Gifts of the Queen (14 page)

'Take it as pledge of her good will,' he said, 'keep it as pledge of yours to her. And the message with it, for your mutual good, keep your husband safe at home.' Again he paused, as if debating what else to add.

'God have you in his keeping, Ann,' he said finally, 'although you will not accept my help. But think well of me.'

He bent to kiss my other hand. Then, rising to dust off his cloak, its Angevin crimsons and blues sadly stained and water splotched, he shook himself patiently as does a hound.

'Farewell, Lady Ann,' he said, and strode back to his horse. His men, who all this age had been waiting patiently, forced themselves awake, fell in step behind. I sat at the door for a long while watching the way he had gone, and pondered all that he had said, and left unsaid.

When I opened the little bag he had brought, a strange heavy ring lay in the velvet folds, too large for me, more like a man's signet ring, with a strange carved stone shot through with light. A gift then, after so many others bestowed. Why should she resent the use I made of them? A piece of parchment was wrapped around the ring. I puzzled over its lettering, the black flowing script too difficult for my faint understanding. No salutation, no name, just one line which, as I cannot read, would have defied my deciphering had not Sir Renier already told me it:
Keep your husband safe at home.

I cannot tell you if the writing was hers. (It might have been. There was a slant to the black letters that could have suited her flamboyant style, and I knew she could both read and write). But the message itself seemed to echo the same thoughts that since our coming to Sieux had ever been my chief concern. Surely it meant well for me, a simple message then, not a threat? But two things I also knew. One was that the queen had not a thought in her head that could be called simple; so what was said or written by her was but the surface of her mind. Beneath were many secrets and divers schemes which I, for one, had never had any inkling of. The second was, that despite Sir Renier's claim, I had little knowledge either of what my husband meant to do. You have seen how Raoul kept counsel with himself and how, even now, he hid himself and his thoughts. And I remembered too what had been my first impression of Raoul when we met, when, as a child, I was brought to Sedgemont on my father's death. Conflict there had been between us from the start, flaring hot, that he should have plans for my little estate, for Cambray, and never tell me what they were, that he should arrange a marriage, between me, as his ward, and the man I knew to be our most bitter foe. What now should be afoot, and I not know the truth? Too long I had led a sheltered life, I told myself, too long been immersed in my woman's world. I sat and stared at ring and message until darkness fell and all men slept. I did not sleep, but watched my child in his cradle beside the fire, my women in their straw beds, the wolfhound puppy that scratched and snorted as if chasing sheep. Where Lord Raoul was that night, where he went each day, what were
his
intentions, I had no idea. I did not know where Sir Renier rode and what he did. Nor who these conspirators were who gathered to wreck our hopes. Thus were we drawn into the world of the great, that their plots and schemes should rob us of our peace. I resolved, come morning's light, to hunt down the truth.

At daybreak then, the child bathed and fed, I kilted on my old gray skirt and went out to search for Lord Raoul. Privy to his secrets I was not. Today I meant to change that. Early as I was, the patrols had already gone. Lord Raoul had gone, too; my squires, mounting up, would have stopped for speech but their captain, bawling at them for tardiness, bid them ride on. Within the shelter of the great castle towers a fire was burning to keep the workmen warm as they struggled into their clothes. I had not come up to the castle since their work had begun and, at first, I was appalled at the litter they had made. Even those carefully heaped piles of stone that had caused us so many hours' work were scattered abroad. There was not one place that seemed free of refuse and dirt, between the scaffolding, apprentices leaped and swung as if they had been born in trees with tails. It has never failed to amaze me that, out of such chaos, they could build their clear and uncluttered designs.

'Save you, Lady Ann. You look for something, someone?' It was the master mason, riding up on his small white horse. He clambered off it as if climbing down a stair. Today he was dressed in his workman's clothes, a tunic cut off short to reveal his brawny arms and a kind of apron around his waist, into which were stuck his long-handled hammers and other tools. I had not seen him since he saved my life. I did not know what to say to him, but he was a kindly man as you know; he took the time to talk with me.

'If you would search for someone,' he said at last, 'climb up.' He gestured toward the scaffolding that edged the towers and gave me his hand, not gracefully as do knights, barely letting their fingers touch, but firmly, so to draw me on. As we moved from plank to plank, he paused to run his palm along the layers of stone, as if to feel they were true to line, as if to search out hidden flaws. I had a strange sensation as we climbed. For the first time, I think I realized what strength lay in those walls, so that, on brushing past, you sensed, like some great sleeping beast, the power that was crouched in them. Like some sleeping beast, they waited for a touch to send them rearing, flaring up. And as we rose higher, we could see the faint lines of the outer walls, not apparent from the ground, hugging the contours of the cliff, curling along its crest. When they were completed, they would enclose two courtyards, an outer and inner bailey, both with their own gate towers, and where the cliff stood steepest, the foundations of the new keep were already being dug. There was even a water diviner with his hazel rods, testing for water in the inner courtyard. I watched how the twigs twisted and leaped as he held them before him, walking to and fro.

'Aye,' Master Edward said, noticing my interest, 'there's water in plenty beneath this rock. And so I told Sir Renier.'

'You told him that?' I asked, dismayed.

'I only told him what he could see for himself,' he said evenly. 'We are not fools. I also told him that I once had heard in England such a castle cost more than six hundred pounds to build. Pounds English, that is,' he added, as if that made the figure more reasonable. 'I did not tell him, you understand, that within two years the castle was inhabitable. Let him think we lack for wells, that the two that were here were too fouled for use. And let him think we go as slowly as we can, so as not to spread alarm among those Norman lords. But remember yourself that the building season this summer has been long. We'll easily top our record of twelve feet of stone a year. And, since the foundations of the gate towers were not destroyed and we can use old stone at the topmost layer, we'll have you in them before the autumn rains fill our new wells.'

He paused for breath, went on more slowly, outlining his plans. Already you could see the difference where the new white stones stopped, the old gray ones had been added on. And when we reached the topmost layer, where masons were busy with plumb line and rule, I saw for the first time the true strength of Sieux. Although not built to a part of its height, on a clear day like this, it had command of the whole countryside. When it was complete, no army, no column of men, no single traveler, could move unseen across those grassy plains, from the distant hills to the river's sweep. A gateway then between north and south, and Sieux guarded it.

As if guessing my thoughts, the master mason said, 'Sieux was once the strongest castle in these parts. And this is a region known for castle building. The cost is great, but the work will be sound. I know my trade. I have worked in stone, both church and keep, from childhood, and what I learned, my father taught. And he, in turn, studied with the engineers, as they are called, who went from Anjou to the Holy Land when its Count, Fulk, fought on crusade. There were many secrets in Outremer, and castle building is but one of them. My father taught me how to build for strength, but from church records I have learned how to add comfort, too. Yet, Lady Ann, I dare say this: no castle is strong, however high its walls or deep its wells or thick its keep, unless the man who is lord of it makes of it what he should. This has been a hard homecoming for you. And a hard childbearing, God knows. And for Count Raoul bitter enough to have daunted a lesser man. You and your son will be a joy to him. He will need your comfort in the months ahead. Sir Renier is but the first to come visiting. They'll all be curious to see our work, those Norman lords, they'll soon come snooping around.' And he spat in contempt. 'But I, I and my men, we live to do you service, now and at your need.'

A kind man. Master Edward, and wise, diplomatic in his way as Sir Renier. But he too seemed to echo my fears. And the queen's warning ran in my head, so I could not ignore it.
Keep your husband safe.
How I longed too for that. But to keep Sieux safe, and us safe, Raoul would not wait for safety to come to him. If danger threatened, he would seek it out, not hide and trust it would pass him by as another man might. I knew him well, too well to hope he could change. And even Queen Eleanor had warned me once that such men cannot be tamed. He had sent an answer back to a king who would crush him if he could, and I to a queen who did not like to be disobeyed. Neither of us then had given ground, but danger certainly lay ahead.

'Well,' Master Edward said, as if I had spoken my thoughts aloud, 'lately I have seen Count Raoul with one of his men. They ride at dawn along the river banks . . .'

There was warning also in his voice. It too said clearly. Leave well alone.

I paid no heed. Barely stopping to bid him farewell, I hastened to the stable yards, had them saddle me a horse, although they cavilled at it, I being alone. I made them help me mount, then, spurring hard, I rode along the cliff to track Raoul down.

It had been so long since I had been out that the beauty of the day almost blinded me. Beneath the sun was an autumn chill that made you want to breathe in great gulps of air. At first there were plenty of people for company: workmen hurrying up and down the cliff, villagers gathering in reeds for thatch, cutting grass for one last foddering, and squires practicing in the tilting fields. I watched these for a while, not letting them see me for fear they would question me. Both Matt and Walter had improved, but especially Matt. Not once today did the weighted bag of sand swing round to unseat him as he rode at it. At another end of the great meadow, knights were exercising their chargers. Out they galloped, turned, and wheeled. These too are tricks you must learn if you mount a charge. But all for war and the glory of it, nothing suited for so fair a day.

I urged my own horse on. The river path wound in and out, the going slower where it was blocked with summer growth. Presently we left the familiar tracks and moved on alone, following the twists and bends of the lake. We brushed past a grove of withy bush, mounted a rise, and looked down upon the placid waters spread below. Soon, when cold weather came, the skies would darken with wild fowl, heading south, as Lord Raoul had once described. Here also today nothing stirred, only my horse and I, breasting through the undergrowth.

The noise was one, once heard, never forgot. It blinds the eyes, deafens ears, pounds in the blood, the sound of steel on steel singing like a lash. Two men were fighting at the water's edge. On foot alone, in the full sunlight they fought, the sandy verge about them scuffed and torn. One of the men I knew at once. Stripped to the waist, his flesh dripped sweat, shone gold, except where a great scar was curled like a whiplash itself from shoulder to waist along his right side. I knew his style of fighting too, the back-handed slash, the way he lunged with sword point (not many Normans like to stab) and the speed with which he turned and leaped. His opponent I did not know, then I thought I did. Dressed all in black with his back to me, he reminded me of another man, another time, and for a moment all went dark. I thought I stood in the great courtyard at Sedgemont, a year ago, and heard behind me, as I had heard it then, the mutter of watching men. I felt the cold wind blow, ice cold to bone, and saw again Lord Raoul fighting Guy of Maneth for my sake. I saw them drive themselves, two men met to be judged by God which told the truth.

If I but open my eyes, I thought . . . But my eyes were open and all was colorless, white like ice or snow or sand. The black figure of Maneth reared up, his sword blade glistening in the sun. Down it sliced. The snow covered ground at Raoul's feet splashed red. I thrust my hand into my mouth to stifle cry. Then sight and color and shape came back, and I knew where I was. True, it was Raoul who fought, but Guy of Maneth was dead, buried these many months, and the other man was one of Raoul's knights, Dillon by name, an old friend. They fought for exercise as companions do. All else was peaceful, their horses tethered in the shade, a hound or two sniffing in the reeds, Raoul's shirt slung upon a bush. And as I watched, he flung down his shield, that long triangular one a man can duck behind, and took up his sword in his right hand. Dillon did the same and, at a sign, both began to fight in earnest now. I had not heard of men fighting so, but I saw Raoul's intent. He set the pace, and being quick on his feet could often outreach his comrade. And once indeed I saw him hold back, as he had done for Maneth, to his own loss. But Dillon was as quick and there was one thing he could do which Raoul could not. And now I saw how Raoul forced himself to it, to raise his right arm above his head, to parry a stroke or sweep down from one. At each pass, I saw him urge Dillon to make the move that he in turn must make the counter one. Each time, defeated, he ducked under the blow or, at best, returned it awkwardly.

And once, when he turned round, I saw his face. That look made my spirit quail. He willed himself; it was his own weakness he fought.
I may be crippled, Ann. I do not know if this arm will heal.
This then was his defiance hurled against his enemies, this part of his hidden secrets. He stooped a moment, splashed a handful of water to his mouth. I remember how he used to move, to fight, a cat that leaped with muscled grace. He straightened, wiped his hands upon his sides, tensed, gave his war cry, that Viking shout, and launched himself once more with all his strength. Dillon's face was equally taut. He knew his lord's weakness like his own, must play to it, yet control his stroke. But now Raoul forced him to fight to defend himself. Unaware, I bit my underlip until the blood ran upon my chin. What if Raoul slipped or buckled beneath the blow, what if Dillon tried and could not turn the blade? Then Raoul leapt forward again. In my mind, I have seen him make that move a hundred times. Up came his right arm. 'Strike down,' he shouted. The other backed, swung up his black-covered arm. Down whistled Dillon's sword. Raoul caught it full upon his own; this time he did not duck or parry, but caught it full and thrust up, using all his shoulder's force, held it above his head, locked into place. You could see the veins stand out, the muscles tense. Then his arm bent. Dillon's sword continued its downward sweep; I saw the line of red start out.