Alinor (39 page)

"Some of the ladies," Lady Ela twittered, "are more in the king's confidence than the queen's."

"Do tell me," Alinor whispered, hitching her chair a little closer to Lady Ela. "I must pay especially close attention to them."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

As word of King John's arrival and destination spread, noblemen and their ladies poured into Winchester. Alinor was very grateful to Lady Ela. Owing to her advice, she had been in time to rent a small house not far from the castle. Ian had been hesitant at first, not wishing to offend either the Bishop of Winchester, who had offered them accommodation, or the king, if John should offer lodging. However, far from being offended, Peter of Winchester thought the notion excellent. Though he laughed heartily at Alinor's excuse, no lady to his mind being less likely to be disordered by excitement or exertion, he said he thought it would serve well enough for those who did not know her.

Ian waited on the king as soon as word came that John was ready to receive his noblemen, and came home very puzzled and worried. He had been greeted with what was, to his mind, suspicious blandness. Even though Salisbury had caught him as he entered the great hall to say he had smoothed matters over, it seemed unnatural to Ian that the king made no reference to his marriage except to ask whether Alinor had accompanied him. He had been almost tempted to say she had not, but too many people knew the truth. After a few minutes of pleasant talk, John had dismissed him with an invitation that amounted to a command, for himself and his lady to attend the great feast on Christmas Eve.

More puzzling than the king's apparent indifference was the casual manner of the court at large. The king, as Ian knew all too well, was practiced in the methods of deceit. However, Ian's friends seemed glad to see him and neither hinted obliquely at trouble nor warned him openly of it. His enemies, an even better indicator, seemed healthily enraged by his profitable marriage. There were scowls and snide remarks where there should be and, although he was as watchful as he could be, Ian neither saw nor sensed hidden smirks among the king's intimates that would suggest a secret knowledge of retribution to come.

Alinor could make no clearer sense of what to expect than her husband, even after she had an interview with the king two days later. She had been summoned to a judicial session in the normal manner to make restitution to the king for marrying without her overlord's permission. Ian went with her, full armed, which was not the usual attire for answering a summons from the king. John, however, gave him hardly more than an indulgent glance, as if to say he understood the protective spirit of the gesture but that it was not necessary. And so it proved.

Alinor pleaded the danger to her estates and her son's inheritance from reavers and disloyal and disaffected vassals and castellans in extenuation of her hasty marriage. She added that, the king being at war in France, she did not know where or how to reach him or how long it would be before he returned. If John remembered that Alinor's messenger had found him without the slightest difficulty to announce Simon's death, he did not mention the fact. He allowed the plea of necessary haste and disallowed the plea of inability to request permission on the reasonable grounds that Ian had known quite well where he was and that the fighting was over by that time. Then he set the fine at a tithe— one tenth the value of the income from her estates. It was a heavy fine, but by no means unreasonable.

"You would have done better to take the man I chose for you," John said with a smile when Alinor had bowed her acceptance and given surety for payment of the fine. "William of Wenneval is still alive and hearty."

"It was not a matter of choice for me," Alinor replied softly. "I was married before your offer was put to me by King Richard's order in the Holy Land."

That was, of course, the only answer Alinor could make, but she and Ian discussed the king's remark at length. It was so natural, so reasonable a comment that, had any other person made it, they would have taken it as a signal that all was forgiven and forgotten. Neither could quite believe it of John. He was famous, or perhaps infamous, for never forgetting an injury or an insult. The court at large might take what had been said at face value because they did not know how deeply and personally Alinor had injured and insulted John. To Alinor the mention of the incident was a deliberate reminder that John had not forgotten. It seemed to her that the emphasis on Wenneval's living was a threat that Ian would not live long.

Ian shrugged that off indifferently. He agreed that John had probably meant Alinor to think that way, that the king no doubt wished to frighten her. He pointed out that there was little the king could do to implement the threat.

"There are long knives in dark corners," Alinor snapped.

"Nonsense," Ian rejoined. "The whole court now knows the story of our marriage. Do you think any would doubt where the order came from if aught befell me? In the heat of anger, when he first heard, the king might have thought to be rid of me that way, but he is cool now. He would never give so good an excuse for complaint to the noblemen, who are still whispering about what happened to Arthur. Especially now before he declares a most unwelcome and heavy tax. I think we are safe for now, at least until the Twelfth Day festivities are over. It is then he will declare the tax of one thirteenth, I am sure, and he will desire no cause for outcry until that is safe in his purse."

"Perhaps you are right," Alinor said, "but there are at least two others who are not clever enough to associate your death with the king's tax and who probably believe that the king would not be sorry to hear that you had died of trying to breathe through holes in your carcass."

After which, she drew forth a marvelous thing that had once been Simon's, a shirt of mail with links so thin and fine that it bulked scarce larger than a woolen tunic. It would not turn a sword blow, but under a man's tunic, it would give fair protection from the thrust of a knife. From then on Ian wore it when he went abroad without armor, and Alinor breathed a little easier. However, the precaution was not necessary. Fulk de Cantelu and Henry of Cornhill looked daggers at Ian but drew none with their hands.

On Christmas Eve, Alinor and Ian again appeared dressed as two halves of a whole. It was a day for magnificence, and they were as grand and bejeweled as the greatest lords of the land. It was just as well they had made the effort, because soon after they entered the great hall, a page came running up with a message that places had been set for them at the first table before the dais.

"By whose order?" Ian asked sharply.

"The king's, my lord," the page replied.

"He does me great honor," Ian responded automatically, feeling Alinor's grip tighten so hard that her nails bit into his wrist.

It was far too great an honor. Ian de Vipont was a baron, but there were many with higher titles who should sit closer to the king in the hall by the order of precedence. In spite of their knowledge of John's character, Alinor and Ian had had some hopes that Salisbury's persuasions had induced the king to take the fine and content himself with that, at least for the present. This mark of favor ended that hope. John might swallow his spite enough to ignore them; he would never honor them. The king's character could not change that much. What the king intended, however, remained a mystery until the crowd was finally seated for dinner. Then, before the first course was served, King John pounded the table and shouted for silence. When he had their attention, he announced that a great tourney would be held on Twelfth Day to celebrate the season, their victories in France, and the hope that the queen now carried for the future well-being of the realm.

The room exploded in honest roars of joy and approval. A tourney was always a welcome diversion, and everyone was truly overjoyed to hear of the queen's condition. John was over 40 now. However little he was loved, if he should die without a legitimate heir, civil war was certain. That was even less inviting a prospect than a continuation of John's reign. The noise quieted rapidly again as the king held up his hands.

"Now this is a most joyous occasion," John said, smiling on his subjects, "and I would not wish it to be marred by any personal spites. Thus I have chosen as my champion a man beloved by all and, in addition, newly married. Rise up Ian, Lord de Vipont, and accept my glove as token of your charge and of my love and pardon of any fault that may have come between us."

Ian rose as requested and stepped over the eating bench. When he reached the dais to accept the glove, he was smiling broadly. It was a great relief to Ian that John should take out his spite in this harmless way. He did not doubt that the king hoped he would be well-trounced or even killed, but he was reasonably sure that John would engage in no large-scale plots against him. He might well indicate to his cronies that he would be well-pleased if Ian came to grief. Even if the king tried to do more, Ian was not worried. He had friends enough to back him.

Because all eyes were on her husband, Alinor had a chance to gather her strength and pride. She knew the king had seen the first stricken whiteness of her face. His eyes had been on her, not on Ian, whose reaction he could well predict. Alinor hoped that her expression of fear would give
him
pleasure and convince him she was a silly, helpless thing. Without surprise she heard the king name William, Earl of Salisbury, and William, Earl of Pembroke, as judges of the tourney, thereby removing Ian's most powerful friends from any chance of fighting in his party. She had not had any expectation that John would overlook so obvious a move, particularly when the choices would seem to prove the king's favorable intentions toward Ian. After all, choosing a man's friends to judge him, could hardly be thought of as showing animosity toward him.

Twelve days, Alinor thought, I have twelve days. In that time Sir Henry could come from Kingsclere and Sir Walter from the Forstal. Probably the time was not long enough to allow Sir John to come from Mersea, but she would send out a man to summon him anyway. If Ian should come to harm—Alinor drew a deep breath and held it to prevent herself from panting with fear— she would need some loyal vassals. Sir Giles was close also, but Adam and Joanna had been left with him at Iford when word of the king's arrival had come. Alinor did not wish to weaken Iford's defenses in any way, and Sir Giles' lady was not one who was capable of defending her keep. Ian's northern vassals and his Welsh ones also were too far away to be of any help.

That depressing thought gave birth to a far more hopeful idea. There were a number of northern barons present. They were not especially friends to Ian, largely because they thought him too close and too loyal to the king, while they were well on their way to being outright rebels, but one thing was sure. They would not kill Ian from behind on the king's orders. The problem was how, in 12 days, to convince them to fight on the king's side behind his champion. Normally they would be in the opposition party. Alinor knew she might do a little herself during the dancing and entertainments that would celebrate the Twelve Days, and she might do a little with the wives of those men who had wives, if they had brought them to Winchester. However, a woman's word counted for little in such matters.

Alinor needed a man, a man loyal to her, who would not be overly scrupulous in what he hinted about the king. Sir Giles would have been perfect, but Alinor had already decided he must stay where he was. Besides, Sir Giles had been involved in the original trouble with John. His sudden appearance at court would arouse sharp suspicions in the king. It might even spark so much animosity in him that he would forget appearances and move openly to attack Ian.

More cheering drew Alinor's attention. The king had appointed William, Earl of Arundel, to lead the "loyal opposition." It was another nice touch. Arundel was a competent man in battle, who was certainly no enemy of Ian's or Alinor's. He had known Simon well, and they had worked together in the administration of Sussex where Arundel held large estates when Simon was sheriff. Alinor curved her lips into a smile, acknowledging to those who bothered to look at her that she approved the king's choice as a suitable and yet not dangerous opponent for her husband. Suitable he certainly was—for the king's purposes. Alinor knew Arundel fairly well herself. The only subject upon which he was competent was fighting. For the rest, his head might as well have been a block of wood. Still, Arundel in himself was not dangerous, even if John should manage without his knowledge to seed his party with men who hated Ian. They were opponents. Ian would be prepared to guard himself against them. What Alinor feared was those who would join Ian's party, either to run him through from behind when no one would see or to desert him at a crucial moment.

Arundel, Arundel. The words seemed to echo in Alinor's mind, and pleasantly at that. Was there some- thing she had not remembered about Arundel himself that might help Ian? It was, after all, seven years since she had spoken to the man. Then she smiled again, a real smile, not a mechanical curving of the lips, and her eyes brightened. It was an appropriate moment. Ian had just returned to his seat beside her. He was delighted at her self-possession and her seeming pleasure, although he was sure she was not deceived by the king's words and manner. However, Alinor's expression had little to do with Ian and, had he known the reason for it, he would have been appalled. Alinor had remembered what it was about Arundel that pleased her. Sir Guy had sold the king's messenger's horse in the town of Arundel, and Sir Guy was obviously just the man she needed for what must be done.

The next ten days were furiously busy for both Alinor and Ian, but the pressure was inordinately greater on Alinor, who dared not give the appearance of doing anything more than waiting on the queen, buying at the enormous fair that had opened to cater to the court, and visiting friends. The fair in particular was a godsend. It was there that she was able to meet a young knight-errant who sported a close-clipped beard and mustache in King John's style. Alinor complained sharply that he had ridden across her path so suddenly that her horse shied. The young knight apologized most sincerely, saying his mind had been elsewhere. The lady would not be so easily appeased. Low-voiced, she continued to scold. The knight-errant apologized again, at length, even dismounting to stand beside the lady's stirrup. Still she scolded, and, murmuring assurances, the knight remounted and rode along with her to her destination. If anyone had noticed the young knight when he arrived at Winchester, they might also have noticed that he was much richer after that chance encounter—but no one did notice. Word of the king's tourney was spreading, and every knight-errant within riding distance was making his way toward the town to take part in it. There would be rich prizes in horse and armor ransom with so many of the courtiers competing.