Roselynde (5 page)

"I tell you plain," Simon said, his gray-blue eyes at
once bleak and sad, "that this realm will be a milch cow to feed the
purposes of Lusignan and the Latin princes of the Holy Land."

"Does the Queen approve this?" Sir Andre asked.

"How can she approve what will send her most dearly beloved
child to an almost certain death and lay the whole kingdom open to
dismemberment by her enemies?"

"Then—" Sir John began.

"Then nothing," Simon replied sharply. "Out of
great suffering the Queen has grown wise. She has ceased to knock her head
against stone walls to butt them down. She knows Richard. She will say naught
against his desire. It is better that she keep his trust and have some say in
overseeing the realm than that she protest against what is useless to protest
against."

"You, I gather, will not take the Cross?" Sir Andre
hazarded.

"I will do whatever the Queen commands—or, rather, the King.
If you ask whether the spirit moves me, I say this. God should not have
entrusted his Holy Places to that crowd of idiot luxuriants."

"But the Pope—"

"The Pope," Simon said caustically, "will rid
himself of three kings and not a few dukes whose realms will be ruled by
churchmen who must look to the Pope for support and advancement."

"Yet if the King orders, we must take the Cross, or pay— or
both," Sir Andre said slowly.

Simon clenched a fist and hit it into the open palm of his other
hand. "So must we all, for to disobey our liege lord is to bring upon us
far worse troubles than thin purses or the dangers of Crusade."

"And that is God's truth," Sir Andre agreed with
heartfelt emphasis. "I lived through the end of Stephen's reign. I never
hope to see the land in such straits again."

"Even a bad King is better than no authority," Sir John
conceded.

Simon was shaking his head. "Lord Richard will not be a bad
king. He is a just man, no oath breaker, and not greedy— for himself. What is
bad is that he has no love for England, having been here so little, and he does
not know the ways of this land. If it were not for this accursed Crusade and he
had time to test the men and learn the customs, the realm would be fortunate in
him."

"The Queen knows us well" Sir Andre suggested.

"And has more wisdom than many kings," Sir John added.

"I will gainsay neither of you," Simon agreed, but
without any lightening of his expression, "but here we come to a fault in
the King. He does not like women."

There was a tight silence. Both of Alinor's vassals stared at
Simon and he met each pair of eyes meaningfully although torture, they
suspected, would not wring another word from him on that subject.

"But his mother—" Sir Andre brought out in a somewhat
strangled voice, his mind plainly elsewhere.

"Oh, he loves her and respects her—and fears her. Perhaps for
that reason—"

Suddenly Simon's voice checked. His eyes had moved away from those
of his companions' and he had been staring thoughtfully out into the Hall. He
started to get to his feet and Sir Andre and Sir John tensed to rise also. Then
Simon smiled and gestured for them to sit still. He also sank back into the
window seat.

"I am growing old," he said ruefully. "I see the
things of the past more clearly than those of the present. A maid crossed the
hall to enter one of the wall chambers—and for that instant I thought it was
the Queen, young again."

It was fortunate for Alinor's plans that her vassals were more
interested in the Queen's probable influence on her son than in aberrations in
Simon's vision. Had they asked a single question about what he had seen, it
would have been clear that the "maid" was Alinor herself—going into
the chamber where she did her accounts—and there would have been comments and
explanations. As it was, Sir Andre drew Simon back to what he had been saying.

"Richard will not leave the realm openly in her hands,"
Simon said positively, "partly because he truly believes that a ruler must
be ready and able to lead an army."

"She is old, but aside from that more able than most men— if
what I have heard of her is true," Sir Andre said wryly.

"It is true," Simon concurred, "but not in Lord
Richard's mind. Also—" he shrugged "—he fears it will be said of him
that he still takes suck. He will name a man and, since he does not know the
men here, he will name one of his own Poitevins."

There was another silence. Sir John passed a hand across his face.
"When I am free of my duty here," he said, "I will go back to
Mersea. I will look to my account books and to my walls and I will stuff and
garnish my keeps. I will obey the King, but there will be hard times after he
leaves us."

Although the dinner hour was far later than usual, there was still
sufficient sunlight in the Great Hall to glitter on the jewel-encrusted gilt
and silvered goblets and on the gold plates set ready at five places at the
High Table. There were no such refinements at the long trestle tables placed at
right angles down the length of the Hall. However, the slices of manchet bread
that would serve as plates were thick and white and soft and the serving bowls
of lentils and greens stood so close together that no man would need to ask his
neighbor to pass a dish.

Nor could any man claim that this profusion was to make up for
other deficiencies. There was roast lamb and baked mutton, boar roast on open
spits, venison and beef, boiled and spiced. There were pies and pastries,
high-seasoned with pepper or made sweet with honey. And to wash it down there
was ale and sparkling cider, hard and sweet. For the High Table there were
special dishes in addition—a swan stuffed with a goose, stuffed with a chicken,
stuffed with a dove, stuffed with a lark; a pheasant, refeathered and crouching
in a cleverly devised bracken of drawn and twisted pastry crust. The noble
diners of course drank wine, white and red, sweet and sour, all cooled in the
deep wells of the castle and served in chilled goblets.

The seating arrangements at the High Table were a little lopsided.
Out of consideration for Alinor and because she did not know what state of
disorder she might find, the Queen had not brought her highborn entourage.
Alinor was too young to have children of gentle birth entrusted to her
upbringing. Thus, only she and the Queen were of sufficient quality to sit at
the High Table. The problem with the men was similar. Only Sir Andre, Sir John,
and Sir Simon, as knights, had the right to a place there. The squires were
highborn enough, but their duty was to carve the meat and serve the noble
diners, not to sit with them.

The Queen's high-back and cushioned chair—specially carried down
to replace the backless eating benches ordinarily used—was set at the center of
the table. Sir Andre, the senior in age and authority of Alinor's people, sat
at her right hand, Sir John at her left. As there were no other suitable
guests, the table to the left of Sir John remained empty. One place below Sir
Andre, to the right, Alinor sat and, beyond her, Sir Simon.

Aside from the compliments the Queen bestowed upon her, very
little conversation was addressed to Alinor. Sir Andre's attention was,
naturally enough, all for the royal guest, who was in any case a lively and
entertaining companion. Alinor had assayed some conversation with Sir Simon,
but she found him heavy at hand. He was perfectly polite; there was no sign
that he was silent out of contempt for her youth or her sex. It was plain that
he intended no discourtesy, merely that he was deeply abstracted. In fact,
Alinor had caught him twice staring at her when she turned to speak to him, but
both times he had had to ask her to repeat herself. Thus, Alinor could not
flatter herself that his attention had any personal cause. Certainly, she
thought with some amusement, he is not hanging on my words. And if I have a
smut upon my nose, I wish he would tell me instead of staring so. But she knew
she was not disfigured in any way. Sir Andre would have been quick enough to
mention any fault in her dress or person.

She wondered at first whether Sir Simon was shocked by her
old-fashioned clothing. Alinor was well aware that she was not garbed in the
latest style. Except for riding out, when it had some purpose, Alinor did not
wear a wimple. Her grandfather had scornfully called that headgear a chinstrap
to support old ladies' jowls. In deference to him, Alinor had kept the simple
headdress of a light veil. The one she wore this day was a misty rose held by a
jeweled chaplet. Also, she was not unaware that the old style, which left her
round white throat, flat little ears, and smooth skin bare, was more flattering
than the wimple, which showed only the front of the face.

Her dress, too, although of the newest, most handsomely brocaded
cloth, was cut in a style now largely abandoned except by older women. She wore
a silk tunic of a color like old gold, worked-in gold embroidery at the neck
and up the bottoms of the sleeves. These were of the new style—Alinor knew a
flattering thing when she saw it—tightly buttoned from the wrist almost to the
elbow. Over this was her bliaut, of deep rose shot with thread-of-gold. The
bliaut was cut deeply open at the neck and was sleeveless to show the richly
embroidered tunic. Unlike the new style cotte, which was loose and bloused over
a low belt, the bliaut was laced tight to the figure from the breast to where
the hips began to swell and fell in full, graceful folds from the hips to the
floor.

It was not impossible that surprise at seeing a young woman,
mistress of a keep commanding a busy port to France, dressed so unstylishly
might make a courtier stare, might even account for the faint expression of
wonder in his eyes. Such a surprise might make him stare once, but not more
than that. Even in his bemused state, Sir Simon's manners were polished. It
could not be otherwise in any man closely associated for many years with the
Queen. Alinor was aware that his eyes were drawn to her more often than the two
times she had actually caught him. So, in spite of the dearth of conversation,
she was not bored. Indeed, she had a very interesting puzzle to muse upon.

When the savory had been served and all had eaten their fill,
Alinor asked permission to have the tables cleared away. This was readily
given, but it was followed by a command to assemble the castle men-at-arms.
Alinor bit her lip, but could not do otherwise than obey. Soon the Great Hall
was packed with men, all gazing attentively at the slender old woman with
brilliant dark eyes who sat on the dais. At her right hand stood their lady
with their familiar, trusted commanders behind her. At her left stood a man
they did not know. He was larger and of more commanding presence than their own
leaders, a typical Norman, with red-gray hair, gray-blue eyes, and a hawk's
beak of a nose.

The old woman raised a thin, veined hand. As if a decree from
heaven had made men mute, a sudden silence fell upon the Hall. "For those
of you who do not know me, I am Alinor, called of Aquitaine, wife of your late
King Henry, of blessed memory, and mother of the King to be, Lord Richard, God
save and bless him. Do you acknowledge me so? Are there doubts?"

"I do not doubt. I acknowledge." The reply from hundreds
of throats was a dull roar in the huge room.

"Then in this time of change of lordship, it is my duty to
take fealty of you all." She rose to her feet and drew a large cross from
some recess in her gown, which she elevated. "Upon this Sign and the Holy
Relics within it, every man must swear that he will bear fealty to the Lord
Richard, lord of England, the son of the Lord King Henry and the Lady Alinor,
in life and limb and earthly honor, as his liege lord, against all men and
women who might live and die, and that every man of you will be answerable to
the said Lord Richard and help him to keep his peace and justice in all
things."

"I swear! Fiat!" the crowd of men responded.

"Lady Alinor."

To this Alinor had no objection. Most willingly she stepped
forward and knelt before the Queen, stretching her right hand up to touch the
cross. "I, Alinor, Lady of the Honors of Roselynde, Kingsclere, Mersea,
Iford, the Forstal, Great Kelk, Clyro Hill, and Ealand do so swear. Fiat!"

Alinor rose and the Queen gave her the kiss of peace. Then Sir
Andre and Sir John took her place and swore. The Queen smiled on them all and
raised a hand for further attention.

"I must praise you all for your loyalty to your lady in the
troubled times that are now past. But Lady Alinor is of tender years and has no
husband to hold together her many honors. In no despite of your honor and
loyalty but to further the quiet state of the land, it is my further duty to
take Lady Alinor into the King's protection and to set over you all a King's
warden."

There was no break in the attentive silence, but its quality
changed. Tension grew. The Queen's mouth hardened for a moment. It was well
that she had a man strong enough and of a wide enough reputation right at hand
to take on this task. These men had been molded for years to the duty of
honoring their mistress. Lord Rannulf had never intended that his pearl of
price should be at any man's mercy. Even to the last and least man-at-arms, the
Queen suspected. Alinor's word would be of greater weight than any oath. It
would be necessary to permit the men to become accustomed to obeying the warden
and then remove Alinor from close contact with her vassals—for a while at least
until the country was settled into its new leadership.