An Echo of Betrayal

By Nancy Henshaw

In 12th century Sicily, the wealthy Lord Verres acquires 18-year old orphan Theo as a bride for his foster son. He has no way to predict the chaos he is unleashing upon his stable and prosperous household.

Naive, courageous, stubborn and impetuous, Theo is quick to acquire both friends and enemies. When she finds herself drawn into a deadly intrigue with Verres' political rivals, her attempts to do the right thing will have explosive consequences.

Presented with a husband who is little more than a boy, Theo sets aside her dreams of romance. But life has another surprise in store.

A gripping medieval adventure picking up the threads of Haggard Gentle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9780244364717

Book preview

An Echo of Betrayal

An Echo of Betrayal

Nancy Henshaw

Copyright © 2018 by Nancy Henshaw

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

Chapter 1.

The line of horsemen wound up the steep track towards Erice, the town perched on the hilltop.  Presumably it was there waiting at their journey's end. The mist was so thick that they might find themselves riding over the edge of the world.

Verres of Mandra, at the head of his men, stared into obscurity and muttered, 'I hope the young woman will make this dismal trek worth while.'

'For her sake, I hope she will, my lord,' said his companion with privileged impudence.

Nineteen years old, lithe and untiring, Peire Lesine was tiresomely cheerful in unpleasant weather; a reproach to Verres who wasn't really put out by an inclement afternoon. It was a sore throat that was making him grouch; that, and the fact that he was about to open and delve into a box of uncertainties it might be better to leave that way.

Erice's castle had been built following an heroic Norman victory over the forces of Islam. A century later in the present year of 1177, it confronted Verres through dankness and gloom. The Christian Kings of Sicily might cherish it as a symbol of Norman power in this desirable land; they had never shown the slightest wish to live in it.

The garrison commander, a brickfaced hearty, arrived as Verres dismounted and interrupted his respectful greeting: ‘I’m here to see a woman called Richeldis; a widow. Do you know her?’ He expected the man to be surprised but was surprised in turn to catch an incipient smirk on his face,  wiped off when Verres gave him a cold, discouraging look. ‘Well? Do you or don’t you?’

‘Certainly, my lord,’ he said hastily. 'She and her daughter have lived in the town for years.  Will you have her brought to you here...’

'No,' said Verres.

‘Or my men will escort you...’

‘No.’ Verres had been in the saddle since dawn and had no intention of traipsing through the streets either like a suppliant or an arresting officer, to confront Richeldis, a flustered, probably incoherent housewife. ‘I’ll see her tomorrow.’

He looked round a courtyard where a skirmish of chaos was giving way to order of sorts; stabling, grooming and feeding the horses. After that the men would provide for their own comfort like the experts they were.

'Who's in charge of the domestic side of things, captain?'

'My own mother, sir. She will have your bath prepared immediately.'

The guest chamber had a brazier and Verres stood warming his hands, watching the women filling the tub, letting himself be undressed by a boy the age, if not the size of his own well-grown younger son.

The two women were quick and neat at their work but only the bony hands of the older one applied the lathered massage. She concluded by placing a bath sheet over Verres' shoulders, collecting his clothes and leaving the room. Washday in Erice must be a foretaste of hell. How did they ever get anything dry enough to wear? The only thing in this place definitely dry was his own throat.

As he stood up and swung himself out of the bath Verres wrapped himself in the wet sheet, only to have it whisked away by the second woman who replaced it with one that was rough-dried and agreeably herb-scented, tucking it round him with the indifference of practice. He wasn’t in the mood for smiling at unknown middle aged women and smiled instead at the boy, leaving damp footprints as he walked over to the table to pour out wine. The child gave a shocked squeak and grabbed at the jug. He looked so worried that Verres let him fill the cup before saying, 'You may rejoin your comrades.'

The woman was putting out fresh clothes, laying them on the bed, before turning towards him, waiting for leave to go. Her neatly coifed head concealed all but a couple of curly strands of light red hair. She had a thin, but pleasingly shaped face; like her body. True, she was not young but her movements were remarkably graceful and Verres had found himself watching her in appreciation.

As he began getting dressed he said, 'Send up my squire, Garin Gorley.' He should be finished with the horses. 'No, wait. Do you know a woman called Richeldis?'

There was a silence long enough for him to wonder if she was dumb or dumb insolent. Then she said, 'I am Richeldis.'

He stared at her frowning; not displeased but puzzled. Fifteen years a widow and now reduced to earning a few coins emptying other people's used bath water? She didn't look robust enough for a servant's work and Verres experienced a moment's ridiculous compunction. Women were often a good deal stronger than they looked.

'In that case,' he said briskly, 'come to me here after dinner and I'll speak to you privately. She showed no surprise and he asked, ‘You do know who I am?'

'The lord of Mandra, sir. And the solar would be more fitting.'

He couldn't fault her suggestion and her tone was subdued but he received a quick look from shrewd blue eyes as he gave her a gesture of combined assent and dismissal. On an impulse he said, ‘Leave the bath tub. My squire will deal with it..

She curtsied and left him in a state of topsy-turvy annoyance. Not her fault, she could hardly have anticipated a second meeting. He had accepted, scarcely noticing, the intimate touch of an anonymous woman servant. Now she had turned into something quite different.

Garin had inserted himself through the still-open door exclaiming, 'You've dressed yourself,' sounding almost as shocked as the infant wine-pourer, and adding formally, 'How may I serve my lord?'

'Something I often ask myself.' The boy had been in his service only a matter of weeks but Verres had decided that sixteen-year-old Garin Gorley was not as deferential as he liked to seem. The Baron of Mandra might be one of King William's trusted councillors but he was unlikely to inspire hero worship in a youth half his age. Verres had never been one of the flamboyant paladins of Norman Sicily who glorified the dynasty of Hauteville Kings.

He sat down and said, 'What I need now is the local wise woman or some-such. I've got an inflammation of the throat - here, have a look.'

'I can't really see anything,' said Garin, peering doubtfully into Verres' open mouth. 'It's flesh-coloured but you'd expect that.'

'No black spots?' said Verres indignantly, 'not even white spots - blisters?  Well, it's hell's own agony and I'll probably have to do a lot of talking tomorrow; if I live that long. I’ll go and eat while I still can. You eat when you’ve disposed of the tub of water.’

If he gave an order he didn’t wait to see it carried out but he could picture the indignation of this half-Saxon scion of the once-mighty Godwinssons.

He must ask the competent Richeldis for a sore throat remedy. The thought of seeing her again lightened his mood as he went into the smoky atmosphere of what passed for the great hall in this dismal place.       

‘Peire,’ he said as he beckoned the black haired young Lesine to join him at supper. ‘Tomorrow you’re to ride to Caccamo and give a message to a man called Charlot Bris.’

Their neighbours at the high table were all men and Verres couldn't see Richeldis amongst the few women on the lower benches.

‘Right, sir,’ said Peire, cheerfully spearing sardines on his dagger. 'What is the message?’

‘A written message and nothing to do with you, boy. Just make sure he knows he is instantly to return here with you. My visit to Erice will be as short as possible so don’t waste time.’

‘Certainly not, sir.’

Caccamo. Verres hadn’t been there for years; the place where the castle's guard commander was Charlot Bris, brother of Richeldis; uncle and guardian of the widow’s daughter Theophano, the girl Verres of Mandra had come here to meet.

Richeldis was beside the fire waiting for him when Verres entered the solar. He thankfully took the chair she vacated.

'Spring water, sir, and honey and herbs,' she said, putting a cup into his hand. She was more than competent. In one short meeting she had perceived his discomfort and here was the remedy. The drink was strong flavoured and pleasantly warm.

'I wish to meet your daughter,' he said. 'Is she here in the castle?'

'She will be honoured.' The woman had a way of looking at him, not directly but sidelong. And he didn't think it meant she was overawed by the Lord of Mandra. 'But she's at my house in the town. Will I bring her to you now?'

'Tomorrow will do.' He leaned back in the chair, eyeing her curiously, 'Surely you want to know the reason for my interest in her?'

'Of course, sir.'

Verres never wasted words. 'I propose a match between my sixteen-year-old ward, Ralph, and your daughter, Theophano.'

'Your lordship wishes to arrange a match - a marriage for my daughter?' She was standing before him, her hands gripped together. 'I don't understand. We're simple folk.'

He put down the cup and said, 'My wife died six years ago. Since then Ralph and his mother have lived in my house. Her name is Julia.'

The blood drained from Richeldis' face, leaving its pallor tinged with green. He ought to have asked her to sit and did so now. She sank down on a rough, undecorated chest, the only other seat the room offered. ‘I had hoped you would be pleased.’

She had already recovered and said, 'You have overwhelmed me, sir. And Theophano - she will be wonderstruck. I never met Dame Julia.'

He said with irony, 'Well, no, you wouldn't. She was a Palermitan courtesan who rarely met Sicilian gentlewomen.'

The word was thrust back at him. 'You must know I and my daughter are not gentlewomen.'

If Theophano resembled her mother, Verres was going to enjoy taking home his ward's bride. Richeldis must have been very pretty once, and she didn't lack spirit.

She had been spinning and he picked up her distaff, inexpertly drawing out tufts of wool and twisting them.

He could see no need to start exercising his authority and said mildly, 'The boy has no reason to be ashamed of his parentage and I assume there is no other impediment.'

'No...' she was biting her lip. 'My brother is Theophano's guardian and she...'

'Must be at least eighteen; more than ready for marriage.'  

There was a pause before Richeldis said, 'Yes, of course. Then it is agreed, sir.   My brother Charlot will put his name to anything you require but I'll have to send to Caccamo...'

'Charlot Bris has been informed.' At least he would have been by the time Peire reached Caccamo, 'And he'll join us to sign the contract which will include the matter of Theophano’s dowry.’

'Which will not disgrace her, my lord.'

'You misunderstand,' said Verres. 'Theophano's dowry will be in my gift, not yours or your brother's. You have my permission to tell her what has been decided.'

She started protesting, 'But you haven't even seen her.'

'I’ve seen you. So I’m hoping your daughter is fair, shapely and quick-minded!’ As she gave him an unsmiling look he added with spontaneous kindness, 'Richeldis, are you afraid she'll be lonely or neglected? Don't be. My house is a friendly place and Julia is most gentle hearted.'

She was quite composed now and answered sensibly, 'Naturally Theophano isn't accustomed to a great household but she is quick to learn. She certainly won't expect you to single her out for special notice.'

He stood up and so did she, going to open the door for him. 'I'll come to your house tomorrow. In fairness to the girl, you may warn her of my visit. I shall wish to see her alone.' Before leaving the room he said abruptly, 'So you spent your married life at Caccamo in the castle where Ralph's father plotted treason? You must have known him quite well.'

Her answer was an inexpansive, ‘Yes, my lord.’ Then she added, ‘I was born there.’

Verres went on, ‘I’m ten years younger than you but in the year before Ralph was born I saw things that you did not. There are people still alive who would deny his right to exist.’ He was holding both distaff and spindle, and put them into her hands. He’d managed to achieve quite a creditable thread for a first attempt. ‘Good night, Richeldis.’

Fair and shapely. Verres returned to his bedchamber wondering if the quick-minded widow would expect to be invited, or even commanded to join him there; not in his present unromantic state of throbbing head and stuffed nose. An attractive woman who wasn't made for widowhood, although at her age he supposed she was unlikely to marry again; a pity because she deserved better than this dwindling into obscurity. Well, she had the satisfaction of knowing Theophano would enjoy a life of comfort, even luxury, in the household of one of young King William's great vassals: Baron Verres of Mandra. Even though Ralph's mother was known as a former prostitute and his father was still reviled as a renegade who specialised in the double cross. The boy himself would never be a knight but he was of too fine a quality to become nothing but a useful pawn.

Verres and Richeldis had both been very discreet in not so much as mentioning the name of Ralph’s father, although she agreed she had known him quite well.

Verres went into his bedchamber where Garin was bouncing about on the bed complaining, ‘Sir, this mattress is lumpy.’

‘Nice bedcover though,’ said Verres: marten fur with a blue wool lining. He started undressing. ‘And you won’t be sharing it with me and my poisoned throat.’

‘Very well, sir. But can’t I do anything for you?’

‘No,’ said Verres, grinning to himself as he pulled off his shirt. This boy resembled his father, Verres’ great friend Alfred Gorley; bursting with eager helpfulness. ‘Go and find somewhere to bed down.’

His throat, he realised, sighing with pleasure, was wonderfully eased. He stretched out relishing the mattress, lumps and all, and was disturbed by four gigantic sneezes. His cold had passed into the second phase and he looked forward to receiving more ministrations from the attractive widow and possibly the answer to a question. Richeldis had been startled when he mentioned the marriage but why had hearing Julia’s name shocked her almost senseless?

Chapter 2.

Fair, shapely - and not even stupid.' The following morning Theophano was combining bread-making with railing against Lord Verres. 'Is that Palermitan sophistication - making personal comments about a helpless widow?’

‘I’ve never in my life thought of myself as a helpless widow.’ Richeldis was nearing the end of her patience. 'He was putting me at my ease with a little joke. And do you think your Uncle Charlot is going to do anything but accept his lordship's magnificent offer?'

'No,' said Theo, energetically kneading dough on the kitchen table. ‘What if I'm the one that refuses?'

'You will not,’ said Richeldis with equal energy. ‘You'll escape from this narrow little town and forget the boy's father who is, like yours, dead.'

Charlot Bris, tough and old fashioned, was Theo's legal guardian. It would never occur to him that his niece would try to avoid a marriage with such grand, if slightly skewed connections.

‘Mandra ought to have asked you to go with me to his mansion but I suppose that woman Julia wouldn’t like it: my flighty mother taking her place in his lordship’s affections.’

Richeldis’s colour heightened. ‘Stop talking nonsense...’

'Will your tiresome brother be coming here?' Theo’s insolence wasn't directed at her mother. It was for her uncle and, obscurely, for Lord Verres too.

'He most certainly will. If his lordship has taken the trouble to be here...’

'That's another thing. Why didn’t he bring the boy with him. There were men from his lordship’s escort all over the town yesterday including one indecently decorative...‘

‘How do you know that?’ demanded Richeldis, diverted in spite of herself.

‘Dear mother, I’ve been out and about in the town. I’m your daughter and know eye sweetmeats when I see them. Now if I was to be bedded down with curly haired Peire instead of some great lout, probably a half wit, who needs a wife too humble to protest…’

‘Theo,’ warned Richeldis, recalled to her duty as a parent, 'Do not  refer to Ralph as a loutish lackwit.'

Theo wondered what he was really like. Not as handsome as his father, but then who was?

She had never told anyone but she could call Ralph's father to mind. A memory like a dream of being held safe in someone's arms, and of bright hair and a voice that made her feel so good. Years later she knew that he was the man who had caused Richeldis so much grief. By then Theo was living on this pinnacle of rock half-drowned in moisture. Her mother said the women of Erice owed their fine complexions to the climate but Theo would have paid in wrinkles for the excitement of living in so great a city as Palermo.

‘Stop trying to kill that loaf,’ said Richeldis. ‘I’ll take it to the baker and you can wash your hands and tidy your hair.’

Verres had learned that Richeldis and her daughter lived alone. Her two sons were together, out in the world; they had their own trading vessel.

Accompanied by Peire Lesine, he walked the short distance down from the castle, then uphill again. He wanted to speak to Theophano alone without affronting Richeldis and any woman would enjoy the company of the lively young Lesine who was flaunting himself this morning in a tunic of the Mandra crimson.

They stopped before a solid stone house at the upper dead-end of a stepped street. The Lord of Mandra, his brown face flushed with fever, was oddly uneasy; the feeling that can be mistaken for boredom, a sulky schoolboy reluctance.

The door was opened before Peire had time to knock and Verres preceded him inside, inclining his head as a slightly built girl, standing beside her mother, rose from a low curtsy.

‘Richeldis,’ he said, ‘This young man will entertain you while I’m with your daughter.’ He inspected the younger woman with quizzical interest. ‘Will you be my foster daughter, Theophano?’

'I have been told so, my lord.'

'I hope it will not displease you,' he said with easy good humour.

'It has been settled.' She sounded surprised and her voice, like her mother’s, was clear to the point of sharpness. 'May I offer you some refreshment, sir?'

'After walking five hundred paces? No. What I would like is a glimpse of the sun. Is that something you can offer on this spring morning?'

She unfastened the narrow door and said, 'If you will be pleased to come with me, my lord, we'll find as much sun as you could wish for.' The mist swirled towards them and retreated, balked, from the threshold.

Verres raised a hand to Richeldis and Peire and went outside with Theophano. As they went down the street her eyes were downcast. A sign of modesty?

There was a rasp in his voice as he said, 'Am I keeping you from other duties?'  

'My duty is owed to you, my lord,' said Theophano woodenly, 'Because you are a very senior baron and because we'll soon be connected by marriage.'

Not overwhelmed at all then! He had a fit of coughing which stopped him from speaking until he was able to croak, 'Two excellent reasons. Try not to forget them.'

Once through the town gates she led the way through pine trees. Their grasping roots were preventing the shallow topsoil from slipping away. Here and there exposed granite was thickly covered in moss.

Following at her heels he said, 'I saw quite a lot of Bergild - your father - in the last days of the rebellion. He was a brave man.'

'Yes, wasn't he?' Theophano unexpectedly inserted a neat little needling. ‘Loyal too. Otherwise he need not have died in the service of Ralph the bastard’s infamous father.’

He was not rough but she couldn't restrain a gasp as his hand fastened on her shoulder, pulling her round to face him. The wide eyes meeting his were a darker blue than her mother’s.

He wasn't going to make excuses to this pert little wench: not my fault, I was a boy when your father died.

'What’s the matter with you, girl?’ he said. ‘Your mother has shown me courtesy and I will not tolerate impertinence from you.’

She was still looking at him with something of boldness although her words were irreproachable: ‘I beg your pardon, my lord; I had no right to say that.’

‘Very well.’ He removed his hand. ‘Lead on then, Theophano.’

He stared after her slender, surefooted figure as she continued down the hill.  They were alone so nobody witnessed his broad, even inane grin of appreciation. If he had been ten years younger there would have been a chase, a tussle and kisses.

The cloud ended dramatically, cut off like scissored gauze and immediately in front of them the cliff fell sheer from an edge just as clean cut. Theophano stood motionless beside him in sunlight as bright as it was hot. One or the other, the chill of the cloud or the heat as palpable as a blow made him sneeze. He pulled a square of linen from his sleeve and blew his nose.

The look she gave him, interested with her head on one side, provoked his question:  'You expect me to wipe away mucus on my sleeve?' which was followed up with, 'This marriage is probably the best that can be done, either for Ralph or for you.'

And if it took place she would have to live in the house of Mandra.

‘I expect it is.' She pulled out the words as if the thought had just occurred to her. 'I'm the child of one traitor and he of another.' She smiled for the first time; a small smile, eager and placating.

Verres who had daughters was not misled. 'You're also a prideful brachet who doesn't feel that the reputation of your father Bergild is a thing to be ashamed of.’ He returned her smile with a genial one of his own. ‘Well, Theophano, I'm just an honest simpleton who likes to do what I can to please Julia, the boy's mother.'

'She's the simpleton if she wants me for a daughter-in-law.' Theophano picked up a chunk of rock and sent it spinning across the empty space beneath them.

Anyone who didn’t know the whole story might say this insolent young woman was right. The semi-outcast Ralph was going to need an irreproachable bride to wipe out the stain on his own birth.

Verres, watching the stone fall, resisted the temptation to send Mistress Theophano after it and insisted, 'Julia will be pleased. She and Bergild were old friends.'

He looked down on an expanse of flat land. Sicily was an island of incomparable fertility, liberally watered and months when the sun never failed; wheatfields, orchards, vineyards; flocks and herds. The surrounding seas were just as bountiful. A treasury perpetually asking to be plundered. A land that absorbed its conquerors, impacting layer on layer as the latest invaders bore down with cheerful impartiality on earlier colonists and the seldom-seen natives.

Sicily was so rich that a man who had nothing could live well enough if he knew how. So could a woman or a child.

The figure zigzagging across the hill towards them was a woman's. Seen from a distance she appeared short, almost squat but her movements had the untiring gait of someone constantly on the move.

'Do you want to meet our local madwoman, my lord?'

Theophano didn't succeed in disconcerting him. 'Yes, do present her to me. Does she have a name?'

Instead of answering she called, 'Will you speak to us, Forlina?'

The woman was close enough now to reveal eyes as black as elderberries in a seamed face and Theophano stood to one side as she spoke. 'You've found yourself a fine gallant, lady.' Her voice wasn't as uncouth as he expected.

The girl addressed her gently, 'This is a great lord from Palermo...'

He wasn't as quick as he ought to have been; the mad were unpredictable. The knife appeared from nowhere, the upward lunge aimed to kill; but he reacted commendably fast. The heavy blade sliced through the close-woven cloth of his tunic as he shifted his weight, dodging sideways in an expert withdrawal, twisting away and immediately back, slamming his hand over the woman's thick wrist. The dagger flew out of her hand, then she was struggling in his arms like a dark and hyperactive octopus and seemed to have as many limbs: the lunatic and the Sicilian aristocrat wrestling on the brink of a seventy foot drop. He did what any sensible man would have done: freed one hand and struck his assailant senseless.

He flung the flaccid body in Theophano's direction. It lay sprawled between them; she stood with parted lips, taut with fright or excitement.

'Crazy or not she's earned herself a public hanging.' His breathing was very slightly disarranged and blood was oozing from the slit in his sleeve in a lethargic, unsensational way. 'Your own deserts will be settled between you and me.'

Theo, kneeling beside Forlina, said without looking up, 'You think I planned this?'

'No, but I believe you would have liked to, my frisky heifer. Do you think your father would have been proud of you?'

'How can I answer when I never had a chance to know him?' she retorted. 'Have that miserable woman hanged and give me to Ralph the bastard. I hope he’ll like what he’s given.’

A threat? Was this daughter of the frank but well mannered Richeldis trying to show herself unfit to be any man’s wife?

Verres ran a hand through his thick mousy hair. 'God's Wits, you're as mad as this vagrant wretch.'

Theophano said carelessly, 'She says that once she was a great lady, a noblewoman of Palermo.'

Verres, unimpressed by this throwaway statement, lifted Forlina and began walking back uphill. 'Lunatics often think they are saints or heroes; or even the Lord Jesus.'

Theophano picked up the knife, wiping the blade on a handful of dead pine needles before she stood up and called after him, 'If you please, my lord Verres, I want her taken to my mother's house.'

'To be tenderly cared for?' As she caught up with him he said insincerely, 'Sorry to disoblige you, my charming serpent.'    

She warned helpfully, 'Forlina may be frenzied when she wakes,' and tossed the knife skywards, catching it by the hilt with the flourish of a show-off boy as it descended.

'Don't be afraid for my safety.' He gave a grunting laugh and humped the woman over his shoulder. 'I'm taking this savage to the castle. Feel like arguing, Theophano?'

She said in her clear little voice, 'You'll do whatever you wish, sir. What else?’

‘Because I’m a very senior baron?’ He didn’t feel like