't you get him out of here?'
Alan stood up. 'Always the insolent remark,' he said. 'Will you never learn?' But he left the room, going into the kitchen and slamming the door behind him.
Ralph smiled at her. 'Come here,' he said. She moved obediently closer to him. 'I'll tell Alan not to be so rude, if you like.'
'Please don't!' she said, horrified. 'If he starts being nice to me, people will wonder why.'
'As you please.' He took her hand and tried to draw her closer. 'Sit on my lap.'
'Couldn't we just fuck and get it over with?'
He laughed. 'That's what I like about you - you're honest.' He stood up, held her shoulders, and looked into her eyes; then he bent his head and kissed her.
It was the first time he had done this. They had had sex twice without ever kissing. Now Gwenda was revolted. As his lips pressed against hers she felt more violated than when he had thrust his penis into her. He opened his mouth, and she tasted his cheesy breath. She pulled away, disgusted. 'No,' she said.
'Remember what you stand to lose.'
'Please don't do this.'
He started to become angry. 'I will have you!' he said loudly. 'Get that dress off.'
'Please let me go,' she said. He started to say something, but she raised her voice to speak over him. The walls were thin, and she knew that Alan in the kitchen could hear her pleading, but she did not care. 'Don't force me, I beg you!'
'I don't care what you say!' he shouted. 'Get on that bed!'
'Please don't make me!'
The front door flew open.
Both Gwenda and Ralph turned and stared.
Sam stood there.
Gwenda said: 'Oh, God, no!'
The three of them were frozen still for a split second, and in that moment Gwenda guessed, all at once, what had happened. Sam had been worried about her, and - disobeying her orders - he had followed her from Earlscastle, staying out of sight but never far behind. He had seen her leave the road and head into the woods - she had caught a flash of movement when she looked behind, but she had dismissed it. He had found the hut, arriving a minute or two after her. He must have stood outside and heard the shouting. It must have been obvious that Ralph was in the process of forcing Gwenda to submit to unwanted sex - although, recalling in a flash what they had said, Gwenda realized they had not mentioned the true reason she had to submit. The secret had not been revealed - yet.
Sam drew his sword.
Ralph leaped to his feet. As Sam rushed at him, Ralph managed to get his own sword out. Sam swung at Ralph's head, but Ralph raised his sword just in time to parry the stroke.
Gwenda's son was trying to kill his father.
Sam was in terrible danger. Hardly more than a boy, he was up against a battle-hardened soldier.
Ralph shouted: 'Alan!'
Then Gwenda realized Sam was up against not one but two veterans.
She dashed across the room. As the kitchen door came open, she stood on the far side of the doorway and flattened herself against the wall. She drew the long dagger from her belt.
The door flew wide and Alan stepped into the room.
He looked at the two fighters and did not see Gwenda. He paused for an instant, taking in the scene in front of him. Sam's sword swept through the air again, aimed at Ralph's neck; and again Ralph took the blow on his own sword.
Alan could see instantly that his master was under furious attack. His hand went to the hilt of his sword, and he took a pace forward. Then Gwenda stabbed him in the back.
She thrust the long dagger in and upward as hard as she could, pushing with a field-worker's strength, thrusting through the muscles of Alan's back, up through kidneys and stomach and lungs, hoping to reach his heart. The knife was ten inches long, pointed and sharp, and it sliced through his organs; but it did not kill him immediately.
He roared with pain then suddenly went silent. Staggering, he turned and grabbed her, pulling her to him in a wrestler's embrace. She stabbed him again, in the stomach this time, with the same upward stroke through the vital organs. Blood came out of his mouth. He went limp and his arms fell to his sides. He stared for a moment with a look of utter incredulity at the contemptible little woman who had ended his life. Then his eyes closed and he fell to the floor.
Gwenda looked at the other two.
Sam struck and Ralph parried; Ralph stepped back and Sam advanced; Sam struck again and Ralph parried again. Ralph was defending himself vigorously, but not attacking.
Ralph was fearful of killing his son.
Sam, not knowing that his opponent was his father, had no such scruples, and pressed forward, slashing with his sword.
Gwenda knew this could not go on for long. One of them would hurt the other, and then it would become a fight to the death. Holding her bloody knife ready, she looked desperately for a chance to intervene, and stab Ralph the way she had stabbed Alan.
'Wait,' Ralph said, holding up his left hand; but Sam was angry, and thrust at him regardless. Ralph parried and spoke again. 'Wait!' He was gasping from exertion, but he managed to get a few words out. 'There's something you don't know.'
'I know enough!' Sam yelled, and Gwenda could hear the note of boyish hysteria in his big man's voice. He swung again.
'You don't!' Ralph shouted.
Gwenda knew what Ralph wanted to tell Sam. He was going to say I am your father.
It must not happen.
'Listen to me!' Ralph said, and at last Sam responded. He stepped back, though he did not lower his sword.
Ralph panted, catching his breath in preparation for speaking; and, as he paused, Gwenda ran at him.
He spun around to face her, at the same time swinging his sword to the right in a flat arc. His blade hit hers, knocking the knife out of her hand. She was completely defenseless, and she knew that if he slashed at her with the return stroke she would be killed.
But, for the first time since Sam had drawn his sword, Ralph's guard was open, leaving the front of his body undefended.
Sam stepped forward and thrust his sword into Ralph's chest.
The pointed tip of the blade passed through Ralph's light summer tunic and entered his body on the left side of his breastbone. It must have slipped between two ribs, for the blade sank farther in. Sam gave a bloodthirsty cry of triumph and pushed harder. Ralph staggered backward under the impact. His shoulders hit the wall behind him, but still Sam came forward, pushing with all his might. The sword seemed to pass all the way through Ralph's chest. There was a strange thud as the point came out of his back and stuck into the timber of the wall.
Ralph's eyes looked into Sam's face, and Gwenda knew what he was thinking. Ralph understood that he had been wounded fatally. And, in the last few seconds of his life, he knew that he had been killed by his own son.
Sam let go of the sword, but it did not fall. It was embedded in the wall, impaling Ralph gruesomely. Sam stepped back, aghast.
Ralph was not yet dead. His arms waved feebly in an effort to grab the sword and pull it out of his chest, but he was not able to coordinate his movements. Gwenda realized in a ghastly flash that he looked a bit like the cat the squires had tied to the post.
She stooped and quickly picked up her dagger from the floor.
Then, incredibly, Ralph spoke.
'Sam,' he said. 'I am...' Then blood spurted from his mouth in a sudden flood, cutting off his speech.
Thank God, Gwenda thought.
The torrent stopped as quickly as it had started, and he spoke again. 'I am - '
This time he was stopped by Gwenda. She leaped forward and thrust her dagger into his mouth. He made a gruesome choking noise. The blade sank into his throat.
She let go of the knife and stepped back.
She stared in horror at what she had done. The man who had tormented her for so long was nailed to the wall as if crucified, with a sword through his chest and a knife in his mouth. He made no sound, but his eyes showed that he was alive, as they looked from Gwenda to Sam and back again, in agony and terror and despair.
They stood still, staring at him, silent, waiting.
At last his eyes closed.