Origins
CHAPTER EIGHT

Hugh was at the training grounds inside the castle, sparring with the other squires as part of a mock battle, half of the men fighting for one side against the other.

He grunted with the effort of wielding his sword and was sweating under his chain-mail hauberk and padded haubergeon. Hugh parried Jean’s attack and shifted his feet into a wider attack stance. He raised his sword, brought it around and walloped Jean on his side with the flat edge. Jean staggered away from him and he whirled to meet Guy’s stabbing sword. As he swung around, he noticed with satisfaction that they were the last two men standing. He moved his sword arm back. The tip of Guy’s sword glanced against his metal forearm guard as he used it to deflect the attack. He pushed it aside, raised his own sword overhead, and brought the blunt side down on the top of Guy’s pointed helmet, his arm reverberating with the force. He stood braced, ready to resume his attack, but watched through the narrow view his helmet gave him, as Guy staggered, swayed for a moment, then collapsed to the mud in a heap, concussed and lying on his back.

Guy’s and Hugh’s pages both ran to their sides. Hugh’s congratulated him and Guy’s removed the fallen man’s helmet to check he was still breathing.

Hugh removed his helmet and accepted the congratulations and thumps on the back from the rest of his team, all of whom had been defeated.

He was just going over to check on his friend when one of his father’s serfs ran up to his side.

“Sire, your father requests your presence…” he gasped.

Hugh turned, a grin still cleaving his face. “I’ll get cleaned up and then join him,” he replied.

“Apologies, sire, but your father wants to see you immediately. I was told to bring you back with me without delay. He said it’s urgent.”

Hugh frowned at the boy, about to give him a piece of his mind for his impertinence, but saw the kid’s frightened look, and sighed. “Very well, lead on.”

He passed his sword and shield to his page. “Make sure there’s an ale waiting for me when I return,” he instructed.

“Sire,” he nodded.

Hugh followed the servant’s retreating back but swivelled and walked backwards for a few paces. “Don’t start drinking without me!” he shouted at his friends.

“Yeh. As if?”

“Of course, we’ll wait.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Yes, your lordship!” they all chorused sarcastically. He smiled and turned back to follow the boy into the Keep.

Hugh strode into the great hall, the sandstone walls lined with banners, tapestries, and ornate wall hangings. The weak afternoon sunlight poked through the narrow window spaces and caught the smoke from the fire at the centre as it rose towards the rafters of the vaulted ceiling twenty metres above his head. He knew his father could afford to put chimneys in if he wanted to, but he was too set in his ways to worry about something as inconsequential as his comfort and that of his family.

Why waste good money on something that isn’t a problem for me, he always replied when anyone suggested any improvements.

Despite the sunlight, it was gloomy inside and the fire and the smell of animals made the atmosphere oppressive. Hugh’s eyes stung, and he squinted as he tried to find his father amongst the servants, soldiers and noblemen who crowded the far end of the hall.

The sound of raucous laughter reached him, and he followed it until he arrived at a group of men standing around his father. They were telling filthy jokes.

“So…” his father began. “So a knight is asked by the Queen if he has fathered any children; she forces him to admit that he has not. ‘Nay, my lady, not as yet.’

“The Queen nods as if agreeing with him, then says, ‘you do not have the look of a man who could please his mistress when you hold her naked in your arms. For your beard is little more than the fuzz that ladies have in certain places, and it is easy to tell from the state of the hay whether the pitchfork is any good.’” His father broke off to wipe tears from his eyes and to catch his breath. He was laughing so much, even though it was his own joke. Hugh entered the circle, welcomed in by his older brother, William, who winked at him and raised his eyes to heaven.

“So… So,” his father continued, “When it is his turn, the knight asks, ‘Lady, answer me without deceit. Is there hair between your legs?’ When she replies, ‘none’, he comments, ‘Indeed I believe you, for grass… does not grow… on a well-beaten path,’” he guffawed, choked, earning a slap on the back from William, and bent over with his hands on his knees to recover his breath.

The surrounding men joined in with his laughter, and Hugh wondered cynically whether they were laughing at his father from a sense of duty, or from genuine mirth? Hugh was certain many of the local noblemen would have nothing to do with his father if he wasn’t one of the wealthiest men in the region; an excellent and generous host; one of the greatest knights of his generation; and, father of two very eligible sons and four comely daughters with sizable dowries.

His father straightened up.

“Who’s next?” he called.

“I have one, Stephen,” replied the visiting bishop.

His father waved for him to continue.

“What hangs at a man’s thigh and wants to poke the hole that it’s often poked before?”

Despite everyone having heard the joke a thousand times, it being the oldest one in the book, because of the bishop’s cloistered life and position, everyone feigned ignorance of the answer.

“A key!” he said after a pause, and he looked so pleased with himself that everyone fell about laughing and smirking at each other.

“Ah, Hugh!” his father cried, noticing him for the first time, “at last.” He cuffed his son on the arm. While the slap was friendly enough, Hugh felt its sting despite his chain-mail, because his father had put some of his considerable size behind it. He has softened and fattened over the last few years, Hugh thought critically.

“Good. Good. Now we must talk. Follow me.

“Excuse me gentlemen, but I have important matters to discuss with my spare.”

Hugh grimaced. It still riled him when his father called William and him the ‘Heir and the Spare’. He clearly understood that William had all the advantages and expectations of the elder boy, but it rankled, particularly as Hugh thought himself the better soldier. He and William were close and got on well, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t still rivalry between them.

If we battled together against a common foe, given that he is not as good a swordsman as I, maybe I would end up being promoted to heir, he thought uncharitably, and followed his father to his cell-like private chambers. “Come in,” his father instructed.

Daphne, his father’s wolfhound, seemingly unable to leave her master’s side, followed them in from the hall. She settled onto the straw at his feet as his father collapsed into the chair opposite the door. Despite being thick and solid mahogany, it still seemed to buckle under his father’s weight, and Hugh noticed that his father almost had to squeeze himself in between the wide arms.

Hugh sat on a chair opposite.

“How was training?” his father asked with genuine interest.

“Last man standing…”

“Again! Good. Well done. De Beaumont must be pleased with you?” his father said, referring to his training master, and slapped Hugh on the arm.

Hugh nodded. “I hope so…”

“You are a credit to him… he has taught you well…”

And nothing to do with my own abilities, I suppose, Hugh thought, but wouldn’t dare say for fear of angering the man. He just smiled.

“Drink?” his father asked. “Help yourself. I’ll have one too.”

Hugh stood and went to the narrow table under the slit-window and poured them both a beaker of red wine. He passed one to his father and sat back on his stool.

By the time he’d settled and looked up again, his father was draining his cup dry. Hugh got up, brought the flagon over and poured his father another. Then he settled back down with the bottle within easy reach.

“So you must wonder why I summoned you?”

“It had crossed my mind. I didn’t think it was just to hear a dirty joke.”

His father studied him shrewdly and took another draught of wine.

Hugh held his breath, but when he put the cup on the arm of his chair, his father was smiling. “Even your caustic tongue won’t upset my good humour today,” his father replied evenly, but with eyes that had hardened and stared him down.

Hugh took a sip of wine. He glanced down at the red surface to break eye contact and dampened his suddenly dry lips.

“I have been on a diplomatic mission and am pleased to say that it has yielded results. Significant results, even if I say so myself…” his father gave him a self-satisfied grin and paused.

“Sorry, I don’t understand. You haven’t left the Keep this morning… what mission…? And diplomatic?” Hugh asked with raised eyebrows.

“The diplomacy of succession. The mission to protect this family and its influence.”

“But if this concerns succession, then surely it’s William you need to be talking to, not me. After all, he is the heir, and I’m not important.”

His father sighed, looking suddenly weary. He raised his ham-sized hands and rubbed his face.

“Hugh, you’re a good soldier,” he said, “but sometimes you’re as thick as the walls of this Keep.” He sighed. “Of course you are important! You will have a role to play whatever happens to your brother. Also, we live in troubled times and while you know you won’t inherit from me, you need something to live on… what do you think you will do when William succeeds me?”

“I will be a knight and will serve…”

“But without a fortune or family, you will be no better than a hired hand. What will you do? Be a mercenary for a Byzantine army in the east? What life is that? Don’t misunderstand me, I relish a battle as much as anyone, but it is not a career. With nothing to aim for, it’s a steppingstone, but nothing more. So I have been working on your behalf. Securing you a future. Getting you an inheritance of your own.”

“What?” Hugh gasped. “How?”

“I have secured you a bride.”

Hugh’s mouth gaped open.

“I have arranged for you to marry Robert de Vitot’s daughter, Isabelle…”

“But she’s so young… and… and…” Hugh spluttered.

“Not immediately, you fool. You will marry her on your 21st birthday, next year, when she will be of age.”

“But she is just a child…”

“Agreed, but an only child. She is the sole heir to the de Vitot estates, which, although smaller than ours, are still considerable. Then you can go off and fight your battles and do whatever you want to do, because with those estates behind you as surety, you will never be short of money and will have something to fall back on.”

“But her mother and father…”

“Yes dull, I admit… and plain… but good people and shrewd landowners. They know they need someone to protect them and to manage things as they get older. They also know that an alliance between the neighbouring estates - theirs and ours - makes sense. So it was a simple conversation to have.”

“But what about William?”

“Don’t be an idiot. You know William has been betrothed to de Massy’s daughter from infancy, and they’ll be married in three years when she reaches maturity. William understands it is his duty, and it is what Hugh de Massy and I want!” he stated.

As Hugh listened, his world collapsed around his ears. He loved Constance and didn’t want to marry anyone else. She was his, and he was hers. They were like two sides of the same coin, one worthless without the other. He couldn’t do it…. There must be a way I can still be with her, he thought.

“But what about what I might want? What about who I might want to marry?”

“Where are you going to find someone better?” his father challenged. “Where? Tell me!”

“I don’t know, but…”

The older man puffed out his cheeks and tried to sound more conciliatory. “Your mother and I had an arranged marriage, and we learnt to respect and… yes… love one another. And you will do the same…”

“But what about your mistresses, Kate, Mary, and the others?” Hugh challenged.

His father’s jaw tightened, and he ground his teeth as his face reddened. “That is none of your business. What happens in a marriage is a concern for husband and wife only. And they will each do what they need to make it work. It is a sanctity and inviolable before God, but you must rub along and find your way. As your mother and I have. So maybe you can even carry on seeing your witch’s daughter afterwards,” he leered.

Hugh failed to hide his shock.

“Oh, give me some credit,” his father continued, “don’t think I don’t know what’s going on under my nose. Your dalliance has been quite a diversion for everyone, and I’m sure has been fun, but this is different. This is serious.” He stared at Hugh as if challenging him.

Hugh almost rose to the bait. He wanted to protest that he loved Constance and was going to be with her. But he knew it wouldn’t do to make his father angry, and he was sure that he and Constance could work something out. After all, they loved one another.

But he needed time, and at that moment Hugh just bit his tongue and bowed his head.

“Good!” said his father. “So I think we’re done here. It is settled. You will be knighted, and you will marry Isabelle de Vitot on your 21st birthday.

“And now a toast. To you and your bride!” his father said and raised his cup.

Hugh hesitated. He wanted to challenge him. To tell him he was in love with Constance, and he was going to marry her. But he couldn’t.

Instead, he raised his cup, and they drank.

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