Alinor (21 page)

There was no need for Alinor to wait outside in the cold to greet her master-at-arms. A groom took Honey back to the stables from the forebuilding where Alinor dismounted; the old mare would not last much longer, she thought sadly as she settled herself into her chair by the fire, but nothing could keep her anticipation of news of Ian from the forefront of her mind. A maidservant hurried forward with a footstool, and another took her cloak and asked if she wanted her embroidery.

"No, I do not think— Yes, bring it," Alinor said.

Embroidery was a very fine object on which to fix one's eyes when one wished to veil their expression. It would not serve Alinor's present purpose to display her pleasure at news of Ian's imminent return. Beorn would never knowingly do anything to displease his mistress, but he was no hand at deception. If asked, he would blurt out the truth as he saw it. Better for him to know nothing than to need to practice concealment.

CHAPTER NINE

The embroidery frame was just in place, and Alinor had barely picked up her needle, when Beorn arrived in the hall. To Alinor's surprise, he had not come alone. Leaning for support on his arm was a stocky, limping young man clad in rough and ragged garments. Alinor watched their slow progress down the hall with mild interest. She had had an initial qualm of fear when she saw the stranger's battered appearance that he was one of Ian's men who brought bad news. It was over almost as soon as it seized her. Beorn would not be matching the stranger's slow pace if there was bad news of Ian. He would have come ahead at full speed with that information, even if his companion was the eyewitness.

As the men advanced, Alinor realized that, despite his clothes, Beorn's companion was no commoner. She was not much surprised, therefore, when Beorn introduced the young man as Sir Guy of Hedingham.

"He is paroled to you, lady, by Lord Ian. He was the leader of the reavers."

"Has Lord Ian suffered any hurt?" Alinor asked calmly.

"No, lady."

"Excellent." Alinor turned her eyes to Sir Guy. "You seem to have suffered some damage, Sir Guy. Sit down and tell me why my lord sent you to me."

"I do not know, madam," the young man replied bitterly. "I begged his lordship to let me stay and suffer the same fate as my men. I led them. I chose the targets. I held them together when they would have taken a little and fled away. If anything, I am more guilty than they."

Alinor drew her embroidery frame forward and began to ply her needle. She was very glad she had sent for it. Otherwise she would have had considerable difficulty in concealing her amusement. It was obvious from Sir Guy's first words why Ian had sent the young man to her on parole rather than hanging him out of hand. Any gentleman who had obviously fought bravely without proper arms, who demanded to suffer the fate of his common followers, and who loudly proclaimed his responsibility for his deeds in the face of threat, was well worth saving. Alinor controlled her impulse to smile at the unhappy captive and raised her eyes from her work. It was a rather charming face her eyes met, although not at all handsome. The hair was sandy and nondescript, the eyes blue, the nose snub, the mouth wide and generous. The young man did not appear very clever, but his face should have been laughing and open. The expression of bitterness and anxiety he wore sat very ill upon it.

"Do not be so certain that your fate will be lighter than that of your men. I am the Lady of Roselynde, and it is my property you have despoiled and my servants you have oppressed. Moreover, I am of the kind who is quite expert in extracting every mil owed me."

"You will get nothing from my poor men. It was because they were starving that they turned outlaw. As for me, you will get no horse and armor ransom from this knight. My armor is long gone, my horse is a sorry nag stolen from some farmyard, and I have not a relative in the world who would admit he knows my name, much the less pay a penny for my life."

Again Alinor had to suppress the urge to smile. "Suppose you tell me, Sir Guy, how you came to this sorry state."

"Through our beloved king."

The tone was so bitter, so vicious, that Alinor was startled and Beorn moved a step closer, his hand on his sword hilt. Alinor warned her master-at-arms back with a glance and then dropped her eyes to her work. "Yes?" she said encouragingly while she lifted her needle again.

"My father was one of the warders of Lord Arthur."

"My God!" Alinor exclaimed, dropping her needle. "Holy Mother Mary, be merciful."

King Richard had had a clear claim to the throne of England, but the succession after him was not so plain. Between Richard and John there had been another brother, Geoffrey. Geoffrey had died many years past, but before he died he had married and produced two legitimate children—Arthur and Eleanor. By the strict rule of primogeniture, Arthur should have sat on the throne of England. But Arthur was only 12 years old when King Richard died, and Richard had clearly named John as his heir.

Although John was not well-loved, his treacherous character already being uncomfortably well known, the barons had nevertheless opted for him. It was better, William of Pembroke said, to deal with the devil than to have continual, unremitting civil war. No one pretended that John would have accepted Arthur as king. He would have gathered every malcontent in England and on the continent and fought for the throne. John was no great military genius, but his half-brother Salisbury was a very competent general indeed. Possibly John, even with Salisbury supporting him, would have been beaten, but that would not stop him. Like the heads of the Hydra, he would breed two more rebellions for every one that was cut off.

One of John's first acts as king was to attack the stronghold in which Arthur was lodged and take the boy prisoner. That John's attack was unprovoked did not disturb his barons. It was, they believed, a most reasonable move to ensure the peace of the kingdom. Doubtless, had John not taken him, Arthur would have fled to King Philip of France, and that would also have ended in civil war. Had old King Henry taken Arthur prisoner, he would have kept the child by him, cossetting him into love and obedience so that he would not wish to rebel on the one hand, and watching him very carefully so that he could not rebel on the other. King Richard would never have bothered. Certainly he would have invited Arthur to come to him—he did so several times during his life— and, unless his temper was somehow aroused, he would have treated his nephew with honor. If Arthur persisted in rebellion, however, Richard would have fought him in the field with the greatest pleasure as often and as fiercely as Arthur wished to fight until he was killed in battle or beaten into submission.

Henry's way was both kind and politically expedient, although it might have bred trouble in the future. Richard's path was courageous and honorable, although it was very unwise in the sense that it would cause great bloodshed and suffering and economic loss, and still would not guarantee the future. John had seen things differently from either his father or his brother. John secured the future, but at a rather questionable price.

After his capture, Arthur was brought before John in the presence of his barons at Falaise. There John had publicly promised his nephew his protection and kind treatment if he forswore any right to the throne and gave his oath to be an obedient subject. John was 32; Arthur was 12. It was not difficult to use such phrasing that a vainglorious and passionate child would refuse. John had Arthur removed to the great fortress of Rouen. All the nobles saw him leave in good health, if not in the best of spirits.

Thus far, all was clear and open. What followed was all mystery—except for the fact that Arthur disappeared from Rouen. There were many tales, some clearly ridiculous and vindictive—such as the one that said John had dragged Arthur into a boat, stabbed him, thrown him into the river, and rowed back to the castle. Even Alinor laughed at that. Whatever else John was, he was not such an idiot as that. One does not conceal a murder by departing two in a boat—which could not be done secretly, because boat docks to great keeps are not left unguarded—and coming back alone.

It was also said that John had gone secretly to Arthur's prison cell to talk to him, had flown into a rage, and had drawn his knife and stabbed the boy in a passion of anger. That was more possible than the boat story, but not really reasonable. First of all, Arthur, a nephew of the king, would not be kept in a cell; second, he would not be without attendants; third, the king would not go to his prisoner, but would have his nephew brought to him, if he wanted to talk. If John went to Arthur in a cell, it was deliberate murder that had taken place, not manslaughter in a fit of rage.

There had been still another set of rumors, and to these Alinor was most inclined. Arthur was said to have attempted to escape and to have been killed in the attempt. William of Salisbury believed this, and it was what he had told Ian. Alinor was willing to believe it, too, because John was not such a fool that he did not know that outright murder of his only rival for the throne, and his only heir—specially since that heir and rival was still a child—would not endear him to anyone. An attempted escape and accidental death at the hands of the guards—death by misadventure—was the obvious solution.

What Alinor could not understand was what had gone wrong. Why had these facts not been proclaimed? Why had Arthur's body not been displayed and bewailed by his grieving uncle? It was impossible to hide the fact that Arthur had disappeared. To pretend it was not so and refuse to explain merely gave rise to even more disgusting rumors—like the boat story. Perhaps very few would believe in the accident, but the arrow wound or the body broken by a fall should have been used as evidence to support the claim of an "accident."

Sir Guy's implication when he said his father had been one of Arthur's wardens could be taken several ways. Possibly the man had withstood John's attempt to murder Arthur or had refused to do it himself; perhaps he had been involved in an honest attempt to help Arthur escape; perhaps he had been told to allow Arthur to "escape," and something had gone wrong. Before Alinor could ask, Sir Guy spoke again.

"My father disappeared the night Lord Arthur—" the voice hesitated and Alinor wondered if Arthur had not been displayed because he had truly disappeared, but he went on after swallowing convulsively "—after Lord Arthur was murdered."

"How? How do you know this?"

"I do not know how the murder was done, but a servant of ours, the only one left alive of all those who accompanied my father, told me that he saw my father, carrying a boy's body, jump from the keep walls into the river. The reason he saw this was that he had been running to my father to tell him that my younger brother had fallen from the castle wall into the bailey and was dying."

There was the accident that should have taken place. Alinor covered her eyes for a moment. Had the father substituted his son for Arthur in an attempt to save the prince? Had he then found he was too late, that the prince was dead already, and realized that no man who knew that would be allowed to live? Had he seen his son's fall and known the ruse had failed doubly, that he had made a useless sacrifice? In an extremity of hatred, had he taken Arthur's body to hide so that John would be blamed at the same time as he would be vulnerable to any claimant who rose up and cried out he was Prince Arthur, saved from death, come to overthrow the evil king? It was possible; it was very possible. Moreover, an honest son often predicates an honest father.

"Where were you?" Alinor asked breathlessly. "How came you to escape? How did your servant escape?"

"I was at home. My mother was ill. I have something, at least, to be thankful for. She died before the news of Arthur's death and my father's disappearance spread abroad. The servant had a whore who hid him and sent him forth in her garments. He sought me out and bid me fly for my life. We were to be weeded out, we Hedinghams, root, stock, and branch, so that none would cry aloud that my father was innocent." Then, suddenly, Sir Guy began to laugh bitterly, and his eyes lit. "Fool that I am, fool! I know how you can obtain restitution for the losses I have inflicted upon you. Please, Lady Alinor, bid your lord pardon my men. They are worth nothing. You can sell me to the king for any price you like to name."

"Does the king know you?" Alinor asked.

"He knows I exist."

"Does he know your face?" Alinor insisted.

"I do not think so. I cannot see how he would, having seen me only once or twice and then as part of a crowd, but I can prove who I am. I swear if you pardon my men, I will not deny my name nor will I―"

Alinor began to laugh aloud. Sir Guy was shocked by the sound as well as by the sudden brilliant, greenish glow in her eyes. Alinor laughed even more at his expression.

"No, no, I am not a monster," she said, sobering after a moment. "I do not laugh at the horrors you tell me or at your sorrows and wrongs. It merely gives me great pleasure to know that I can be the cause whereby our beloved king will sleep less easily in his bed at night."

There was a moment of silence while Sir Guy stared stonily at the floor. Then his head snapped up. "Did you say
less easily,
madam?"

"If I could strew his bed with thorns or nettles, I would do it," Alinor said grimly; "but as I cannot, at least you will be a sharp fear to prick his mind."

The blue eyes, at once hopeful and unbelieving, stared at her. "I do not understand," Sir Guy whispered.

"I have a private quarrel with the king," Alinor replied. "That is no affair of yours, except that I will tell you plain that it is not of weight or moment to match your quarrel with him. Nonetheless, though no more than an insult was offered me and a deep, abiding hurt was done to you, your revenge can be no greater than mine. I will not try to convince you of the necessity of accepting this injustice. All I will say is that sometimes a man must endure a great injury for the good of the realm at large. When Lord Ian returns, he will explain more fully to you why it is wrong and impossible to do the king any injury, no matter what kind of devil he is."