Knight's Honor (11 page)

At last Hereford sighed, but when he turned to Evesham his most mischievous smile curled his lips and lit his eyes. "Well, that will teach me in the future to try to save my friends from themselves. If I had held my tongue, perhaps you would have seen how the straws lay in the wind and asked for your freedom. Now you will be constrained by your overweening pride to cling to me. Let us hope—since you have become so eager to speak in old saws—that your pride goeth not before my fall."

Painscastle, the home of the Earl of Gaunt and his son, Lord Radnor, had always given Hereford a most uneasy feeling. It was a hard, ugly keep, old and scarred as its owner by hundreds of assaults, set high on a barren hill. In the early evening of winter it looked colder and more desolate than ever, the cleared, untilled slopes before it a sad contrast to the neat village that clustered at the foot of the hill. Hereford marveled anew, passing through that village, at the relative fearlessness and content of the serfs on Gaunt's land. He knew they were well guarded and well treated because Gaunt had a crazy theory that satisfied and fearless men worked harder.

Hereford shrugged and dismissed the problem; his own serfs were reasonably well off because he was a good-humored man, just and not grasping, but he was not going to make a fetish of caring for those animals, as if they were his children, as Gaunt did. It was true, Hereford thought, that he preferred his serfs to be comfortable and not starving, but that was because he valued his own comfort. Gaunt and Radnor, on the other hand, never seemed to know whether they were comfortable or not, and part of the reason Hereford disliked visiting them was that they also did not care whether their guests were comfortable or not. Painscastle was as barren and ugly within as without.

When he was across the drawbridge and inside the bailey, Hereford received several minor shocks. The first was the excellent order of the bailey, the outhouses and cooking areas in that courtyard between the inner and outer walls of the keep clean and in perfect repair, the clear space free of refuse and scavenging animals. Hereford heard the animals, but they were either confined to pens or kept out of the portion of the bailey most often used by those who lived in the castle. The second was that he was greeted not by Gaunt or Radnor but by a sandy-haired, middle-aged man of pleasant countenance and graceful manners who looked only very vaguely familiar.

"I do not suppose you recall me, Lord Hereford, but I am Harry Beaufort. Please come in and warm yourself. This is terrible weather we are having. I do not remember such a bitter winter in my whole life."

Hereford dismounted stiffly, feeling for the ground with caution because his feet were so cold they were numb. He took Sir Harry's proffered arm gladly. "Has Radnor been delayed again?"

"No, my lord, we arrived yesterday, which is why I am so busy offering you sympathy. I too was nearly frozen."

Hereford was just about to ask where the men of the keep were when he entered the great hall and stood stock-still, speechless. The last time he had seen the great hall at Painscastle it had been a shambles. Rats had fought the dogs and cats for the refuse on the floor; the fire was choked in its own ash; light was supplied by smoking, resinous torches, so ill-made that they stank and caused the eyes to smart. Surely this place was not the same.

The rushes on the floor looked almost fresh and gave off their own faint sweet scent. With this odor was mingled not the usual spice odors but lavender; Hereford had a swift memory of the fact that Lord Radnor's young bride loved lavender, her clothing and hair being permeated with that scent. Two lymers, Radnor's special pets, nosed through the rushes for bones and stale bread, but they were the only animals present, both cats and rats were gone. The fires were clear red and the torches clear yellow, both giving light and heat without smoke or soot.

"Will you come and sit down here, Lord Hereford," Beaufort said, touching his arm and leading the way through the huge, high-raftered room. "Lord Gaunt will not go and sit in Lady Leah's solar. He says he is too old to be coddled and that men do not belong in the women's quarters, so she arranged this part of the room for him. At first he pretended to be angry and would not sit here, but she rules him now as easily as the other."

There could be no doubt that a woman had arranged that part of the hall. The rushes were swept back and held by thin, shaven logs so that a rug, as fine as those in Hereford's own room, could be spread before the hearth. Facing each other at an angle away from the fire were two well-carved chairs cushioned in dark crimson. The low-backed one was pushed away from an embroidery frame as if a woman had leapt to her feet in haste, but Beaufort invited Hereford to take the high-backed chair with a gesture and sat in Leah's chair himself.

"I am grateful for your kind welcome, Beaufort, but where are Lord Gaunt and Lord Radnor?"

"The Earl has gone to a nearby village to sit in judgment on some local disputes. Lord Radnor is here."

"Here? Where? Am I not a sufficiently important guest to have the lord of the manor welcome me?"

Beaufort laughed easily. "You are most eagerly looked for, my lord, but nothing is as important as that." He glanced upward in the direction of the women's rooms in a manner that could not be mistaken, and Hereford could not avoid laughing too. His further comment was interrupted by a low voice from the stair entrance.

"Roger! I am glad at heart to see you."

Hereford looked toward the giant of a man who had paused to speak before he limped forward painfully again. The dark eyes smiled under lids heavy now with sensuality and the lips were softer than Hereford remembered them, the whole face smooth with satiety. Only the limp and the two scars, one carving a cheek from brow to lip, the other a deep groove across the forehead, were completely the same. Even Lord Radnor's manner of dressing had changed. The old homespun gown that Hereford remembered so well had been replaced by a magnificent crimson velvet affair, embroidered and bejeweled. Hereford was hurt with the sense of loss that any change, even for the better, in a dear, familiar object brings.

"For God's sake, do you do nothing but lie with that woman day and night?"

Lord Radnor stopped again and opened his eyes wide, too lulled with his physical satisfaction to take offense. "Ah, Roger, but I am newly returned to a pleasure ever new." He came forward again as quickly as he could and enveloped the slighter man in a bear hug which would have crushed Hereford's ribs had they been crushable. "Why missay me when you have laid plans to furnish yourself with the same provisions? Never mind, Roger, you may be as cross as you like after a ride like that. I love you in spite of yourself."

"Curse you," Hereford replied, laughing, "you have broken every bone in my body. How many times do I have to tell you that you are too big for playful affection."

"Ay, I see I have damaged your fair frailty. By my faith, Roger, you are beautiful. I forget every time until I see you again. Mayhap I should tell Leah to stay above. The shock of a face like yours after close contact with mine might be too much for her."

Hereford blushed faintly. He was accustomed to compliments from women, and men like Gloucester, but when they came from Radnor he was slightly embarrassed. "Still trying to veil your wife, I see. You have not changed a mil's worth for all your grand looks nor for living in this grand manner."

"That is Leah's work. It matters little enough to me how I look or live. It is good to see you again, Roger. I have missed you. Life has been so dull since I have not had to pull you out of scrapes that I have been reduced to chasing the Norse up in Scotland." Beaufort had quietly effaced himself and Lord Radnor took the vacated chair. "Setting our jests aside, however, my father tells me that you have accepted Gloucester's proposal."

"Yes."

Radnor lifted his head and frowned slightly. "What is it, Roger? You sound—not cold and tired—as if you were not satisfied or happy."

"I do not know," Hereford said, turning away. "I do not know. I only know my heart is as cold and heavy in my breast as a lump of iron."

"Why? I thought to see you bursting with excitement and enthusiasm. If you have no lust for this task, I am sorry. It was I who proposed your right to it above all others. I did not mean to do you an ill turn, Roger. I thought I was urging what you yourself would desire."

"You were right. When your father first mentioned the matter I was—I was beside myself with joy, but as I thought of it …"

"What mislikes you in it? Nothing is settled yet. Indeed, that is why my father asked you to come, so that we might set our minds to work together. If there is something you wish amended, speak out."

"I have done nothing but think of it. A hundred times, a thousand, I have gone over and over the plan of action I will propose. Nothing is wrong. To me it seems that it cannot fail if we all do our parts, yet …"

Radnor studied his friend with knitted brows, his large hands, their even brown marred by the white scars of many battles, picking restlessly at the jewels of his robe. "Could it be other matters, Roger?" he asked a little hesitantly, "Elizabeth—"

"Why does everyone pick on Elizabeth? May I not be distressed for any other cause?" Hereford burst out furiously. "Is your woman alone perfect?"

"Gently, gently. I like Elizabeth Chester well, and you know it. I do not do her injustice because she would not suit me. Every man desires a different kind of woman. I only seek to know why you are uneasy."

"If I could put my hand on the hurt, I could salve it myself." Hereford was on his feet, so tormented with frustration at this inexplicable and totally new sense of futility that he could have screamed. "I tell you, I do not know. I only know that all will come to naught. Men will die and crops will burn and keeps will fall, and all for nothing—nothing."

Lord Radnor's face had been darkening steadily, not with contempt or rage but as if a feeling he had long suppressed was gaining ground. He said nothing, but his hand went up to finger the scar by his mouth. Hereford, breathing as if he had been running, played nervously with the bright threads of the material on the embroidery frame.

"Don't mess Leah's work, Roger," Radnor said absently, his mind plainly elsewhere, and then as Hereford took no notice he spoke urgently. "You have sworn no oath to do this thing. Do not. Tell my father you want none of it. Marry Elizabeth and sit on you lands and breed children. Do not drive yourself to what you have no stomach for."

Hereford dropped the yarn which he had now tangled hopelessly and turned slowly. "Are you making a jest of me?"

"You know I am not. I should have kept my tongue between my teeth. Half I believed you would welcome the chance, it is true, but half I urged you upon the others for selfish reasons. Among them, they were driving me mad, all of the pressing me to undertake what I have passed on to you. They would not believe, even my own father who taught me this very thing, that since I have done homage to Stephen I would not break that oath and carry arms against him. Also—" Radnor shut his mouth suddenly and set his jaw.

"So you feel it too," Hereford said softly. "What is it? In the name of the Merciful Mother of Christ, tell me, what is it?"

Radnor shook his head and looked down at his hands. "It is different for every man. Even if I could tell you what specters I fear, it is not needful that yours be the same. You must seek out your own back places and cast light into them."

Distracted momentarily from his own problems, Hereford looked with undisguised surprise at his friend. "Are you afraid of things too, Cain? I never believed you to fear anything on earth or in heaven. I have known you so many years; I have never heard you speak of fear before or seen you look afraid."

"It is not something one speaks of ordinarily." He smiled sadly. "There are few men to whom one can speak of such things at all. They think you soft or a coward or a fool."

"Is it not so?"

"Is it? Am I a coward or a fool? A little soft I am, perhaps, but I cannot think that so great a fault. And you—do not eat me, Roger, but you are one of the most fearful men I ever knew."

Hereford paled and put out a hand as if to stop the older man, then let it drop. "How have I given myself away? Nay, do not answer, I do not wish to hear. You are not any of those things and I do not believe you. You speak only to comfort me. You were ever one to see what is in men's hearts and ever kind to me." He paused and added bitterly, "Of what are you afraid? You cannot even think of a thing to fear, so you name nothing. These are but words."

"I am afraid of everything," Radnor replied, his mouth suddenly gone hard and ugly as Hereford remembered it in the past. "My father is old, soon he will die and I will be left to decide what is best for my people. I am afraid of that burden. I am afraid to die myself, leaving him so old, my son so young, and my wife so rich. Ay, look away. A man's insides are not a pretty sight, but you asked to hear and hear you will. I am even afraid of the pain of wounds. I can bear it with patience from long schooling, but if you think I am not afraid—and that every man is not afraid, just as you are—you are the fool, not I. I will tell you something more, Hereford, that will make you look aghast. I am even afraid to lie with my wife. Oh, I cannot help it, a fire of desire for her rages so in my blood—" The dark eyes showed red and angry. "But even that pleasure is spoiled by fear. I am so afraid that she will begin to breed again that I am sick with it. Have you ever seen a woman in childbirth, Hereford? A woman—that is a jest, she was but a child herself. They made me hold her. It is more than a year past and I still—" He rose so suddenly that he overturned the chair and made for the doorway that led out on the battlements.

"Let me go," he cried as Hereford started to follow. "I have ripped myself open for love of you. I can bear no more."

The Earl of Hereford rolled his wine goblet between his hands and looked sidelong at Lord Radnor, who was sunk into the chair beside him. The sullen expression on the dark face did not invite conversation, and for the moment Hereford too was satisfied to be silent. He understood well the flash of affection and generosity that could make a man open his heart for another and also the resentment against the object for whom the gesture had been made that followed. They were seated at the table, a regular meal having been served instead of the usual light supper of cold meat or cheese, bread, and wine because Hereford had missed dinner while traveling. Just then he was free of the depression which had plagued him recently because his mind was so filled with the host of new ideas he had received.