Alinor (8 page)

"Who?"

"Stephen Langton, an Englishman. He is now cardinal priest of Saint Chrysogonus in Rome. You do not know him, but my lands are in the north and I met him twice, oh, many years ago when he was a prebendary in York. It was just after I came out of Wales. I was, perhaps, eighteen or nineteen years old. I have never forgotten him. No one who has ever met him has ever forgotten him. He will serve our purpose if any man alive can. He is the stuff of which martyrs are made."

Alinor fastened the bandage and reached out absently to hand Ian his shirt. He smiled as he began to struggle into it. She was looking at him with a frown on her brow but obviously not seeing him at all. Her thoughts were all for the political matter under discussion. Again Ian was aware of pleasure oddly mixed with pain. Obviously, he was no longer an honored guest, one who must be waited upon hand and foot. Husbands might do for themselves when wives were otherwise occupied. The abandonment of formal courtesy was reassuring, but Ian was not a husband of long standing. He was a young lover. He wanted his lady's eyes to dwell upon him with desire.

The shirt was Ian's own and thus too tight over the bulky bandage. Simon's chausses had fitted well because both men were long of leg and narrow of hip, but Simon had been bulkier of shoulder and chest than Ian. In a moment Alinor's attention was recalled by his contortions. She "tchk'd" with irritation, snatched the shirt off over his head again, and went to fetch another.

"I can see that it will help to fix John's attention on a contest with the church, although that is a chancy thing and may bring grief in its train; but it is not enough," Alinor said as she maneuvered the larger shirt over Ian's body.

Now started, she continued to dress him with automatic efficiency, dropping to her knees to pull the chausses over his feet and up over his legs. Ian's hand twitched toward her glossy hair, as black as his own, but thick and straight as a horse's tail, so long that it swept the floor around her as she knelt. He had only seen her hair twice before in his life. Once, when he had first known her and she still wore the old-style headdress of a veil under a chaplet, he had seen her hair under the veil in braids. Once, when she had miscarried of a child, Simon had brought Ian to their bedchamber to talk to Alinor and lighten her heart. Then her hair had been loose as now. Ian drew his hand away.

"Not enough," he agreed. The effort he made was successful. His voice was steady. "What more must be done remains to be seen." He paused for a moment and then went on somewhat hesitantly, "Weddings are a good reason for men to meet without seeming to have any suspicious purpose."

"Excellently thought upon," Alinor agreed heartily.

There was no quiver of disappointment in her voice. She knew this marriage was an arrangement of political and personal convenience for Ian. It was quite reasonable that he should think of the wedding in terms of its political usefulness. In fact, she could not understand why she felt differently. There was no change in her love for Simon. Nonetheless, when she thought of being married to Ian, her breath came a little shorter and warmth suffused her. It would be necessary to be very careful to hide such things from him. It would be unfair to display an interest and eagerness he was unable to match.

"Stand up." Alinor tied the chausses, dropped to her knees again, and tapped his right foot. He lifted it enough for her to slip the cross garter under. "Tighten that leg."

Ian seized the cloth at his thigh and drew it upward while Alinor expertly twisted the cross garter round his leg and tied it under the knee. The left leg was similarly treated. Then Alinor looked up. She held out her hands quite naturally so that Ian could assist her to her feet. She could only pray that the dim light would hide the hot color she felt in her cheeks. Alinor lowered her eyes again.

"When shall the wedding be?"

The grip on her hands tightened suddenly. "Soon."

There was so much eagerness in Ian's reply that Alinor raised a startled gaze to him. He had surprised himself almost as much as her, however. By the time her eyes found his face, he was looking past her, and his mouth was hard. He released her hands.

"It must be very soon," Ian went on. "I know the king intends to hold Christmas in England. And it would be well to assume he will come here a week or two earlier. Thus―"

"The beginning of December or, to be safe, the end of November." Alinor put a hand to her cheek. "For how many must I make ready?"

"On my part about twenty noble lords. Five, at least, will have large retinues."

"You are asking Llewelyn?"

"Yes. I am not sure he will come, but I hope he does. There is some chance of it because he will want to see his son Owain, who is with me, and if John is not yet in the country, it would be safe enough."

"Safe enough? Is Llewelyn not married to John's daughter Joan? And surely that was only a few years ago. This Owain―"

Ian laughed. "I have a fine crop of bastards among my squires—but they are good boys. Owain is Llewelyn's eldest natural son. Geoffrey is William of Salisbury's boy." He nodded at her expression of satisfaction, but returned to the subject that worried him. "If Llewelyn does not come, I will have to ride into Wales. I fear he is brewing up trouble there and I must speak to him. You understand, Alinor, that if the king ceases to split himself between the French lands and these islands, his strength will be greatly increased here. Moreover, the barons who would not go with him to France will eagerly flock to his standard to subdue Wales or Scotland or Ireland."

"I see that clearly enough. What I do not see is what success may be looked for if John leads the army."

"Hush," Ian said, grinning at her. "After his great victories in France to be so untrusting." He laughed again. "Most of the time Salisbury leads. That is all to the good. If John were not a cursed fool, William of Pembroke would lead—and that would be still better. However, John is learning. He will never be a great battle leader because—because he thinks too much, although he is not so totally useless about war as he once was."

Alinor was listening with only half an ear. Most of her attention was devoted to adding and multiplying in her head, and her eyes were growing larger. "Oh, Ian, with those I must ask it will be nigh on forty lords with their ladies and near—near a thousand servants."

"Yes." Ian wrinkled his brow over her calculation. "That sounds right to me. Of course, some men we must have counted twice. The number will doubtless be less by a few."

"It will strip a year's supplies from Roselynde."

"To be sure," Ian agreed. "That cannot matter. You have spent far too much time here."

"But―"

He turned away a little. "You need not excuse yourself to me. I know why it was done. Nonetheless, now it is time to correct your necessary neglect. You must go on progress, and it will be natural to stay awhile at each keep and set all to rights."

Being far more used to hearing that she gave too close attention to the doings of her vassals and castellans, Alinor was temporarily reduced to silence.

"We have wasted too much time on this already," Ian continued, his eyes on the brightening light of morning coming into the antechamber. "When the children are abed after dinner, we can list those who should be asked." His quick smile and the next words took the sting from the remark. "I am starving."

Alinor chuckled. "If you do nothing but eat and sleep, you will get fat."

"Not I. I have been trying to put on some flesh for years. It would do wonders for my jousting." But his thoughts had already left the jest. "Alinor, do you know what Beorn's trouble is? I mean, is it somewhat to do with his duties or is it some personal matter?"

"I am sure it has to do with the outlaws that infest the roads. A private matter he would have brought to me. They have been eluding him more and more easily, and he does not know why or how to lay them by the heels. He is not accustomed to watching what men do and judging from that what next they will do. All his life he followed orders—my grandfather's, Sir Andre's, Simon's. They planned; he obeyed. He does not know how to change, and I cannot explain."

"That was what I feared. I saw a burned village, and I saw the serfs hide when they heard my horse. I will go out with him today and see what I can discover.
Peste!"
he exclaimed, "you will have to take those bandages off. My hauberk will not go over them."

"I will not, nor will you. Those sores are healing at last. I will not have my work undone. You can wear Simon's." There was a momentary tight silence. This was far different from giving Ian Simon's clothing. It was customary for clothing to be lent to any noble visitor to a castle, but not a precious chain-mail hauberk. Then Alinor went on smoothly, "And do not dare wear your shield and rub that whole side raw again. Let one of the squires carry it."

Ian shook his head and then suddenly smiled. "Let me take Adam. He is strong enough to wear it, I think. I will tell Beorn to bring along an extra ten men who can guard him, and anyway, I doubt we will meet any resistance."

Alinor smiled quick permission. "How kind you are. He will be in heaven. Are you sure he will be no trouble to you, Ian?"

That made him laugh aloud. "Of course he will be a trouble. If Adam was no trouble, I would call a physician to see to him at once." Then he said soberly, "Do not worry. I will not permit any harm to come to him, and it is time for him to ride out and to learn that in the field orders must be obeyed."

There was a faint tone of question under the statement. Ian knew Alinor to be a very sensible woman, not one who ordinarily would wish to keep her son under her tutelage. However, her situation had not been normal. With her husband dying by inches under her eyes, it was possible she could not bear the thought of any danger, no matter how remote, threatening her only son.

"You do not need to tell me. It is more than time. Beorn would not take him. I spoke of it, but Beorn was so distressed that I did not press the point. Too much responsibility has been thrust upon him. I could not add more."

"I should have come sooner," Ian said guiltily, "but—" He cut that off. It would never do to say why he had delayed.

"I understand," Alinor soothed.

Ian did not contradict her mistaken impression. She assumed the king had kept him out of spite or capriciousness. If this once John was innocent, Ian was not troubled at heaping the blame upon him. He was guilty often enough, and in this case a thread more or less would not overburden the ass.

"Oh, heavens!" Alinor exclaimed as a bar of sunlight touched the doorframe of Ian's bedchamber. "Look at the hour. We have both missed first Mass. I must run and dress. I will send your squires in to you."

"Wait, Alinor. Have you told Adam and Joanna? How— How do you desire that I address them? That they address me?"

She did not come back nor even turn around to face him. "I have told them nothing."

"Do you want me to tell them? What would you have me say? Will they be distressed? Angry?"

Alinor turned slowly, leaning back against the doorframe so that Ian would not see she was clutching it "To every question I can only say, I do not know."

"For Jesus' sake, Alinor, you must believe I do not wish to wrest Simon's children from him."

"You cannot help it," she whispered. "In a very little while Adam will not remember him at all—except as a name in your mouth or mine. He Was only a little more than five when" Simon fell ill. He will wish to forget a father who could not climb a stair or lift a sword."

"You need not worry about that. I will build memories for him."

It was useless to tell Ian that the memories would have Simon's name but Ian's face. In fact, Alinor knew it was better so. Her son would never be wrenched apart by any feeling of disloyalty. For him, Simon and Ian would be one composite father. It would not be so easy with Joanna. Alinor nodded acceptance of Ian's offer and then spoke her last thought aloud.

"Do not be hurt if Joanna seems angry at first."

"What is the use of telling me not to be hurt?" Ian rejoined irritably. "It must hurt me if Joanna, who has always loved me, should hate me instead."

"She will not hate you," Alinor soothed. "Only be patient. Give her a little time."

In the event, the telling came easier than Ian or Alinor expected. When Ian appeared at the table set with the bread and wine customary for the breaking of a night's fast he was full armed except for his helmet and gauntlets. A double shriek of protest rose.

"You promised to stay a day!"

"You were asleep all the time. It is not fair!"

"Quiet!" Ian thundered.

A breathless, wide-eyed silence fell. The men-servants in the hall stiffened apprehensively. Even Alinor caught her breath. Ian never shouted at the children.

"I am not going away," he said, grinning at them, "but how can I make myself heard if you both shout at me at once."

Adam slipped from the bench, crawled under the table and embraced Ian passionately around the thighs. Alinor laughed softly. The servants, free of the startling fear that their well-known guest had suddenly become a threat, went about their business. Ian's squires stood a trifle awkwardly behind him. They knew the formal moves the squire of a guest should make, but in this intimate family situation they were at a loss. The elder, Owain, son of Llewelyn, simply waited. His acquaintance with his master gave him assurance that he would be told without rancor or unreasonable punishment what to do. The younger, Geoffrey FitzWilliam, had come to Ian from being a page in the queen's court. A month of good usage had not been sufficient to wipe out the terrors that had been bred into him in three years of Isabella's service. He stood frozen, masking his fear.

"How long? How long?" Adam begged.

The opportunity was too good to miss and Ian too good a tactician to overlook it. He dropped his hand to the boy's head, but his eyes sought Alinor.

"I am not going away at all, not ever again, except if I must answer the king's summoning or see to some necessary business where it might be dangerous to take you." He could have stopped there, but Alinor's eyes approved and he continued. "I have asked your mother to marry me, and she has consented. From this time forward, I will be your warden."