David the Prince - Scotland 03 (3 page)

Edgar made no comment. "Where is King William?" "His Grace has just returned, my lord. From Somborne Forest. I heard his company ri
de in but a few minutes ago.

Let us pray that he has had a good day's sport so that he is in genial temper!" Despite the lightsome voice there was a grating behind that somewhere, a warning or threat.

"We had looked to see him before this," Edgar said flatly.

"Your patience will soon be rewarded, my lord."

"My patience is not the best of me, Monsieur . . . what was the name?"

"Flambard, sir - Ranulf Flambard. His Grace's humblest servant."

"Are you, then, this Deputy Chief Butler?"

"Ah, no. Scarce that. I am, all unworthily, the Lord Chief Justiciar of England, my lord." "Indeed. I am . . . surprised."

For a moment those small eyes gleamed daggers. Then the man bowed. "Here is wine for your refeshment, my lords. But — may I suggest that you drink it otherwhere? This dais-table is set and reserved, you will understand, for the King's Grace." Flambard backed away.

"I am sufficiently comfortable here, sir," Edgar told him. "And it is usual to name a monarch Highness or lord King."

"Ah - but there is only one lord King in England . . . Highness!" the other asserted, smiling, and swept out.

"That low-born scullion Chief Justice!" Sir Eustace exclaimed. "A priest's bastard, from the Cotentin. Red William must have run mad!"

"He is named the most cruel man in England, as well as the Justiciar," David said. "But - that was well-spoken. I wish that I could speak like that, Edgar. You, you are not going down from this dais?"

"No."

"Good lad!" the Earl of Angus chuckled. "Er. . . Highness."

So they sat drinking, as the hall filled up, seeming at ease but wary-eyed. They were stared at, as guests came to take their seats at the lower tables, but none actually came to speak with them, although there was much whispering and head-shaking. No women were present. William Rufus did not like women. They all had quite a lengthy wait, with only the Scots party drinking. The musicians played now.

Then, at last, the music stopped and a trumpeter appeared in the gallery, to blow a loud and stirring fanfare. All men rose -all men, that is except the King of Scots.

A door was thrown open behind the dais area, and as the trumpet-notes faded, a herald cried, "Attend on the King's Grace!"

There was a pause, quite prolonged. Then laughter could be heard from beyond the doorway. The herald stood aside, and bowed low. Two men came strolling in, one of middle years with his arm around the shoulders of one much younger. Both were chuckling, one deeply, the other in more of a high giggle. After a slight interval came a casual gaily-clad group of about a dozen, Chief Justice Flambard prominent amongst them.

The leading pair were, of course, immediately confronted with the Scots group occupying the dais platform, the older man affecting not to notice at first, although his companion, a beautiful young man most elaborately dressed, contrived to look both alarmed and determinedly amused at the same time. Then, when he was within a few feet of the Scots, William fitz William halted, arm still around his friend, to stare.

Edgar rose from his bench, at last. "Greetings, Cousin," he said into the profound hush.

"On my soul - Edgar of Scotland!" the other monarch exclaimed. He stuttered somewhat. "S'so you have answered my s'summons with becoming promptness!"

William the Second was scarcely an impressive figure, a short-legged, stocky man with a prominent belly but strong shoulders. He had a notably red face, clean-shaven, the colour blotchy - hence his by-name of Rufus, for his hair, which he wore long and straight contrary to the Norman normal, was fair-to-sandy, although greying now. But seeing him for the first time, it was the King's eyes which were apt to make the most impact, strange, narrow, spotted eyes, appearing to be of differing colours - although it would be hard to decide what those colours were. But they were keen and intelligent eyes, there was never a doubt as to that. He was richly but untidily dressed.

"I accepted your kind invitation for tomorrow's ceremony, yes" Edgar nodded. Compared with the other he looked young, almost boyish. "I might have been less prompt had I known how occupied you were, Cousin, with today's . . . activities!"

"Ah, yes." Rufus grinned. "We had a good day. Excellent sport. Did we not, Ivo?" And he turned to his companion, squeezing those shoulders.

"Excellent, Sire," the beautiful youth agreed, with a nervous laugh.

"Yes." Switching off his smile, William looked behind him. "Ranulf - have the Lord Edgar and his people conveyed to their due place," he snapped, the crispness almost emphasised by the hint of stammer.

The King of Scots was as brisk. "No need," he asserted, as Flambard stepped forward. "I have already chosen where we shall sit." And ignoring the Justiciar and all others, he turned and stepped down from the dais, to stalk down the open central space towards the foot of the hall, almost as though he was going to leave altogether, his party following. But near the foot he halted, swung on his friends, and pointed to the lowest table of all.

"Clear me this," he ordered. "And move it there." He gestured sideways, crosswise, into that central space.

Grinning, Angus actually guffawing, his supporters did as he said, some roughly pushing away the still-standing diners there, others, including David, laying hands on the table, to heave and push it aside, at right-angles to its former position, so that it became islanded out in the middle of the hall, certain beakers and cups spilled in the process. Then its complement of benches were grabbed and dragged out. Edgar sat down centrally, beckoning David to his right hand. Angus seated himself on the King's left, Cospatrick of Dunbar on David's right, the others where they would. The dispossessed guests, looking mortified, unsure, had to go and re-seat themselves where they could.

Up on the dais, William was glaring down at this unprecedented scene, powerful shoulders hunched, his arm dropped from his favourite now. Then abruptly he laughed loudly, and sat down. Relievedly, in most cases, all others sat also.

Flambard pointed towards the minstrels' gallery, and music started again, if somewhat raggedly. The long lines of waiting servitors filed in bearing laden trays, platters and dishes.

"That was good!" David said to his brother. "Splendid! I wish my friends could have been here to see it. I would never have thought of that."

"It is but the first move," Edgar said heavily. "Rufus has all the cards." Proof of this assessment was speedily forthcoming. A resplendent character wearing a white, lace-edged linen towel over his left forearm - no doubt the Deputy Chief Butler
-
came hurrying down from the dais, giving orders to the servants. Swiftly it became evident what those orders were. No food or drink was brought to the Scots table.

By the time that the last, and lowliest, of the other guests were served, Edgar's face was expressionless but his knuckles gleamed white, while his friends looked grim. William, chatting and joking with his close companions, did not so much as glance in their direction.

"Walk out!" the Earl of Angus suggested, loudly, and there were murmurs of agreement from others.

The King of Scots sat still, very still — and none could move until he did.

Everywhere men watched, all but holding their breaths.

Then there was a diversion. Up at the dais-table a man three seats from William's right rose to his feet, and rounding the table-end, stepped down and walked towards the Scots. He was in his early thirties, short-legged and wide-shouldered also, but with close-cropped dark hair and sallow angular features.

"Henry. Henry Beauclerc," David said. "He is better. Has shown me favours at times."

This man came up, and bowed to Edgar, not low but civilly. "I greet you well, my lord King," he said. "We have not met, I think? I was long in Normandy. But I know this young man, the Prince David. I am Henry fitz William."

"Your renown is known to me, Prince Henry," Edgar acknowledged carefully. "We might have met under, under kinder circumstances."

"No doubt. We may not always choose our circumstances -but we may perhaps mend them a little. Or bend them!" He smiled faintly. "If you can make room at your table, Highness, I would esteem myself honoured to sit with you?"

Edgar drew a quick breath - as did others there, who heard. "That would much pleasure me, sir," he said, and there was no disguising the relief in his voice. He gestured to his side, his right, and David eagerly moved over, closer to the young Earl of Dunbar, to provide space.

Henry came and sat, every eye in the hall on him. He patted David's shoulder and murmured a word or two to Edgar, then, looking up, gestured peremptorily to the nearest servitors, pointing at the empty platters. Glancing uneasily at each other, at the Deputy Chief Butler and up towards the dais, these hastily brought meats and wines. They dared not disobey the King of England's brother.

"How is Your Highness's other brother, Alexander?" the prince asked. "Him I
have
met. And there are two others, are there not, still alive?"

"Alexander, Earl of Gowrie, is well — if unruly!" Edgar answered. "Yes, Ethelred and Edmund still live - both older than I am.
But they are churchmen. Ethelre
d - he now names himself Hugh — always has been. Edmund's. . . reform, is more recent!"

"Ah. Brothers can present their problems!"

At the other end of the hall King William shrugged off his glaring, and resumed his converse with his associates.

The banquet proceeded more normally.

Presently William clapped his hands for entertainers, and after a moment in filed a troupe of dancers, about a dozen of them, in colourful and fairly diaphanous dresses, long-haired pretty creatures, girlish, none over seventeen by the look of them, cheeks rouged, bared shoulders powdered white. The musicians struck up a languorous rhythmic melody, and the dancers proceeded to swan gracefully in couples up and down the central space - with the Scots table inevitably somewhat in the way. At first all was most decorous and pleasing, the performers willowy, supple but virginal, schooled to perfection in step and timing— although their efforts were greeted by hoots and catcalls from the all-male gathering, led from the dais. Then the music began to speed up and to change its character as well as its tempo. The dancers responded, their chaste and artistic movements becoming jerkier, more angular, less restrained. Soon the .dance had become quite wild, although still in fair time with the music, with much kicking and bending and parting of legs. This exercise revealed that the long flowing skirts were, in fact, slit front and rear, almost all the way from ankles to waists, frequently displaying much or all of the said active legs. But revealing more than that, as the high-stepping and cavorting became ever more abandoned and the dancers were apt to be bared momentarily right up to their crotches, where all were seen to be possessed of male genitalia, the bouncing breasts above proving to be skilfully artificial.

Now the performers, panting with their exertions, slowed with the music to a less violent exercise, replacing it with a disciplined but lewd and highly indecent posturing, in pairs still, thrusting and weaving, bending and twisting to each other. The watchers cheered and egged them on with both advice and insults.

The Scots party sat uncomfortably throughout. There were no prudes amongst them, and most were necessarily fairly tough in their attitudes. But this sort of behaviour was new to them, unthought of for entertainment. Edgar in especial looked unhappy, frequently glancing sidelong towards his younger brother. They had been strictly brought up by a determined saintly mother.

"You do not admire my brother's tastes and diversions, Highness?" Henry Beauclerc wondered. "Yet you, like he, remain unwed."

Edgar reached for his wine beaker and did not answer.

David spoke. "Is this not evil, my lord Henry? Against all God's laws? Can a realm prosper when such as this is practised openly by rulers?"

"Do not ask me, young man - since none others ever do! What is evil? Is there such a thing as evil? Or are there but offences to others, inconveniences, inexpediencies and the behaviour of others contrary to one's own?"

"There is evil!" the boy said, with certainty. "Is not disorder evil? Untruth? Worst of all, cruelty, unkindness, man's inhumanity to others. So our lady-mother taught us — and she
knew.''

"Ah, the good and clever Margaret! Perhaps not all of us had your . . . advantages, lad. And yet —did not His Highness your brother, here, act with scant kindness towards your uncle, as I heard? King Donald. I heard, even in far Normandy, that when he defeated him in battle, he put out his two eyes and sent him to his kitchens to act as the scullion. For the rest of his life. Was that evil? Or was it . . . justice?"

It was the youth's turn to remain silent. He had wept one sleepless night when he had heard of that dire deed of his brother, three years before. He could by no means defend it.