groin, as fiercely as if he had not lain with a woman for a year instead of only that morning. One gentle push and her back would be against the wall. One swift coil of his arm and her body would be pressed to his.
She was breathing hard. He could sense the response within her, wild as his own, and the control, pushing it down. 'I can give you no encouragement without the consent of my family.'
'But if your family were to give their consent - would you have me?'
Her throat worked as if she was parched. 'I do not know,' she said and pulled away. For an instant he tightened his grip, but before panic had time to flare in her eyes he let her go. She had not refused him, and he knew that she too was scorched by the reaction between their bodies. If she did not know, then it was up to him to persuade her until she did.
Simon stared at the wall beyond the end of his bed. It was a sight to which he had grown accustomed over the past fortnight. He knew every flake of plaster, every line of stone. He played games, making pictures out of the marks, a dog, a tree, a castle, until his eyes blurred with strain and he had to look away. The window embrasure yielded a cool draught and a narrow column of sky. Sometimes there would be the distraction of passing clouds, but today his window was the blank blue canvas of a perfect spring day.
What he would give to be able to throw aside the covers, leap out of bed and hurtle down the twisting stairs to the glorious morning outside his prison. But he suspected that he would never hurtle anywhere again. When people came to see him they smiled and said loudly that he would soon be better, but their eyes told a different story. And he had heard them mutter among themselves when they thought they were out of his hearing.
The break was bad. Even without the overheard conversations of his visitors, he knew that. The chirugeon had dosed him with syrup of white poppy before setting the limb, but the agony had been terrible - like white-hot teeth biting into his shin. The limb was now held rigid with ash splints bound tightly to his leg with linen bandages soaked in egg albumen. His task was to lie abed and allow the bone to knit.
The searing pain had been replaced by a dull and steady hrob. For the first few days he had been feverish and he knew that they had feared for his life. However that stage had passed and it was evident that whether the limb healed straight or crooked he was going to live. Thus he lay on his bed and waited out minutes, hours and days that seemed like years.
Early in his convalescence Lady Judith had brought him a box containing a sweetmeat made from crushed walnuts boiled in honey. She had sat with him for a while, doing her duty, assuaging her guilt. Then Lord Waltheof had arrived, bringing a tafel board and gaming pieces and Lady Judith's face had grown as radiant as a sunrise. Since then they had visited him regularly. One would appear and the other would follow like doves homing to the cote. Simon had swiftly realised that they were meeting each other rather than comforting him, but he had been glad of the company and enjoyed being a party to their conspiracy. Sometimes too Waltheof would send his personal skald, Thorkel, to entertain Simon with sagas of faraway lands inhabited by fierce Vikings, giants and trolls.
All that, however, was finished. As from today he was alone. Apart from affording him a glimpse of sky. the window embrasure also yielded up sounds from the courtyard below. The rumble of cartwheels, the shouts of soldiers and drivers, the clatter of hooves told him that William was preparing to leave Fècamp. By noon the last of the baggage wains would have rolled ponderously out of the gates, leaving the palace to its garrison and resident retainers. A fortnight ago he had been part of that vast, energetic tide; now he was debris, tossed above the water line. The thought made his mouth tighten with pain and misery. A lump came to his throat and his
She was breathing hard. He could sense the response within her, wild as his own, and the control, pushing it down. 'I can give you no encouragement without the consent of my family.'
'But if your family were to give their consent - would you have me?'
Her throat worked as if she was parched. 'I do not know,' she said and pulled away. For an instant he tightened his grip, but before panic had time to flare in her eyes he let her go. She had not refused him, and he knew that she too was scorched by the reaction between their bodies. If she did not know, then it was up to him to persuade her until she did.
Simon stared at the wall beyond the end of his bed. It was a sight to which he had grown accustomed over the past fortnight. He knew every flake of plaster, every line of stone. He played games, making pictures out of the marks, a dog, a tree, a castle, until his eyes blurred with strain and he had to look away. The window embrasure yielded a cool draught and a narrow column of sky. Sometimes there would be the distraction of passing clouds, but today his window was the blank blue canvas of a perfect spring day.
What he would give to be able to throw aside the covers, leap out of bed and hurtle down the twisting stairs to the glorious morning outside his prison. But he suspected that he would never hurtle anywhere again. When people came to see him they smiled and said loudly that he would soon be better, but their eyes told a different story. And he had heard them mutter among themselves when they thought they were out of his hearing.
The break was bad. Even without the overheard conversations of his visitors, he knew that. The chirugeon had dosed him with syrup of white poppy before setting the limb, but the agony had been terrible - like white-hot teeth biting into his shin. The limb was now held rigid with ash splints bound tightly to his leg with linen bandages soaked in egg albumen. His task was to lie abed and allow the bone to knit.
The searing pain had been replaced by a dull and steady hrob. For the first few days he had been feverish and he knew that they had feared for his life. However that stage had passed and it was evident that whether the limb healed straight or crooked he was going to live. Thus he lay on his bed and waited out minutes, hours and days that seemed like years.
Early in his convalescence Lady Judith had brought him a box containing a sweetmeat made from crushed walnuts boiled in honey. She had sat with him for a while, doing her duty, assuaging her guilt. Then Lord Waltheof had arrived, bringing a tafel board and gaming pieces and Lady Judith's face had grown as radiant as a sunrise. Since then they had visited him regularly. One would appear and the other would follow like doves homing to the cote. Simon had swiftly realised that they were meeting each other rather than comforting him, but he had been glad of the company and enjoyed being a party to their conspiracy. Sometimes too Waltheof would send his personal skald, Thorkel, to entertain Simon with sagas of faraway lands inhabited by fierce Vikings, giants and trolls.
All that, however, was finished. As from today he was alone. Apart from affording him a glimpse of sky. the window embrasure also yielded up sounds from the courtyard below. The rumble of cartwheels, the shouts of soldiers and drivers, the clatter of hooves told him that William was preparing to leave Fècamp. By noon the last of the baggage wains would have rolled ponderously out of the gates, leaving the palace to its garrison and resident retainers. A fortnight ago he had been part of that vast, energetic tide; now he was debris, tossed above the water line. The thought made his mouth tighten with pain and misery. A lump came to his throat and his
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