Roselynde, page 12
“And where were your men?”
“I did not fear treachery, and there was none intended. Besides there is no need for such lessoning. Lady Alinor is only high-spirited. It is a game with her to make me angry and then to make me laugh. But she has high good sense also. It needs only to explain the case to her. Belike she will know better what to say to Lady Isobel than you or I.”
It was easier said than done, however, to explain the case to Alinor. Simon found that it was very difficult to speak to her for more than a few minutes at a time. The weather had turned cold and wet, as it often did at the end of July and the beginning of August, so no one rode out. They were not dinner partners in the huge Great Hall of the White Tower. Alinor sat with the king’s wards at a special table near the dais where the queen could keep an eye on her charges. It was impossible to talk during the entertainments furnished by minstrels and jugglers. Simon could manage to be close beside Alinor, but so could a dozen others and Simon did not wish to spread the news of William’s problem among the castlefolk.
Even later in the evenings, when the minstrels played dancing measures, Simon had no better success. He could and did dance with Alinor. They both enjoyed it greatly, but the intricate steps which separated them completely and brought them together at arm’s length were not conducive to private conversation. What was more, Simon never had a chance to lead Alinor away from the dancing to cool herself or take refreshment. No sooner did one dance end than half a dozen Court gallants were clustered like ants around a honey trap, pleading to dance the next measure with her. Simon was nearly reduced to cursing Alinor’s excellent health and strong young body. She was never tired.
It had been Simon’s intention to bring up the subject of William and Lady Isobel of Clare casually, as if seeing them in the same room had reminded him, but after three days of fruitless pursuit he gave up. He sought out Guillaume the page, who knew Alinor by sight and would not have to ask for her, thereby bringing his message to everyone’s attention, and sent him summon Alinor to the queen’s garden on a matter of business. Guillaume opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it. It was not his affair if Sir Simon wished to drown. It was not yet raining, but the skies were most ominous.
The weather was the least of Simon’s discomforts. He was not at all happy to have to broach the matter in this manner. If Alinor was drawn from some delightful pastime, she might take against the whole idea just to spite him. However, he dared delay no longer. He had heard that Richard was on the move and might soon be in England. Actually, Simon did a double disservice to Alinor’s heart and head. She was never spiteful, although she might be sharp tongued, and she was so bored with the “maiden” pastimes available that she would have welcomed a task as a washerwoman just to have something real to do.
Thus, she arrived so swiftly on the heels of his message that Simon was caught with his opening speech quite unprepared. He had expected Alinor to resent his summons, and the mildest of her ways of showing her resentment was to delay. Instead she looked happy and quite eager. She did not even make a caustic comment about the black clouds, which were hanging lower and lower each second.
“I am come, my lord. I hope there is no trouble?”
“No. No—er—trouble. At least, not with your men or lands.”
Alinor cocked her head to the side in a birdlike look of enquiry. That Simon had summoned her out into the garden in the teeth of a violent thunderstorm signified a need for privacy. Simon had said business, yet there was no business. Alinor had not missed his attempts to get her off by herself completely, but she had mischievously not helped him out of curiosity as to what he would do. It had surprised her a little that he had not lost his temper and simply dragged her apart from the crowd by force.
“I—er—will you not be seated?” Simon gestured toward a stone bench set in a sheltered corner. “I hope my message did not interrupt some pleasantry.”
The wind tore at Alinor’s wimple and she clutched at the trailing ends of her veil. “Simon,” she said, half smiling, but doubtfully, “what are you about? What is the cause of all this formal politeness when we are fain to be blown away?”
Easily goaded, as usual, Simon opened his mouth to say indignantly that he was always polite. He swallowed the ill-advised retort, under the circumstances, and said desperately. “I want you to do a favor for me.”
“With all my heart,” Alinor responded at once, all amusement gone from her face. She seated herself and tucked her skirts and veil firmly out of the way so that she could give him her full attention. That Simon should ask for a favor disturbed her, and his uneasiness no longer seemed funny. “Indeed,” she assured him earnestly, “I will be happy to serve you in any way I can.”
“It is not exactly me you will be serving,” he began, and then reassured by the kindness and intelligence in her face he simply told her William’s story.
“I do not know,” Alinor said when he was through. “Isobel certainly is not happy, but whether it is because she is being pressed to repudiate the bargain with William Marshal, I cannot say. Simon, I will speak for the Marshal upon your word, but—but is it kind? Is it well to try to set her heart upon him. She will not stand her ground. She has not the way of it and, more, she has been taught that obedience is the way of virtue, even unreasonable obedience. She will marry this Baldwin if commanded.”
Simon chewed his lower lip. “Alinor, can you not stiffen her spirit? Even if she feels she is damned for the sin of disobedience or pride or whatever it is she fears, it would be better than marriage to Baldwin. I swear I do not say this only because William is my friend and I wish that he have his heart’s desire, but for Lady Isobel’s sake too—”
“But—”
“No woman will get any good out of Baldwin of Bethune as a husband,” Simon burst out. “And do not ask me to say more for I cannot nor will not.”
Lord Richard and his dear friend Baldwin, who would be no good to any woman, and the weight on the queen’s heart … Somehow Alinor knew these were connected. Were they also connected with Lady Alais? And what, she wondered, suddenly focusing on more immediate problems, would be offered to William Marshal as compensation? Not Isobel of Gloucester. She boasted freely that she would marry the last remaining Angevin, Prince John, and did not even hesitate to say how like it was she would be queen, for many more died on Crusade than ever returned. Even Alinor the outspoken looked sidelong at her after that remark. And the lesser maidens, no matter how good their blood, had nothing in terms of land. That, Alinor reasoned, leaves me!
As soon as the thought came, it was confirmed by her memory of the queen saying that if Alinor was constrained to marry the man would be worthy. From what Simon said, the queen had spoken the exact truth. William Marshal seemed a man worthy of any woman’s love, and greater in importance than Simon would ever be. Alinor became aware that Simon was looking up, and the first drops of rain began to spatter the leaves above them.
“I will do my best,” she said in answer to his question about stiffening Isobel of Clare’s spirit, and, as they ran for the doorway through the downpour, “I have not given much mind to these matters, but I will listen better now to what Isobel says. Perhaps I will be able to discover what is intended.”
Chapter Eight
Alinor did pay attention to what she heard in the women’s chambers and tried to pick the grains of truth out of the heaps of chaff. Before the afternoon was gone it was clear to her that Isobel would be married and several times over a mother before she obtained real information in this manner. Perhaps among older women who waited on the queen— That was it! It was the solution to her boredom and dissatisfaction and a far better place to glean information.
In her enthusiasm, Alinor almost ran to look for Simon and tell him of her brilliant idea, but fortunately she thought that over. Simon, she realized, far from being equally enthusiastic, would absolutely forbid it. He would call it “spying on the queen.” Well, and so it would be, Alinor acknowledged. But, she decided, Simon is an honorable idiot. If the queen is constrained by her good—or by her son’s or even the realm’s good—why should I not be constrained by my good? Moreover, I am no idle gossip. No one will hear from me what goes forward. Only I will know, and know how to act for my own good.
That evening Alinor put the first step of her plan into action. She flirted outrageously with two of the men who had the most need of her wide estates and some vague possibilities of obtaining them. They were both younger sons of powerful magnates who were not notable for fixed loyalties. Roger Bigod was as black browed and blackly ambitious as his grandfather. Doubtless a livelihood could be found for him among his father’s enormous possessions, but such limited prospects were little to his taste. Milo de Bohun was more the picture of a courtier, most elegantly clad and smooth tongued, but his pale eyes slid aside from Alinor’s direct glance, and his lips grew loose and wet when he looked at her.
To Alinor’s surprise, Simon made no comment, not even when she refused a dance with him in favor of the grinning Bigod. He bowed stiffly and stepped back, so consumed with jealousy that he dared not trust his judgment or open his mouth. These were the wrong men to play with, he knew, but he also knew that, for him, there was no right man for Alinor.
Repetition of these tactics at the morning meal had no greater effect and, having racked her brains for an excuse to seek Simon out and found none, she ran into him just outside the stairway to the women’s quarters. Before he could turn angrily away, Alinor seized his wrist.
“Oof, you are hard as a stone wall,” she complained, “but just the person I desired most to see in the world.”
“And what has brought about this change in heart?” Simon growled, turning his arm.
Alinor clung to his wrist like a limpet. “Your business, or rather your friend’s. Come to where we will not be overheard.” Simon looked rebellious and wrenched his wrist free, but he only went to a window embrasure where he sat down and folded his arms across his chest. Alinor stood just in front of him.
“It is useless to tell me to praise William Marshal to Isobel of Clare,” she said tartly, “when he stands like an image against the wall as she dances with every other heiress-seeker in the room.”
“Are you accusing Isobel of Clare of immodesty?” Simon grated. “Her behavior is most innocent compared with that of another I have recently seen.”
“So, you object to my behavior, do you? I had almost despaired of your common sense. Have you yet complained of me to the queen?”
“I? I betray you to the queen? What sort of protector—” Then Simon’s brain caught up with his ears. “What do you mean you had almost despaired of my common sense?” he asked, his voice rising.
“Simon,” Alinor sighed, with marked exasperation, “you desire that the queen should know Isobel favors William, do you not? How will she know this? Isobel will not tell her. You can say that William’s heart is set on the marriage, and the queen will know you speak from knowledge, but how can you say aught of Isobel? Would she mention such matters to you?”
“Since it is doubtless the queen who will press in favor of Baldwin, I do not see why telling her of Isobel’s feelings will help. Besides, if you wish to tell her, ask to speak to her. The queen will not deny you.”
Alinor stamped her foot. “I do despair of your common sense! First, if the queen wishes to press Baldwin’s suit, she will not be overjoyed at my interference. In fact, if I say I wish to speak of Isobel, doubtless she will find herself too busy to see me today, and then tomorrow there will be another excuse. Second—”
“I tell you it does not matter. If the queen wishes to press Baldwin’s suit, nothing you say or Isobel feels will move her.”
“You do her an injustice. I do not say a knowledge of Isobel’s heart will change the queen’s mind, but she is kind. She must know whatever you know about Baldwin. When she knows Isobel is not indifferent and will be made doubly unhappy—at least she will think on it. Unhappy women make trouble.”
“Perhaps, but what has all this to do with—with your liking for Roger Bigod and Milo de Bohun.”
“Liking? Who likes them? They are dangerous men. You cannot warn them away from me—”
“I cannot? Can I not?” Simon bellowed, leaping to his feet and clenching his fists. “Do you think I am afraid of Bigod or de Bohun?”
“Sit down and be quiet,” Alinor hissed, pushing against him and producing about as much effect as she would have had on a mountain. “Do you want the whole castlefolk to hear of this? Of course I do not think you fear either of those fools. But a word from you, the king’s warden, would be taken as a slight from the king.”
It was the bitter truth. Simon ground his teeth. “You are the fool,” he growled. “You have started something that will bring grief upon us.”
“Not if the queen checks my behavior and I retire into maidenly modesty.”
Simon shook his head as if there were a buzzing in his ears. Then he passed his hand over his face. His eyes looked bemused. “You flirted with those men for the purpose that the queen should scold you and you should stop flirting with them?” Again he rubbed his face as if to clear from it some obscuring veil. “I am going mad!”
“But Simon,” Alinor said soothingly, “it is most reasonable really. If you say I am stiff-necked and will not obey you, which the queen will believe—”
“With good cause!”
“Oh, Simon, it is not true. I obey you very well, except when you wish us both to run head first into a stone wall. Never mind that,” she said hastily as she saw him draw a furious breath, “do not begin to quarrel with me about nothing. You can tell her also that you did not wish to affront Bigod and de Bohun except by her order. Then the queen will summon me to correct my ways.”
“The queen’s wrath is not light to bear, Alinor. I had rather—”
She put up a hand and touched his face, her eyes so tender all of a sudden that Simon’s voice and heart checked. “She will not be wroth,” Alinor said gently, smiling her thanks for his indulgence. “A girl’s foolish error—I am new to Court. I will yield at once and promise amendment—and then I will have good reason to speak of Isobel, saying that her modesty is causing her great grief. And by the by, I believe that is so. Why does William Marshal not dance with her and speak to her? She cannot, for shame, go to him.”
“He cannot dance. He tries to speak, but no sooner does he say a few words than some gallant asks her to dance and carries her away.”
“Well, what ails you? You dance beautifully. Can you not teach him?”
“William knows how to dance. He cannot.”
It was Alinor’s turn to look confused. “What do you mean, he knows how but cannot? Has he taken some vow not to dance?”
“Of course not. He was sore hurt in an accident on a ship. His ribs were crushed. He can hardly walk, not to speak of dancing.”
“And he did not tell her?” Alinor squealed.
“Why should he tell Isobel? If she has a softness toward him, she would worry. If she has not, she would think him whining. In fact, he has told no one except me, and makes his appearance in Court as usual because he prefers that his enemies do not know he is nearly helpless.”
“Isobel will not spread the news, and I am not a gabblemonger. Now that I think it over, Simon, you are right. It is much better for me to tell her. And you, Simon, do not fear for me. You must tell the queen, or I will be in sad trouble.”
Alinor spent the next few hours in a dither of impatience, wondering whether Simon would see through her device, wondering whether at the last moment he would again begin to feel that it was wrong to bear tales. One bit of good came of Alinor’s nervousness. Isobel of Clare, after watching her choose the wrong color thread, do the wrong stitch in the wrong place on the collar she was embroidering for Simon, and pick it all out blaspheming heartily under her breath, came over and asked if she could help.
The opportunity was golden, and Alinor did not waste it. “I do not deserve any help,” she exclaimed. “I am cross because I am a selfish, inconsiderate little beast, and knowing I am in the wrong only makes me crosser.”
Isobel was not accustomed to quite so much frankness, but she was drawn to it. “You are very honest,” she murmured. She did not, as Alinor feared, retreat but picked up a thread and filled Alinor’s needle. “This is right,” she urged.
“But I am not,” Alinor said with a wry smile. “You are so skilled. Fill in that petal for me and I will tell you.” And she tumbled out a confused tale of Simon’s failure to keep a promise to attend to some want of hers—what want being thoroughly obscured because Alinor could not really think of anything. However the reason for the failure was clear enough. Simon had need to keep company with a friend who was not well. “And how I can be so selfish as to wish to deny William Marshal Simon’s help and company, I cannot imagine. There is no finer, kinder man than William. Is that not true, Isobel?” Alinor asked provocatively.
“Yes, but—but how not well?” Isobel asked breathlessly. “Surely I saw him this morning, as usual, speaking with the queen.”
Alinor clapped a hand across her mouth. “Oh, my wagging tongue. Isobel, you like William, do you not? You would not wish harm to come to him?”
“Harm? What harm?”
The big eyes filled with unshed tears, the slender body trembled, but there was surprising strength in the voice. Alinor began to think she had underestimated Isobel of Clare. Perhaps given adequate stimulus she could stand firm.
“All great men have enemies, and because he is incorruptible William Marshal has more than most—not decent men, for all decent men respect him, but sly, sneaking creatures. If some of them knew he— Isobel, you will not speak of this?”
