Longsword (24 page)

Lord Henry's eyes glittered, for he was not accustomed to receiving a challenge on his home ground. In spite of years of self-discipline his first reaction was a violent one. But he could not order his daughter to be taken out and whipped in the middle of the games, and so he turned to Joan and was courteous, and smiled down at the contestants, who looked up so eagerly to catch his eye, waiting for a word of praise. And beneath his smile his brain began to work on the problems propounded by Beata.

But Beata took Joan's seat a little way along, where she could look across the contestants below to where a man in a hood, with whitened eyebrows and moustache, stood a head taller than the retainers around him, and watched her, and the contestants, and her … and her. …

It was as if something had burst into flame inside her. She thought she could not bear the pain of seeing him and knowing there were only two more days … and on the second of those she would be turned into a thing of black and ugly poverty … and yet, although she knew it was folly that he should have come, she was glad and glowing with beauty and consciousness of his love, she leaned over to hand the prize to the winner of the single-stick contest. And the winner, poor fool, thinking the smile and the radiance for him, was so struck out of his wits that he could not even mumble his thanks, but had to be dragged away with his chin on his shoulder, still looking back at her.

Presently Lord Henry beckoned Crispin to take his place and withdrew to a recess in a window nearby, where he might still oversee the company, but also talk in some degree of privacy with whomsoever it pleased him to summon to his side. As he settled himself Telfer and Varons came discreetly up, and behind them, though in more hesitant fashion, came young Master Thomas.

“I am displeased with you, Telfer … and you too, Varons,” said Lord Henry, still smiling, but allowing his eyes to grow chill. “What an impossible position you have placed me in, allowing a rogue like Rocca to force my hand! The man came whining to me before church this morning, complaining that you have withheld Master William's effects from him, against my orders.”

Now Telfer and Varons had met that morning with the Lady Beata, while the better part of the company were in chapel, and they were well informed on the matter.

Telfer lifted his arm, to show that he had an extra bunch of keys on his belt. “It was not Master William's effects Rocca wanted, but the keys to the chest in which the accounts are kept. Master William thought they would be less misused in my hands than in Rocca's.”

“Ha! Rocca has cheated me? With my son's approval?”

“Your son now realises how hasty he was in putting Rocca forward for the position of bailiff. If you were to dismiss Rocca and set in hand an investigation into his accounts, I believe Crispin would be extremely relieved. As to Rocca's villainy, Master William believed that if a search were to be made of Rocca's house, papers might be discovered which would make all clear. More, if Rocca were to be detained here for questioning, the peasants would lose their fear of him, and talk freely. At the moment he has power of life and death over them, and they will not speak.”

“Powers of life and death? Rocca? Who says so?”

“Master William made a memorandum on the subject, which he entrusted to Thomas the Clerk. If you will cast your eye over it?”

“You believe it?” Telfer nodded. Lord Henry expelled his breath with some force. His smile had vanished, and his fingertips drummed, lightly, on the arm of his chair. He said, “I am indeed in an impossible position! Everything that you told me last night, everything that I see around me, bears out your statement that I owe much to Gervase Escot, and yet … my hands are tied!”

Telfer exchanged glances with Varons. Telfer said. “The man was wrongfully convicted.”

“How can we be sure of that?”

Telfer paused. “You looked into his face last night, my lord. You had already given the order for his arrest to Rocca. Once you have made a decision, you rarely have doubts, and yet it seems you have doubts this time. …”

“Why should I have doubts?”

“Because of what you saw in Gervase Escot's face. You saw integrity, my lord. As we did. As Hamo did. You know now that Gervase Escot was not guilty of stealing his uncle's ring. You cannot send him back to Ware in chains, to be branded, imprisoned and perhaps murdered by his enemy.”

“The man should have left Malling before I returned. I could not ignore the presence of a fugitive from justice, once I had been officially informed of it.”

“Let him go now, then … quietly. Let him be given means to escape. Varons will see to it. You need know nothing of it, and can make a great show of anger when it is eventually discovered that the man has gone.”

Lord Henry sank back into his chair. “When we were both young, Telfer, you and I … everything seemed so clear-cut … right and wrong … good and evil. We thought it strange that a man should find it difficult to choose, when morality and self-interest conflicted. Now I am older and they say I am a wise man … yet I find it very difficult to choose. Let the matter rest as it is for the moment. The man cannot run away now. Perhaps I will question him sometime in the New Year, when Sir Bertrand is safely wed to Elaine. In the meantime, I forbid all mention of the subject. No, not another word!”

“My lord! Uncle!” It was young Jaclin, bowing before them, awkward and nervous. “Uncle, a boon! You have been pleased to dub me a knight, and indeed I am grateful, but I heard that Master William was arrested last night and sent to the dungeons … my lord, he is no rogue, and has been of much service to me. I wanted him to watch me in the lists. I thought, even, that he might act as my squire.”

“That is enough!” said Lord Henry. “My mind is made up! Forget him, as I intend to do. …”

“My lord! Father!” Crispin hastened up even as Lord Henry still frowned at Jaclin. “A word with you, Father … in private. …”

“What, sirrah?” said Lord Henry, his smile a thing of the past. “Is this my disobedient son, who has foisted a rogue and a scoundrel on me? Peace, sirrah! To your duty, sirrah! I will have none of your selfish whining! Go sit beside your lady wife, and show that you love her well.”

“Father, it is not possible!”

“Silence!”

And there was silence. Lord Henry had not even raised his voice, but his guests, applauding the last of the contestants, were aware that something was amiss, and began to look round, and to mutter amongst themselves.

Lord Henry beckoned to the Clerk of the Lists, who was hovering nearby. “Is the ground fit for us to hold the mock battle?”

“My gracious lord, I fear not. However, plans have been made against this contingency, and if my gracious lord would care to lead guests out to the impromptu tiltyard, we could hold the procession of noble knights shortly, and then. …”

“I will challenge all comers to tilt against me!” cried Sir Bertrand, coming up behind them. He was yawning, stretching, loosening his muscles at the prospect of action. “I'll declare my Lady Elaine the fairest Queen of Beauty that ever was, and so on and so forth. Then you may come at me one at a time, or all together … what you will!” And he laughed, showing all his teeth.

Crispin cast him a look of dislike. “I challenge you here and now, on behalf of my sister Beata. And I will strip you of your armour and your horse by nightfall. Aye, and belabour your carcase till you cry for mercy!”

“Crispin!” said Lord Henry in warning tone. His son started, changed colour, and bit his lip.

“Aye, well …!” said Sir Bertrand, laughing. “And if the Lady Beata had been offered me, in place of her sister Elaiine, I doubt not I would fight alongside you. There's a maid meet for mating. …” He chuckled, with meaning. “She wears the look of a woman who knows her lover's eyes are upon her. Which of our company. think you, does she favour?”

Crispin's hand was on the hilt of his sword, and the scar on his cheek burned. “You son of a …!”

“Enough!” said Lord Henry, and once again Crispin was checked. “More than enough, Sir Bertrand. My daughter Beata is destined for the church, and the only lover she has ever had, or ever will have, is our Lord Jesus Christ.”

“Then my jest was ill-timed indeed,” said Sir Bertrand. But his eyes, those bold, large eyes of his, slid round Crispin to where Beata was standing with one hand up to her curls, laughing and causing a group of young men to join in her laughter. And Sir Bertrand's tongue came out, and touched his upper lip, and Crispin made a sound deep in his throat … and Varons moved to stand directly behind Crispin.

Lord Henry leaned back in his chair, watching them all beneath heavy lids, until Crispin took his hand from his sword and, tapping Jaclin on the shoulder, strode away to arm himself.

“Varons, Telfer!” The two men drew near Lord Henry. “Sir Bertrand, though uncouth, is no fool where women are concerned. Does my daughter Beata have a lover?” There was no reply. Lord Henry's hand came down lightly, caressingly, on the arm of his chair, and began to stroke it. The threat of violence hung in the air, all the more telling for being so understated.

“One who loves her; yes,” said Telfer. “A lover? Not in the sense that Sir Bertrand intended.”

The solid white hand stilled on the arm of the chair; only the forefinger twitched, twice. “There is a name on the tip of my tongue,” said Lord Henry. “Is it he, indeed? Or some other …?”

“My lord,” said Varons, “he is a man of honour, and she understands her duty. You have not been betrayed, my oath on it.”

The white hand closed convulsively around the arm of the chair. The black eyes watched Beata. “So … she does not know he has been arrested? She cannot, or she would not behave like that. It cannot go deep with her … I must say, I am relieved.” He permitted himself a chuckle. “She is grown so much, she might have given me trouble, if she but knew. …”

Varons met Telfer's eyes over Lord Henry's head. Telfer shook his head. This was no time to disillusion Lord Henry.

The Clerk of the Lists came hurrying up, followed by the two heralds. The musicians had now formed themselves into a group by the door, and had struck up a martial tune.

“My lord,” said the Clerk, bowing low and walking backwards as Lord Henry proceeded to lead his guests out of the hall. “The challenges … so many! My Lord Crispin and Sir Bertrand so very eager to fight each other! Might I suggest that we revert to the Arthurian method of matching knight against knight in single combat? The least experienced being given their moment of glory first, and then building up to a bout between the finest, the most illustrious … oh, my lord! The vigour of your son, the prowess of Sir Bertrand …!” The little man kissed his fingertips, and nearly fell over a hovering page in his enthusiasm. “Entirely at your discretion, of course, my lord … but perhaps four pairs of knights this afternoon, and the same again tomorrow? First they must break three lances against each other, and then … light permitting … and if they so wish … a second bout on foot, with swords? Only the best of the knights will wish to descend to fighting on foot, but … the vote among the ladies to say which knight deserves the golden wreaths … though perhaps, tactfully, one each to Lord Crispin and Sir Bertrand?”

Thus talking, the Clerk led the procession out through the courtyard, and along to where the tithe barn had been made ready for them, with braziers placed at intervals along the sides to take the chill off the air, and scarlet cloths hanging over the rail of the balcony. There were bench seats for the ladies in front, and standing room behind for those of the gentry who did not care to risk themselves in the arena. And below the balcony crowded a couple of hundred poor folk, and many not so poor, who had come from far and wide to see the gentry disport themselves. The light was not as good as on a summer's day, but the great iron rings swung high above the Lists, shedding the glow of a myriad candles upon the ground below. Lord Henry looked round him, long and hard, and Telfer knew that his master would not have missed any of the alterations that had been made and that, though he barely smiled, he was pleased with all that had been done.

“Keep my son and Sir Bertrand apart as long as you can,” he said to the Clerk of the Lists. “Match Sir Jaclin with the other new-made knight, and the rest as the heralds suggest.”

Lord Henry beckoned his daughters to sit one on either side of him, and saw that all his other guests were appropriately settled. “Elaine, my dear; you are not smiling. Yet this is a joyful occasion, is it not?”

“Yes, Father,” said Elaine. She turned her head to where the head of the knights' procession was coming into the barn, and smiled.

“Beata, my dear,” said her father. “You smile too much. Remember your destiny lies in the arms of no earthly man. …”

“And if any man question my smiling,” she replied, “you must say it is with joy at what is to befall me. What else?” And she laughed in her father's face.

Lord Henry's eyelids drooped, and he thought: assuredly she has no idea her lover is in the dungeons … or perhaps she did not care for him deeply? No, this change in her is too great to be accounted for in any other way. Sir Bertrand spoke truly; she looks as a woman does who is aware of being admired … as her mother used to do when I first went courting her. So who is the man? Suppose it is not Escot; then who?

His eye passed over the procession of mounted men as they made their way before him, displaying their horses, with plumes and gilding on their harnesses, and rich cloths covering their flanks. The knights rode in the light armour intended for the tourney, covered with silken surcoats in brilliant colours, with pennants fixed to their lances, and shields displaying heraldic devices. Sir Bertrand and Crispin rode side by side at the head of the procession, but it seemed they found such proximity annoying, for first Crispin edged in front of Sir Bertrand, and then Sir Bertrand made a spurt to catch up and overtake Crispin. Thus they came to the centre of the balcony, immediately under the place where Beata and her sister sat. Sir Bertrand raised his lance high in the air, and in a resonant voice cried out that the Lady Elaine was the Queen of Beauty, and begged that she give him some favour to wear on her behalf. Elaine rose and, taking a knot of ribbons from the shoulder of her gown, dropped it into his waiting hands. She smiled and smiled, but her fingers were unsteady, so that she fumbled with the ribbons, and dropped them so clumsily that Sir Bertrand had to lunge forward to catch them. Not so Beata. She jumped up, laughing, as Crispin cried her name aloud. The knot of ribbons was off, and thrown into his hand with a flamboyant gesture.