Roselynde (9 page)

That need had also answered the question of whether she should
herself go to bathe Sir Simon. Although highborn ladies were getting higher and
higher in their manners, Lord Rannulf had clung to the old ways. When men of
sufficient rank, like his foster brother, the Earl of Leicester or Hugh Bigod,
Earl of Norfolk, had come to visit, Alinor herself had poured water for them,
scrubbed their backs, and washed their hair. It was not modesty that had raised
doubts of her duty in Alinor's mind. She merely wondered whether her attendance
would shock Simon, since it was plain from his clothes and manners that he was
old-fashioned in nothing but the style of his helmet.

Alinor's decision to talk to Sir Andre was best for everyone. She
would not have shocked Simon, who had been bathed by the chief ladies of many
keeps—and had sometimes been offered other favors, too, which did not shock him
either and which he was quick enough to accept. However, Alinor had completely
overset his normal patterns of thinking. The few casual words they had
exchanged had done much to restore his balance, but that might not have
survived the strain of too intimate an interlude.

"What are you about, Alinor?" Sir Andre growled the
moment Simon disappeared into the wall chamber that had been Lord Rannulf's and
now was Simon's. "If you intend to cheat the King, he will find you out.
He is skilled in detecting far cleverer cheaters than you will ever be."

"I intend to cheat no one," Alinor rejoined roundly,
drawing herself up. She suppressed a qualm about the altered entries. She would
have to find some explanation for those if Sir Simon noticed, but right now it
was more important to put Sir Andre at ease or he would make a little thing
seem like a major conspiracy by his guilty looks.

"Then why did your bailiffs, your headmen, and your herdsmen,
suddenly lose their tally sticks and, on top of that, lose their minds,
too?"

Alinor giggled. "Did they? Oh, I love them! I love them all
dearly! I did, indeed, send messages that they were to act stupid. See how
quick they are to obey me and how well they did."

"Alinor!" Sir Andre thundered.

"Oh, be at peace," she snapped. "I told you I
intend no dishonesty."

"Then answer me. What do you intend? What are you
about?"

"Think!" Alinor raised her own voice. "You yourself
told me Sir Simon has long experience with dishonesty. If my people, open and
trusting as they are, spoke all the truth—would he believe it? Would he not
double and triple the truth, being so sure that all lie to him? I would not bid
them lie. God forbid he should find out a servant of mine in a lie that I
ordered him to tell. But also God forbid that three times the worth be wrung
from my lands."

The choleric color receded from Sir Andre's face, but he shook his
head. What Alinor said was true. Had he known her just a little while less, he
would have accepted her explanation. However, Sir Andre had had two years of
watching her mind unfold and come to grips with the complex facets of her
situation as her grandfather weakened and then died and left her to grapple
with life alone. There would be more to her actions than appeared or than she
would tell. He took a deep breath and braced his shoulders. His sons and daughters
were settled in life, largely through the generosity of Lord Rannulf. His wife
Mary was dead. His lord was dead. There was no one left but Alinor. As best he
could, he would shield her from, or share with her, the ax-blow of punishment.

There was, however, not the slightest indication at dinner that
day of any war of retribution to come. Alinor and Sir Simon were both at their
best. Whatever surprise or concern had rendered Simon so abstracted was gone.
He was attentive to Alinor's lightest question, answering courteously at first
and then, spurred by her interest and the bright intelligence of her eyes,
speaking more seriously of serious matters.

To Sir Andre's relief, Alinor was neither pert nor pertinacious,
both of which she could be at her worst. Although there was no faintest shade
of simpering, her attentiveness was flattering and her comments and questions
showed her capacity for comprehending and absorbing what she was told. More,
she showed her good manners by including her vassals in the talk. A girl trying
to flatter an influential guest might well concentrate upon him to the
exclusion of men she could command. Instead, she drew them into the
conversation so that their specialized knowledge of their own areas added to
Simon's more general information.

"And do you think the Lord Richard is one who will hold Hugh
Bigod to his fealty?" Sir John asked with some concern.

His lands, although in Essex, abutted upon certain of the Earl of
Norfolk's domains. Until Henry II had brought Bigod to heel with a mixture of
force, bribery, and guile, that fierce magnate had been the scourge of the
east. Latterly, he had been content to use the King's authority. With the
advent of the war between Henry and his sons, Bigod had shown some signs of stirring,
but he had not broken the peace.

"I wish 1 knew the answer to that," Simon replied.
"I know that Lord Richard is one of the finest soldiers in the world. I
know, too, he can charm the birds out of the trees—when he will take the
trouble. But with his heart set on this Crusade, whether he will trouble about
aught in this land, I do not know." Unconsciously Simon flexed his arms as
if preparing for action. "Does Bigod covet the honor of Mersea?"

"Is there anything Hugh Bigod does not covet?" Alinor
asked, half smiling but with serious eyes. "He does not specially look to
Mersea. He knew my grandfather well, and toward the end of my grandfather's
life they grew to be good friends."

"I trusted enough to that to come in full force to my lady's
aid," Sir John said, "but I do not think Norfolk's memory is overly
long, and it might seem to him my lady's dower is great enough without
Mersea."

"Certainly," Simon agreed, frowning, "it would be
unwise to extend an invitation to him by your overlong absence."

"I do not wish to pry into your doings, my lord," Alinor
put in modestly and quite falsely, for she did, indeed, want to know what
Simon's future movements would be, "but if I am in the King's care and you
and your men are here, might not Sir John return to his own lands?"

"Yes, assuredly," Simon said. "I do not wish to
suggest it myself, Lady Alinor, lest you think I wished to strip you of your
protectors. If you are willing to trust me, however, it would be wise that Sir
John be gone as soon as is convenient to you and to him."

"I trust the Queen's good intentions toward me." Alinor
lowered her eyes for a moment, wondering how many
pater nosters
she
would have to say in penance for all this lying. "And, I am sure you will
do the Queen's will." That statement, at least, would draw no penance upon
her. "Besides," she smiled mischievously, "I have been listening
to gossip about you, Sir Simon. You are said to be a
preux chevalier,
a
very Yvain for justice and virtue."

Sir Simon's tan grew a trifle ruddier, but he laughed. "As to
that, if you listen long enough, you will hear ill as well as good of me, but I
hope never that I violated a trust."

"Indeed, I am sure not," Alinor answered smoothly, and
then continued. "I hope we have nothing to fear from the Flemmands or the
Hainaulters. Mersea is, I believe, safe enough from the French, who will drown
in the marshes should they be mad enough to attempt them. But those of the low
countries have knowledge of such lands."

The color Alinor's compliment had raised in Simon's face returned
to normal as he obliged with what information he had about Richard's probable
relationship with the duchies of Flanders and Hainault. It was what she had
intended. To show her trust and admiration was necessary, but she did not wish
to embarrass Simon. The talk ran merrily on until the sweets were removed from
the table. Simon stretched and, unexpectedly, yawned.

"I beg your pardon," he exclaimed, surprised by the
involuntary reaction.

"Not at all." Alinor smiled understanding. "You
were late abed and early stirring. It is a hot day, and a full meal added to
all will induce sleep. There is no reason for haste in what you do, is
there?"

"I do not know," Simon replied truthfully. "The
Queen is not sure herself of where she will be or what she will need to do, so
she could tell me little. I know she believes you will enjoy staying at
Court—"

That was not exactly what the Queen had said, but Simon was not
such an idiot as to repeat her actual words. Those had been to the effect that
it would be unwise to allow Alinor free rein with her own vassals lest her
independence grow too large to be easily curbed.

"Indeed I will," Alinor agreed joyfully.

Simon looked away. He was distressed by her sweet trustfulness and
by his part in encouraging it. In this he did both Alinor and her major vassals
an injustice. Sweet trustfulness was not a fault of theirs.

"Thus," he continued, having mastered his feeling by
promising himself that no loss would come to her as long as he could protect
her, "I do not know whether a message will come commanding us to join her
tomorrow or will not come for weeks. It behooves me to finish my part as soon
as possible."

Naturally enough Sir John and Sir Andre excused themselves as soon
as they could without making it seem that Simon had driven them away. But Simon
did not take advantage of their departure to get to his duties. He stared down
the length of the hall, idly watching the menservants and maidservants throwing
the edible refuse to the floor for the scavenging dogs and cats (and rats) and
gathering the more palatable leftovers to be given as alms at the gates. The
sound of their low talk and laughter drifted to him. It occurred to him that it
must be very pleasant to be the master of so happy and well-run an estate.

Seeing that Simon was occupied with his own thoughts, Alinor had
fallen silent. A well-brought-up woman did not intrude upon a man's thoughts.
He was not unaware of her. She had caught a single swift glance he gave her
without turning his head. What it meant, she did not know, but she was pleased
that at the moment she had been half smiling, patiently attentive. Because his
eyes moved so swiftly away again, she did not see the bitterness in them. Simon
was thinking that such a wife as Alinor, with her beauty, kindness, and
intelligence was not for him, nor such an estate, either. He was poor, she was
rich; he was old, she was young; they had nothing in common—nothing. He had
nothing to offer the King or Queen for which they might barter such a prize.
Even if he had, it would be a sin and a shame to take the prize—a sin and a
shame to bind a blooming girl to an aging hulk like himself.

He rose abruptly to his feet and bowed. "My lady, nothing
would give me greater pleasure than to sit here all the rest of the day, but fortunately
for you I may not permit my pleasure to rule. Little as I like it, I must hie
me back to my duty, thus releasing you from your duty to your pleasure."

"Now that." Alinor replied, laughing as she also rose,
"was very polite, but not very clever, my lord. If you were ugly as an ape
and stupid as a sheep—which you are neither—I would take more pleasure in your
company than in anything else here. My duty and my pleasure must be one while
you speak to me of strange places and great affairs. I pay you no idle
compliment," she insisted as he shook his head, "for you compete
against no more than my embroidery frame and my maids' complaints against each
other."

The compliment was certainly not idle, even though what Alinor
said was quite true. If Simon intended to ride out again, she wanted to go with
him. In that direction, however, she had wasted her effort. Simon had had his
bellyful of questions that obtained no answers. He would need to find "my
Lady Alinor's book" and know specifically what to look for before he
attempted to obtain information again.

The effort had not been totally wasted, however. Simon glanced
toward the window recess across from them where benches stood invitingly in the
sweet-scented breeze of summer. He looked at Alinor and almost yielded. She saw
his hand half raise, as if he would lead her where his eyes had wandered. Then
he sighed and dropped the hand.

"Then I must condemn you to your duty and me to mine. Which
chamber do your clerks use to keep your accounts?"

"Accounts on such a day!" Alinor protested, aware that
her voice had become a little breathless.

"Even on such a day," Simon said grimly, just a hint of
a snarl in his tone.

Of course, he was not angry with Alinor. It was a combination of
irritation with himself, for seeking any excuse to stay in her company, and
disgust at what he expected to find. And Alinor, who had never really feared
any man, took a step backward because her guilt weighed heavy on her
conscience.

"It is the chamber next beside that you sleep in. The books
are there. I do not know where the clerks are now," she said hurriedly,
and turned, and fled.

Had Alinor looked back and seen the stricken expression on Simon's
face, she would have been saved some anxious hours. Had Simon followed her to
explain, he would have saved half a day's effort. Alinor's alterations of the
accounts had been well thought out and skillfully done. In fact, Simon did not
realize that they were alterations. It was partly because he was so convinced
that she was being cheated and partly because he was so aware that his mind was
not really on what he was doing that he went over and over the entries until he
noticed certain oddities.