Lords of the White Castle (19 page)

There was an uneasy silence, no one sure how to respond, and all disturbed by the notions and images that Jean had loosed upon them.

'Mayhap some day I will compose rousing songs to honour the dead, both ours and theirs,' Jean said with a grimace. 'I will sing the praises of Coeur de Lion as the greatest general since Alexander. I will tell stories of glory and heroism to quicken the blood and fill the eyes, but not now. I could not bear it.'

Fulke refilled Jean's cup. The young man drank and a humourless smile twisted his lips. 'Jesu, I'm sorry. I was the one lusting to go with King Richard after all, and you are forbearing not to remind me of the fact.'

Fulke acknowledged the remark with raised shoulders. 'And you are the one who has gained in wisdom and experience,' he said tactfully. 'I can see that it is hard for you to speak of that time but will you not tell us what you are doing here disguised as a foreign fortune teller?'

'I'm acting as a messenger for Hubert Walter. I'm on my way to him now from the court of the German Emperor. As to the disguise… 'Jean plucked at his over-sized tunic. 'There are certain factions who would give their eye teeth to intercept any messages between Richard and Lord Hubert. But they won't be watching for a tourney huckster'

'No, but you look outlandish enough for a local baron to cast you in his prison or punish you for a heretic,' Fulke pointed out dubiously.

Jean flashed a true grin, i admit I am a little overdressed, but that was for your benefit. Usually I travel as a charcoal burner or peasant.' Unwinding the turban, he raked his hands through his flattened hair and gave his scalp a thorough scratch. 'I heard about this tourney and I had a notion that some of you might be here. Seems I'm in luck.' He looked around the circle. 'If any of you have a mind, an armed escort would be useful for the last part of my journey.'

'Nothing would please me more,' Fulke responded. He glanced to the side. 'Will, I said I would give you the responsibility of leadership. Now you can have it while I accompany Jean to England.'

William inhaled to protest, then obviously thought the better of it and closed his mouth. Riding escort was a dull duty when compared to the hurly burly of the tourney, and even if he did go, he would be subordinate to Fulke. His bluff had just been very neatly called.

Fulke turned to Jean. 'Now, or the morrow?'

'The sooner the better.'

Fulke rose from his stool. 'I'll put my mail back on then,' he said with resignation. 'You can borrow my spare gambeson.' Gesturing Stephen to arm up, he told Ivo to ready the horses.

Jean followed Fulke into the tent. 'Aren't you going to ask what the message is?'

'It's none of my business.' Fulke rummaged in a chest and produced a thickly quilted tunic. The unbleached linen was marked with black streaks from being worn beneath a greased hauberk and there was a tear under one arm, allowing some of the wool stuffing to poke out, but it was still in serviceable condition.

'It is, since you are putting yourself out to accommodate me.' Jean took the gambeson and with Fulke's help wriggled his way into it. 'The terms of the King's release have been agreed and although he has yet to be set free, that moment will not be long in coming. I've been sent ahead by Chancellor Longchamps with the news. For the nonce, it is not common information, although it soon will be. Philip of France has his spies at the German court. When he learns that Richard is to be set free, he will not hesitate to warn John and, between them, they will try to prevent it from happening. The news needs to reach Hubert Walter first so that he can act on it with advantage.'

'I take it from all that you have said that Hubert Walter is more than just the Bishop of Salisbury these days,' Fulke said drily.

'Richard has given him the powers of a Justiciar and entrusted him with guarding the realm and raising a ransom.' Jean tugged the gambeson into place and took the spare belt and scabbarded hunting knife that Fulke handed him. 'Also Richard has promised to sponsor Hubert for the post of Archbishop of Canterbury.'

Fulke uttered a low whistle and looked impressed.

'It was Hubert who held the troops together at Acre after the deaths of Ranulf de Glanville and Archbishop Baldwin. He's been with Richard every step of the way and not faltered once.'

'It is strange that Hubert Walter is so loyal in Richard's service but that Theobald cleaves to John,' Fulke commented as he donned his mail shirt.

'What else can he do? He is beholden to John for his Irish lands and he holds Lancaster Castle at the Prince's pleasure. Being John's man does not mean that he is John's creature,' Jean retorted.

Scowling, Fulke jumped up and down to jolt the iron mesh over his body until the split hem swished at his knees. 'No, and that makes it even harder to understand.' He donned his surcoat and latched his swordbelt with rapid, jerky movements that betrayed his irritation.

'He has given his oath and he is a man of honour. 'John raised a forefinger in warning. 'Richard has no children. His brother is likely to be the next King, and then we must all give our oaths. I think my lord Walter bears that in mind also. Biting the hand that feeds is never wise.'

'Then that makes me a lack-wit immediately,' Fulke said curtly and, settling the sword at his hip, strode outside into the burning summer heat.

CHAPTER 10

Lancaster Castle, Summer 1193

The comb and mirror were exquisitely carved out of cream ivory set with tiny garnets and pearls. The mirror in its dainty hinged case was so rare an item that it was the first time Maude had ever seen one, although she knew they existed from listening to troubadours' songs of fair ladies admiring themselves as they dwelt in their sweetly scented bowers.

Maude gazed briefly at her image in the glass. She had sufficient vanity to acknowledge the pleasing effect of her thick silver-gilt hair and clear green eyes, and sufficient common sense to know that her looks were the only facet of her life that mirrored the beguilement of a story.

It was her wedding day and the mirror and comb were presents from the guest of honour, Prince John. Maude knew that he had not come for the simple pleasure of celebrating the nuptials of one of his vassals. With all the unrest and rumour concerning King Richard, the Prince was here to bolster Theobald's loyalty to his own cause.

John had arrived late the previous evening. Since Maude had already retired, the gift had been brought to her chamber this morning, together with other bride gifts. There was a cloak brooch and a veil of the sheerest aquamarine silk, whip-hemmed in thread of gold, from Theobald; and from her father, a belt sewn with seed pearls and finished with strap ends of solid gold. The men themselves had stayed away as tradition dictated, and were in another chamber of the keep, preparing for the marriage.

Maude gently closed the mirror and set it down on her coffer. Her hand shook slightly and her stomach gave a sudden flutter. She was not ready to be a wife, but time had run out.

'You had your first bleed more than a year ago,' her father had said brusquely when informing her that the date of the marriage had been set for the midsummer feast of St John. 'Theobald Walter said he wanted to wait until you were old enough to breed, and you're more than old enough now.'

Today she was to marry a man three times her age. That she liked him, that he was kinder than her father and would be a good provider, weighed little in the balance when she thought of her own part of the bargain. Nine months from now she could be a mother. Indeed, her father expected it of her. Nine months from now she could be dead. The thought galvanised her to her feet, but there was nowhere to go, except back and forth across the chamber like a trapped animal, and she refused to show her anxiety to the other women guests crowding the room.

Immediately her grandmother was at her, smoothing creases from the panels of the costly teal-coloured gown, pinning a stray wisp of hair into place, adjusting the marriage chaplet of dog roses and musk-scented lilies twined with greenery and silver wire. Maude bore the fiddling and primping with rapidly fraying patience. She dug her well-tended nails into her palms and clenched her teeth, knowing that she was on the verge of screaming.

'Let the girl be, Mathilda.' Hawise FitzWarin detached herself from the other women. 'Can't you see that she's wound as tightly as an overspun thread?'

Mathilda de Chauz inhaled to retort, but Hawise stole the space. 'You have already worked wonders. Whatever you do, you cannot make her look more perfect than she does now… save perhaps that she needs more colour in her face.' Hawise took Maude's light cloak from the bench where it was draped. 'Come, child, fresh air will do you a world more good than pinching your cheeks or dusting them with red powder.'

'But the men will be here at any moment!' Mathilda protested.

Hawise cast a glance beyond the open window to the courtyard below. 'They're not coming yet,' she said reasonably. 'You don't want her fainting in the middle of the wedding mass, do you?' Not giving Mathilda time to answer, Hawise whisked Maude out of the room and down the turret stairs. Behind them came sounds reminiscent of a disturbed hen house, rapidly fading as they descended.

'I remember being driven half-mad on my own wedding day by sage advice and fussing,' Hawise said sympathetically. 'My hair would not lie tamely beneath my veil and you would have thought it the end of the world to hear the other women.' She smiled. 'I did not give a bean for their opinions because I knew that even if I came to the altar barefoot in my shift with my hair in eldritch tangles, le Bran would still take me.'

They emerged from the tower into glorious sunshine. Between the service buildings, the sward was as green as emeralds and the smell of roasting meats for the marriage feast carried on the breeze. Maude's stomach was hollow with hunger and nauseous with fear. She swallowed a retch.

'I know that Theobald Walter is not the man of your choosing,' Hawise murmured,' but he is decent and honourable and you will not be ill treated.'

Maude compressed her lips, then forced herself to speak. 'I know that, my lady.'

'And for the moment it makes no difference.' With an understanding nod Hawise led Maude to the peace of the small garden tucked against the corner of the keep wall.

'What was… what was it like on your wedding night?' Maude blurted out as Hawise opened the gate of oak laths leading to a series of herb- and flowerbeds, already heavy with scent in the mid-morning heat.

'What was mine has no bearing on what will be yours.' Hawise refastened the gate behind them. 'Fulke le Brun was my father's choice, but I wanted him desperately and there was less than ten years between us.' She looked sharply at Maude. 'Has your grandmother said anything to you on the matter?'

Maude shook her head. 'Only that I must be led by my husband and do my duty' Her skin flushed crimson. 'I know what that duty is, my lady, I am not entirely ignorant.'

'Only enough to be afraid,' Hawise said shrewdly and began to walk amongst the beds and borders, drawing Maude with her. 'You ask about my wedding night. I would be lying if I said there was no discomfort, but the pleasure more than compensated.' She laughed softly. 'I think that Fulke was more worried than I, because he was afraid of hurting me.' She lightly squeezed Maude's shoulder. 'Theobald Walter is no green boy to cause you pain through clumsiness or lack of consideration. This may not be a love match, but I promise that you will be cherished. Lord Walter cares for those who belong to him. My eldest son was a squire in his household for several years and could not have had a better mentor.'