Longsword (16 page)

“Never!” cried Beata, laughing yet angry. “What a ridiculous … hand me my shoes …!”

He went on one knee to fit them on, as she sat on the bed. “It is a sight better, I can assure you, than the ode in praise of Chastity which I had been trying to compose for you to speak.”

“Chastity?” His hands were warm about her ankles. They both fell silent. He sat back on his heels, and stroked his beard. She stood up, pulled her dress over her head, and fastened it at the neck.

“Has Crispin gone mad?”

“With anxiety, I believe. He receives directives from your father daily, and these are filled with such contradictory instructions that he knows not how to manage. The work on the stands in the tiltyard overlooking the lists has been held up by bad weather, and if they are not finished, then how can we stage a tourney? The bishop writes one week that he will certainly be here, and the next that he will assuredly not be here. Some abbot or other has now been invited, as stop-gap and the abbess of the convent to which you are bound. The numbers of guests fluctuate from day to day, but usually in an upwards direction. All this would be as nothing to Cripsin, of course, if he were not so anxious about his wife. I believe he has come to hate the very sight of her; yet his is a kindly nature at bottom, and therefore he takes refuge from his misery in striking out at any who cross his will.”

“At you?”

“Not as yet, but that will come, no doubt. Rocca is ever at your brother's elbow. Crispin has grown to hate Rocca, and yet cannot be rid of the man. Like Joan, in a way. He has a talent for tying himself to people he does not really like. Rocca opposes me in everything, on principle, which is very wearing. I would keep out of the internal affairs of the castle if I could, but Telfer has begged me to help him, and I cannot refuse.”

“Besides, it is a challenge to your sense of order, is it not?”

“You are right.” He smiled. “Yes. … I think I would quite enjoy it, if it were not for having to watch Rocca at every turn. You see, if I have a finger in this pie, and it pleases Lord Henry, then Rocca will be at a disadvantage when it comes to a confrontation between us over the Michaelmas dues. He knows very well that if he does not destroy me first, I will destroy him in time.”

Lacking a comb, she ran her fingers through her curls. “What do you want me to do?”

He lifted his hands and let them fall. “Help us, all of us. We are all overtired, trying to get everything ready in time. Some trifling incident may spark Crispin off again – set yourself close to him, listen to him, and when he is in a receptive mood, reason with him. You are needed everywhere. …”

“My lady!” The nurse came in, anxious-eyed, “you are never up and dressed! You cannot mean to go out!”

“Not before time, it appears,” said Beata. “Could you not have told me that all was not well in the castle?”

“If I had thought you could mend matters. …”

“I do not know whether I can or no,” said Beata. “But of a certainty, I must try.”

Gervase went straight from the infirmary to the armoury, where Crispin was inspecting the armour he planned to wear in the tourney. This would not be the heavy armour of the battlefield, but was lighter, specially made for such purposes. Lances and swords would be prepared with blunt tips, and no heavy maces allowed.

Crispin was absorbed in his choice, so Gervase leaned against the wall and allowed his thoughts to wander. He was tired. He had been up all night, trying to devise a solution to the seemingly impossible problem of how to hold the tourney if the weather continued inclement. Thomas the clerk came up, with a bundle of newly-arrived letters which ought to have been attended to that morning, but which Crispin had brushed aside as being of no importance. A self-important little man had been sent down from London by Lord Henry to act as Clerk of the Lists, and Crispin was more anxious to confer with him than to deal with business matters.

Thomas nudged Gervase. Crispin was asking for him. Perhaps they could get some work done now … but no, Crispin was merely seeking confirmation that his armour would be the best, the most ornate, the most highly gilded to appear in the tourney. Three helmets had been laid out for his inspection. Crispin ran his fingers over the chasing on the helm before him. A scarlet ostrich-feather plume floated from the crest, which was wrought in the semblance of a man's hand. Gervase nodded and smiled, but his own eyes went to an unadorned helm which Crispin had pushed aside. Now there was a helm made for fighting, instead of display; that helm had lines that would deflect a sword-blade, instead of catching it in their intricacies … It was a thing of beauty, to Gervase, that plain helm, because it was so well designed for its purpose.

Crispin had talked himself into a sunny mood. Perhaps now would be a good time to speak with him about the ostler condemned to lose his sight … the poor lad's father and mother had been waiting to plead his case since dawn yesterday, and … but no! A page had come with a request for an audience from the Lady Joan, and at once Crispin's good humour was gone. He culled the page from his path. bidding them not to trouble him with that woman any more. So. Now Crispin decided to go to the stables, to inspect the horse he planned to ride in the tourney, and the clerks would not be required. Gervase bade Thomas snatch an hour's sleep, and went to take another look at the tiltyard.

“Master William!” The tone of Gerald's voice was nicely poised between condescension and entreaty. “Master William, one moment of your time. I believe you taught young Jaclin a trick or two …?” Gervase bowed. For the last week he had gone daily to the tiltyard or the armoury at the time appointed by Jaclin, only to be kept waiting for an hour and then dismissed, or told to watch while Jaclin beat a number of stable-lads, untrained in such work, at the quarter-staff. It had not been an edifying experience.

“I wish. …” Gerald reddened. “That is, Captain Varons suggested … I have difficulty in holding my lance steady, and this will be my first tourney.”

Gervase stifled a yawn. What next would be required of him? As Crispin's secretary, he could refuse. Yet he was sorry for the lad.

“1 have watched you tilt,” Gervase told him. “You take your lance out of its rest just before impact. Therefore you lose control.”

“It is so hard … will you not practise with me? Jaclin says he has no further need of you … tomorrow at dawn?”

Gervase sighed. Then he thought, perhaps if I get a good night's sleep tonight, I might be able to do it. He said, “If my duties permit, and time allows, I will certainly be there. It is certainly difficult to keep up that arm-breaking posture up to and beyond the moment of impact. There is one way. You must want to kill your opponent. If you think only of that, you will hold the lance steady enough.”

Gerald started. How had Gervase known that Gerald hated Crispin? Gerald was out of his depth in such a situation. He turned on his heel and walked away, stiff-legged. Gervase shook his tired head to clear it, and went out into the rain.

“I did not mean it!” wept Elaine, her head buried in Beata's lap. “I am fond of Gerald, and when Crispin said … what he said … oh, Beata! I am not a … what he called me! And I went to the infirmary to see if you were well enough to talk to me, and Nurse said you were asleep, so I went along to the armoury, because I thought Jaclin might be there, or Master William, maybe; but they weren't and I was leaning against the table to cry in peace and one of the ostlers asked me what was the matter, and I suppose I did hold onto his arm, because he was so big and comforting … and then Crispin came in with everyone, and he said the man must be flogged … and I went on my knees and said I supposed it was my fault, and that I'd only let him comfort me because he had such nice eyes, and then Crispin said. …

“Hush, dear!” Beata smoothed her sister's hair. “We will try to save the man's eyes. …”

“Father Anthony says it is all my fault because I am so vain, and display myself like the Whore of Babylon! But I'm not a Jezebel, truly I am not!”

“No, you are not.” Yet Beata sighed.

Elaine sat up, eyes still brimming with tears. “Don't you believe me?”

“I don't think you are aware of the damage you do, that's all.”

“Crispin said I ought to be whipped, but instead he sent me to Father Anthony to be scolded … I wasn't very sympathetic when Father Anthony scolded you, was I? The things he said he made me feel so sinful!”

“Not sinful, dearest. Thoughtless, perhaps.”

“He said I led men into sin, by the way I behaved. That isn't true, is it?”

Beata gave a sad little laugh. “I don't think I know enough about it to judge. Perhaps it would have been better if you had been married at sixteen.”

“Y-yes. Though I wouldn't have been Queen of Beauty then, would I? I would have been bearing children, one a year … ugh! Or dying in childbirth … I wish … I wish I need never get married. …”

“You are not still afraid of your bold Sir Bertrand, are you? Why, he is sure to be Champion of the tourney at Christmas, and at your feet. …”

“Father Anthony says that the masque must be completely rewritten. He says Master William is no poet.”

“Would you have expected him to be?” And Beata smiled.

Elaine sighed, pushing back her hair, and drying her eyes. “We are lucky to have him, aren't we?”

“Father Anthony?”

“I meant Master William. He is so kind. Do you know, he always makes me stand at the back when we distribute alms so that my dress does not get spattered with mud … oh, this rain … will it never stop? Crispin says Father is to send me some gold tissue to make up into a gown for my wedding, but the roads are going to be impassable if the weather does not improve soon. You are to have one exactly the same, of course. If the material doesn't come in time, I have ordered them to make up another blue gown for you, like the one I wore at the last tourney … with the silver cloth undergown. It is here, half-made, somewhere … also I have been thinking how much the nun's wimple and veil will suit you … so helpful to disguise a sagging neck as you grow older.” She stopped and put her hand to her head. “You think I'm heartless, don't you? Well, I'm not. Only I must think about something else quickly, or go mad!”

“I hate wearing things on my head,” said Beata, following Elaine's lead. “Yet I dare say I shall grow accustomed to the cap and coif in time.”

“It's not a cap, dearest … why are you smiling like that? And where are you going?”

“I'm going to see Joan.”

“You won't please Crispin by paying attention to her, No-one goes near her, now. He swears he doesn't wish to see her, ever again, only of course he will have to. For one thing, who else would receive the guests at Christmas? Crispin said I should do it, but I really couldn't.” She stood, finger tapping cheek, looking around her. “1 know I saw that gown last night. …”

“I hope to persuade her to divorce Crispin. If he returns her dowry, she may yet attract another husband. …”

“I doubt he'll wish to return her dowry. Rocca says Crispin needs her dowry, in order to pay ours. The cost of the tourney and all the entertainments at Christmas! Rocca says. …”

“Are you so friendly with the man that you repeat everything he says?”

“Why … no. Not exactly. He took the trouble to talk to me when everyone else was so busy, and you were sick. He asked me to help persuade Crispin to let Rocca raise a loan from the Jews. Only Crispin refused. I can't think why!”

“I can! I see one thing, and that is that Rocca will die a rich man!”

“I know you do not like him, but. …”

“Who says so?”

“He did. He told me it was a great sorrow to him, and that he wished he knew how he had come to offend you. I admit I don't care for his manner, but he is a useful man. He knows everything. I asked him to find out Master William's history for me. …”

Beata stifled a shriek, with both hands over her mouth. Elaine's lips began to tremble, and her eyes to brim. “Now what have I said?”

“Do you not know that Rocca is Master William's enemy, and would give anything to bring him down? Do you not know that Master William is the king-pin round whom this castle revolves, and that without him – do you really think the tourney would be ready in time, or anything done that ought to be done?”

“Well, I don't suppose he has anything to hide.”

“Everyone has something to hide,” said Beata, with a wry smile.

“It was you who hinted he had a mysterious past, in the first place!”

“I had done better to cut out my tongue.”

It was late in the afternoon, and Crispin had been led to his chair in the green solar by a mixture of persuasion and gentle bullying which had left Gervase weary even before they started on the letters.

With mechanical movements Gervase broke the seal on the latest letter from Lord Henry, who was still in London. He began to read it aloud. Crispin could read when he had to, but he was a poor scholar, and preferred to have his correspondence read aloud to him. Before Gervase could proceed beyond the greetings, Crispin interrupted him, with a request to go over the order of events at the tourney once more, so that the Clerk of the Lists could familiarise himself with them. And there came the Clerk, bowing to left and right as if he were visiting royalty.

Holding back a sigh, Gervase took the roll of parchment from the ever-helpful Thomas, spread it out on the table, and checked off the various items. This was the third programme he had prepared, and he was not anxious to alter the order again. The celebrations were to last over the two days before Christmas and Christmas Day itself. On the morning of the first two days there would be archery contests for the yeomanry, followed by bouts of singlestick, and certain local games of skill such as climbing greased poles and foot races. If necessary these could be held in the Great Hall. On the afternoon of the first day – weather permitting – there would be a procession of all the knights and squires in full armour, on horseback, past the Queen of Beauty and her sister, at which time the Queen of Beauty would give a knot of ribbons or some other favour from her dress to Sir Bertrand, to be worn on his helm. The Lady Beata would likewise award her brother Crispin a favour. The two knights would then pick sides, and there would be a mock battle, which it was tacitly assumed that Sir Bertrand's side would win. And then a feast, with dancing.