The Prince and the Pilgrim (22 page)

“If I may help you –” he said, hoarsely.

“Oh, yes, you may help me,” she said, and smiled.

He did not see her again that day, and at nightfall one of her pages came with a message – lovingly worded but firm – that the news Count Ferlas had brought had distressed the queen, and business had arisen from it which had occupied her through the day, and was still keeping her from him. She must beg his forgiveness, but she could not say when … and so on and so forth. She managed to make it sound no more than the headache that women pleaded at certain times, but he knew, who better? that that was not true. From her parting words to him that morning, he could not believe that this was his dismissal from her favour and her bed. However, there was nothing to be done but conceal his chagrin, and retire with what dignity he could to his own chamber in the west tower. There he passed the restless hours, pride fighting with jealousy, and setting him to pacing the chamber floor, and wondering if he would be welcome at dinner that night in the hall, or if Ferlas would be beckoned to the place of honour beside the queen.

In the event neither the queen nor Count Ferlas was present at dinner that evening. This, of course, was small comfort to Alexander, who for
once
ate little, and was thankful that his neighbour, the Lady Luned, seemed out of sorts, paler than ever and not inclined for talking. She rose early from the meal, and he was able to escape once more to the solitude of the west tower, there to await the hoped-for summons from his mistress.

It did not come. Instead came Peter, as usual, with another message of excuses, and the cordial which she still insisted that he take at night, “Against the recurrence of the fever, which I have known to persist for two or even three moons, if no treatment is given.”

Alexander, shaken by a different fever which, had he known it, was directly induced by the queen’s cordials, pointed to the table and said, with an effort at his usual friendly courtesy: “Put it down there, will you? Thank you. I’ll take it later. Tell me, page, did the queen give you this message herself?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Is she ailing? She sent this morning to tell me of urgent business that kept her from riding out with me, but surely this is now dealt with? I have not seen her all day, and as you know, she was not at dinner. How is it with her?”

Peter, who had seen this happen before, and who liked Alexander, said quickly: “She’s well enough, sir; nothing for you to worry over! Since this morning there have been affairs to attend to, and she confers with her council tonight. It seems they may sit late, so she asked me to beg for your understanding.”

“I see. Of course. The news the count brought
was
so bad?” He was thinking, it could not have been the brother’s death; she showed no sign of grief at that; she did not even speak of it.

“I don’t know, sir. I mean, I don’t know what it would mean to the queen, though one could see she was mightily put out by it. But it was bad for my lady – my own lady, that is, Lady Luned. She knew the count and his brother well, from the old days. One of her maids told me she had been weeping.”

“I see,” said Alexander again, remembering Luned’s silence and reddened eyes. He wished he had known sooner, so that he might have spoken some sort of comfort to her. “Well, my thanks, Peter. Tell your lady that I am sorry for her friend’s death. I’ll speak with her myself in the morning, if she will receive me. Now leave me, will you please? I’ll see myself to bed. Good night.”

Afterwards he was never quite sure what combination of injured pride and jealousy and sheer frustrated curiosity drove him to do what he did that night.

After Peter left him he waited, seated in the window embrasure, watching the stars prick out into the night sky, and listening to the sounds in the castle till they dwindled and at last died into the peace of sleep. Then, not troubling to arm himself, and still in the clothes he had worn at dinner, he let himself softly out of the chamber.

Cressets, set in iron brackets on the walls, gave
light
enough to show his way. He hesitated at the door that opened on the courtyard. There was still movement out there. Guards – the King’s men and the castle’s own – were set at night, and other sounds coming from the direction of the stables suggested that some groom was wakeful with a sick horse, or maybe with a mare due for foaling. But there was a door which led through into the central part of the castle, avoiding the open court. If it was left unlocked at night …?

It was. He went that way, walking softly. Past the open door of the great hall, where some of the servants were sleeping; snores and the rustling of straw, but no one roused. Then quickly up the great stairway, and there ahead of him was the door that led to the queen’s private rooms – the royal rooms that he had come to regard as his own.

He halted there, disconcerted. There were guards; King’s men, with the Dragon blazon. He should have expected it, of course, though the guard must have been set each night after he and the queen had gone to bed. He hesitated, feeling suddenly foolish, but the guards showed neither surprise nor (what he had feared) amused complicity. The man nearest him drew back his spear as if expecting the prince to knock or enter, but Alexander, after another brief moment of hesitation, shook his head and turned quickly to the right, going swiftly, still soft-footed and now with quickened pulses, along the corridor towards the east tower.

He did not see the look – without surprise and
certainly
without amusement – that passed between the two guards, as one of them left his post to follow him.

The staircase up into the east tower was a spiral of stone, scantily lit by a single torch thrust into a bracket near the foot of the steps. Through the slit windows the night wind blew, soft with summer. An owl called. Alexander went silently up the steps. Somewhere ahead of him, muffled by door or wall, he could hear voices; a single voice, and then, from time to time, a chorus as men spoke together, or vied with one another to be heard. The sounds came from not far above him. He paused on a small triangular landing in a curve of the stairway, and listened. It was not possible to make out any words, and it seemed as if the speakers were being careful not to raise their voices. There was a pause of quiet, and through it could be heard a single voice that was, unmistakably, the queen’s. Then a man speaking angrily, and others joining in, a chorus that sounded impatient, even quarrelsome. He trod swiftly up the last curve of the stairway.

There was another landing, wide this time, with a rug laid over the stone floor, and a stool against the wall to one side of a door. It was a strong door, studded with iron, and fast shut, and beside it was another guard.

Not a King’s guard this time. A boy only, seated on the stool with his back against the wall. He looked half asleep, but as Alexander appeared
round
the curve of the stairs he jerked to wakefulness and jumped to his feet. The prince recognised him. It was the page Gregory, who had first told him about the “councils”, and that the queen’s servants “kept the door”, and refused entry to any but the privileged.

Well, that had been a long time ago, and now everyone in the castle, not least Morgan’s own page, must know him to be among the privileged. He gave the boy a smiling nod, and spoke in an undertone.

“Your mistress holds council here tonight, I think, Gregory? Will you open the door, or, if you prefer it, go in and announce me?”

The boy did not move, standing with his back to the door. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Alexander let his irritation show. “Can’t even go in and ask, you mean? Surely, after all this time –”

“Forgive me, sir, but we have our orders. No one to go in, no one except the council. I did tell you before, sir. I dare not.”

“Well, but that was ‘before’. You must surely know that I am in the queen’s confidence now!”

“But not of the council, sir. Not of her own people.”

“Her own people? What people?”

“That I can’t tell you, sir, but those who are always there. That came with her from Caer Eidyn and will go with her to Castell Aur when the time comes.”

“I will go with her to Castell Aur,” said Alexander, who, until the exasperation of the moment, had never even considered it. Had never in fact
considered
the future at all, nothing beyond the delights of the present. If questioned, he would no doubt have admitted knowing that the affair with the lovely queen could not last for ever, that some day he must take horse and ride away – certainly not to the alleged confinements of Castell Aur – but he might ride, as she had hinted, in her service, before ordinary life resumed and he went on with his interrupted journey to Camelot …

He said sharply: “She said only this morning that I could be of service to her. If that is not being in her councils –”

“I am sorry.” The boy was beginning to look frightened. He was backed right up against the door, with the tall young prince looming over him, but he still kept his voice almost to a whisper, and this fact helped to bring it home to Alexander that Morgan’s servants could not easily be pushed into disobeying her. “I am sorry.” The boy repeated it breathlessly. “I cannot, lord, indeed I cannot! She said nothing about you to me and the others, and she – my lord, I dare not disobey! Perhaps – perhaps when you see her tomorrow you will ask her yourself?”

Alexander stood back. “I will do that. Calm yourself, I’m not angry. You’re only doing your duty. The queen must have forgotten to give you instructions. I’ll talk with her tomorrow. Good night.”

And, saving what dignity he could, he smiled at the boy, and made his way back to his lonely room, not much the wiser for the expedition, but soothed in one respect: the tale of urgent talks was true enough, not just a pretext to banish him from
their
bed. And she was certainly not alone with Ferlas.

Just as certainly, he would see her on the morrow, and find out what she had meant when she hinted at some service he could render her, and at the same time he would ask – insist on – what was apparently more important to her even than her lover: to be admitted to her court and councils.

He threw his clothes off, drank down the cordial Peter had left for him and then did what Morgan had intended him to do some hours ago, sank into a dreamless sleep.

The King’s guard, back at the royal bedchamber door, was whispering to his fellow.

“No. Not one of them. Young Gregory wouldn’t let him in. It’s my guess he has no idea.”

“As we thought. A damned shame, really.”

“He’ll get over it, and be the wiser for it.” A sly grin, that would have annoyed Alexander and amused Morgan. “And you can’t deny she’s a tasty dish.”

“As long as he doesn’t get in too deep.” This was the older man. “What is he? Sixteen? Seventeen? He’s my son’s age, maybe less.”

“He won’t do that. Oh, he can’t see past bedtime yet, but she knows better than try to use him for any party stuff. You mark my words.”

“I believe you. But we’ll watch, just the same.”

“Hush. I think she’s coming. Alone, too, would you believe it?”