Roselynde, p.26
Roselynde, page 26
This situation, too, Alinor had become aware of only after her arrival at Court. When she saw it, she thanked God anew with gratitude for a grandfather and grandmother who had wrought so well that strong men meekly bowed the knee to her. In her own troubles, she had forgotten those of the women who were her companions. She knew they resented her wealth and her ways and her power, and there was no way she could mend that; however, to be discourteous, to allow the difference in their conditions to show so openly, was very wrong.
Just as Alinor was trying to shake off her morbid mood and make conversation, a man-at-arms spurring a lathered horse came down the road. He rode past impetuously, pulled up, and came back, dismounted. Then he approached the group of women hesitantly, peering to see the faces under the close drawn hoods. His face lit.
“Mistress!” He approached Alinor, knelt in the mud. “Thank God I have found you.” He opened the neck of his jerkin and drew out a packet. “From Sir Andre.”
Obviously they were letters. Alinor could feel the stiff parchment through the wrappings. She was aware of the increased hostility of the women. Her man had spoken English, and she had understood. Another cause for suspicion and dislike. She gestured to the messenger to rise. Out of respect, he had thrown off his hood so that Alinor could see his face. She knew the man.
“Does Sir Andre desire an answer, Adam?” Alinor asked.
“I do not know, mistress. Sir Andre did not say there would be any answer. He bade me hurry and, if needful, follow you to Normandy, but he did not say about an answer.”
Pride glowed in him. His lady knew him. Many men served her, yet she knew him. Alinor did not think about the effect “knowing” her man would have. It was an art drilled into her from early childhood. When she thought with gratitude of her grandparents, she thought about how they had trained the men. She never realized how well she had been trained, molded into a model feudal lord, for she was certainly not a model lady. The model ladies, bereft of their property because they did not know how to hold it, were glaring at her now. Usually their spite had little effect upon Alinor, but her spirit was so weighted just at present that even so small a thing unbalanced her judgment.
“Very well, then, Adam, you may go.” A farewell, Alinor told herself, it must be a farewell. Nonetheless a small nagging feeling of guilt was added to her misery. She knew she should have read the message at once. It was no farewell. Surely it was trouble, but Alinor simply did not want any more trouble. She thrust the packet into her belt where it would be hidden by her cloak, just as Simon and the remaining half of his troop came slogging back through the mud.
Simon’s eye had become almost as quick as Ian’s with regard to Alinor. He did not miss the swift, almost surreptitious disposal of a packet that could only be letters. To his mind it needed only that as a fitting conclusion to the last few days, which seemed to have been compounded of every horror that could overtake a man responsible for a traveling party. Why else should a woman hide letters unless they were from a lover, and an unsuitable lover at that. Simon turned on the leader of his half troop a face that made the hardened and steady soldier become pale.
“Get the men and horses aboard that ship in all haste,” he said softly.
The man wondered briefly if it was worth the chance to ride the horses aboard. That would be the quickest, and most of the animals would behave with a man in the saddle. However, there were a few young men in the troop who were not yet capable of controlling their mounts in so frightening a situation. Frankly, he thought, some of the men were as frightened as the horses. It would not do. One more accident would turn his lord into a madman. He shuddered himself as he dismounted and called orders to his men, remembering the screaming, hysterical maidservants, the weeping and pleading menservants that had to be driven or sometimes carried aboard. One man had wrestled himself free and had fallen between the ship and the dock and been crushed. Several had ended in the water, needing to be caught with grappling hooks and hauled aboard with ropes. He glanced at the ladies whom Simon was approaching. Birth showed. They were not afraid.
The man-at-arms was quite wrong. The gentle ladies were merely trained not to display their fear in inappropriate ways. They were just as frightened as the meanest maidservant, and for the same reason. None of them, except Alinor, had been aboard a ship before or away from a restricted number of dwellings. In the normal course of events, the ladies of the Queen of England would have made innumerable trips across the narrow sea. Sometimes the queen would have accompanied her husband to visit his domains in Normandy and Anjou; sometimes she would have gone to her own provinces, like Provence. But the situation had not been normal. Queen Alinor had been a prisoner. Although she was allowed some freedoms, crossing the sea to her own domains was naturally enough not one of them. Thus, her ladies had also been restricted in their movements.
Now, as Simon approached, they vented their nervousness in excited questions about the ship, about the sea, about sailing. Simon did not attempt to free himself from several pairs of clinging hands, but his smile was a stiff formality.
“You should ask Lady Alinor,” he replied. “I have crossed some four or five times, but I know little of the sea or of sailing. I can assure you that the ship is sound and the sailors experienced. If such things can make us safe, we will be. Well, Lady Alinor, what have you to say of sailing?”
“That it is a greater joy in the hot days of summer than now,” Alinor got out, thanking God that her voice had not broken as she feared it would.
“Have you been sailing often?” one of the youngest women asked, her fear conquering her resentment of Alinor.
“Yes, quite often. It is very safe and pleasant, especially on a calm day, as it is now.”
“But I have heard one dies of sickness.”
Alinor shook her head. “No, one never dies of it.” Her lips curved into a smile, “Although I remember one time when we were smitten by a sudden squall that I begged my vassal most earnestly to let me die. In fact, if I remember aright, I pleaded with him to throw me overboard so that it might come about more speedily.” Alinor laughed affectionately at the memory. “It is nothing. A little discomfort. Besides many are not taken with the sickness, especially on a day like today.”
Alinor had no sooner stopped speaking than her maid Gertrude broke away from the men-at-arms who were shepherding the servants aboard and flung herself at Alinor’s feet, weeping and pleading to be sent home.
“Get up,” Alinor said to her, “and go quietly or what will befall you will be worse than drowning.”
Simon stiffened as he heard a whimper come from the group of women. Whatever good had been done by Alinor’s speech was being undone by her servant. Hysteria was violently contagious. Before Simon could decide whether it would be worse to have the whole group screaming and throwing fits or to enrage Alinor by disciplining her servant, Alinor solved the problem herself. She threw back her cloak and launched a blow with the back of her hand that took Gertrude in the face. Alinor’s ring tore the girl’s cheek so that blood streamed from it, and the force of the blow knocked her flat.
“Pick her up,” she said to one of the men-at-arms, “and cast her in, and not too gently. I have no time to whip her now, that will come later, but I desire that she be well bruised. I would bid you cast her in the sea, except that I have need of her.” She raised her voice. “The next man or maid of mine that makes one sound, one, will feel the lash. There is no danger. The ship is sound. I am with you.” She turned to the other women. “Come, let us go aboard. If the maids see us, they will follow more willingly.”
“It would be most helpful, my ladies,” Simon urged, bowing and stepping back.
He could have knelt down and kissed the mud where Alinor walked, he was so grateful to her. When it was necessary, hysterical maids could be knocked down and carried but the queen would be most annoyed if her ladies were used in that fashion—even though she would no doubt have ordered it herself if they behaved that way in her presence. Simon watched Alinor go aboard, her step giving lithely to the movements of the plank. His spirit was washed over by an unutterable weariness and bitterness.
He had been so happy for those few days. He had done his duty against his will, advising the queen to take Alinor when he thought he would be left behind. Then he had been ordered to come also. It had seemed, after Alinor’s softness, that God’s will was to bring them together. That was only delusion. Alinor’s softness was kindness, not love. She wanted to be friends. But it was too late for that, Simon found to his horror. He could not be Alinor’s friend.
The loading was finished. Simon, the last aboard, took a quick look at the landing. Nothing large had been left, and anything small must be gone for good. The ship was well-stowed, not surprising since about half Alinor’s troop had been fishermen before they were taken into her service. Beorn was conversing earnestly with the captain of the ship, his face wearing an expression of serious delight.
The sailors pulled in the planks, cast off the ropes, and settled to their oars. The ex-fishermen men-at-arms were hastily pulling off their steel-ring reinforced leather armor and urging the others to do so also, explaining it was better to be cold than to drown. Then they crouched down, huddling together, the innermost men, who would be warmed by the bodies of their companions, contributing their cloaks to make double and triple layers on the outermost men and as a covering for the whole group.
Simon walked slowly forward, suppressing a sensation of envy for the warmth and companionship they had. He made his way along the raised walk that bounded the cargo area, glancing down at the sweating, neighing, terrified horses. They were shackled so that they could not kick each other, but little more could be done for them.
The ship rose and fell in the easy swell. Simon staggered a little and moved more quickly. He was not prone to sickness from the sea, but he was no sailor either and he wished to be out of the way of the men who would soon have to raise the sail and fasten the lines. There was a small cleared area in front of the women’s tent, and here Simon stopped.
He had been considering sheltering himself from the wind inside the tent. He considered it no longer. Above the noise the horses were making, he could hear the sobs and prayers from inside. It was one thing to be brave on terra firma. It was quite another to maintain one’s composure when one’s footing rose and fell and tipped from side to side. There was an ear-splitting shriek followed by a slap almost as loud. Simon grinned even as he swallowed tears. That was undoubtedly Alinor. He hoped it was one of the maids she had slapped and not one of the ladies, but he feared from the outraged cries he was now hearing that his hope was in vain.
The case was proved a few moments later. Simon had just laid his shield down in a safe corner when Alinor erupted from the cabin. “God,” she spat at Simon, not seeing who he was in her rage but knowing from his garments that she was not speaking to a commoner, “helps those who help themselves. I have done all I can. I hope they tear each other to bits.” Then her eyes cleared, only to light with anger again. “What are you doing in that mail?” she asked furiously “Was not one near drowning enough for you?
Simon opened his mouth, then closed it again. Any word he permitted to pass his lips, flooded as he was with the sweet memory of those weeks at Roselynde, would be inexcusable. Silently he unbelted his sword, took off his helm, undid his cloak, and unlaced his hood. Alinor had looked at him, the anger in her eyes replaced by shocked hurt. When he began to struggle to remove his hauberk, however, two small strong hands lifted the back. By the time he was able to grip it himself, she was no longer there. He glanced once at her back as she stood beside the raised side of the ship and then busied himself with carefully folding his hauberk and laying all his accoutrements together on his shield.
Then there was nothing else to do. Simon wrapped himself in his furred cloak and went to the port side where he sat down with his back to the planking. Again his eyes strayed to Alinor. The ship was moving steadily, but it was not that which made sickness rise in Simon’s throat. Alinor was rereading her precious letters. Determinedly Simon closed his eyes. He wished he could close his ears too, to keep out the caterwauling of the other women. Perhaps if he went in, he could calm them, he thought guiltily, but he could not summon the courage for that.
“Simon!” Alinor shrieked.
Overboard! Simon thought, attempting to leap to his feet. Tangled in his cloak, he toppled forward, right into her arms.
“Not now!” Alinor spat, pushing him back. Her eyes were aflame with leaping gold and green points, her cheeks were blazing. “Look at this letter,” she cried, thrusting it into his hands. “Oh, mea culpa, mea culpa,” she mourned. “I am punished for my weakness, justly punished.”
Her lover is dead, Simon thought, with a vicious sense of satisfaction, or he has betrayed her. He hoped she burned and ached as he had all these months. Then his eyes fell on the signature and seal, and laughter roared out of him. He should have known! He should have known! There was no lover. The only thing that could move Alinor into such a passion was her estates. In the scribe’s careful hand beside a spluttery X was the name, Sir Andre Fortesque.
“You laugh!” Alinor screamed, beside herself. “You laugh?”
“No, no,” Simon soothed, “not at the letter. I have not yet read it.”
Nor was there anything to laugh about. Sir Andre had received notice from the chancellor, William Longchamp, that, since the king’s warden was called away upon the queen’s business, he would appoint another warden in Simon’s place. Worse yet, Longchamp also planned to appoint a new sheriff in Sussex.
Simon’s first reaction was to wonder whether Sir Andre could have misunderstood what Longchamp meant. Although Simon knew Sir Andre very well now and was completely convinced of his honor and good sense, it was easier to believe that Sir Andre had turned into an idiot than to believe what Longchamp intended to do. Such acts would tear apart the whole fabric of service to the royal family.
The king or queen rewarded those who served them with appointments, such as Simon’s appointment as Alinor’s warden, from which a profit could be drawn. If the appointee was forced to remain in residence to attend to his appointment, he would be effectively removed from the king’s service. Thus, it was understood that any appointee could choose a deputy who would perform his duties while he was away on the king’s business. The absolute right to appoint a deputy was important because it made the deputy responsible to the appointee, not to the king, or the chancellor, or anyone else. Since the appointee could remove the deputy at will, or punish him for dereliction of duty, he was assured that his profit from his appointment was secure. Without that assurance, the original appointment would be worthless.
“Mea culpa,” Alinor sighed again. “I should have read the letter while we were ashore. I should—”
“What good would that have done?” Simon asked irritably. “Do you think the queen would have given me permission to return?”
“But what are we to do?” Alinor cried. “If Longchamp gets his hands upon my lands, I will be beggared. My people will starve. What is more, I doubt I would ever get them back.”
“Be still!” Simon snapped, “while I read this again. I cannot think while you howl in my ear.”
Alinor drew in an enraged breath and then let it out again. Simon was perfectly right. Since they were already at sea, losing her temper and crying mea culpa were both profitless. She moved around to where she could reread the scribe’s clear script over Simon’s shoulder. Both sighed with relief when they came to the end of the letter and took in what they had been too angry to see previously. Sir Andre did not plan to yield tamely. He had written already to the Bishop of Durham, who would assuredly confirm his appointment as Simon’s deputy if only out of spite of Longchamp, and to William Marshal, who would just as certainly, support him. To Longchamp he had replied flatly that he would yield neither the position of deputy sheriff nor the entry into any of Lady Alinor’s keeps without specific instructions from his lord, Sir Simon, or his lady.
“It is very fortunate that you did not read these before we embarked,” Simon said after a thoughtful silence. “I will take this to the queen and have a letter from her to send back to Sir Andre. And, as soon as we come to the king, I will have his letter too.”
“Yes, and a week later, Longchamp will send to the king again and have a letter with a later date. Or—why should he send to the king at all? He has the seal. If he signs the king’s name, who will know it is not Richard’s hand?”
“Signs the king’s name!” Simon exclaimed. “He would not dare.”
“Would he not? Who will call him to account?”
“Alinor, what are you saying?”
“It is rumored in the Court that he has done it already. Where is the danger to him? He holds the letters he says he has received from the king. If some chance should bring Lord Richard back or if some complainant should go to the king, Longchamp need only destroy the forgery and say the man lies, that the whole was fabricated to damage him in the king’s eyes. What is more, Simon, the king will not care. You know what he thinks of the English barons. He said it aloud in Court. He will be well pleased if Longchamp wrests our livelihood from us.”
“Not from me or from you,” Simon said. “If the king tells me before my peers that I must yield, I will. It is my duty. But I do not think the king will look me in the face before a concourse of barons and take from me what he has only just given me and what you have barely paid for.” His voice stopped abruptly. “I am sorry, my lady, that you have been troubled,” he said flatly. “I will see that you suffer no hurt from this.”
