Roselynde, page 5
“I swear! Fiat!” the crowd of men responded.
“Lady Alinor.”
To this Alinor had no objection. Most willingly she stepped forward and knelt before the queen, stretching her right hand up to touch the cross. “I, Alinor, Lady of the Honors of Roselynde, Kingsclere, Mersea, Iford, the Forstal, Great Kelk, Clyro Hill, and Ealand do so swear. Fiat!”
Alinor rose and the queen gave her the kiss of peace. Then Sir Andre and Sir John took her place and swore. The queen smiled on them all and raised a hand for further attention.
“I must praise you all for your loyalty to your lady in the troubled times that are now past. But Lady Alinor is of tender years and has no husband to hold together her many honors. In no despite of your honor and loyalty but to further the quiet state of the land, it is my further duty to take Lady Alinor into the king’s protection and to set over you all a king’s warden.”
There was no break in the attentive silence, but its quality changed. Tension grew. The queen’s mouth hardened for a moment. It was well that she had a man strong enough and of a wide enough reputation right at hand to take on this task. These men had been molded for years to the duty of honoring their mistress. Lord Rannulf had never intended that his pearl of price should be at any man’s mercy. Even to the last and least man-at-arms, the queen suspected, Alinor’s word would be of greater weight than any oath. It would be necessary to permit the men to become accustomed to obeying the warden and then remove Alinor from close contact with her vassals—for a while, at least until the country was settled into its new leadership,
“Be assured,” she said clearly, “that Lord Richard means only good to your lady and to you all. To give weight and substance to these words of good intent, he has chosen as Alinor’s warden Sir Simon Lemagne, who stands at my left hand.”
Alinor, who was slightly behind the queen, could not see Sir Simon’s face, but she could not miss the lift of the head, sharply indrawn breath, the sudden tensing of his heavy shoulders. The assignment was a complete surprise to him. Was this the jest the queen had spoken of when she entered the keep? Obviously Simon was a trusted and much loved servant. Was that good or bad? At least Alinor was in no doubt about the feelings of her vassals. She could hear almost explosive sighs of relief from Sir Andre and Sir John.
The queen gestured Sir Simon forward. For one short instant before he bent his knee to her, their eyes locked. The queen’s lips twitched. She had a feeling that Lady Alinor would not be the easiest ward to control. Nonetheless, she remained perfectly grave and her voice did not quiver. The queen had long practice subduing unseemly mirth.
“Do you, Sir Simon, swear to deal honestly and justly with the vassals and lands of Lady Alinor, and, saving the king’s grace and honor, do all in your power to maintain her honor and benefit?”
“I swear.”
The face, which Alinor could now see, was as set and expressionless as a steel mask, and under the weathered brown showed a like gray shade that spoke of pallor. Alinor felt indignant. She could not believe herself to be so onerous a burden. Sir Simon came to his feet and a crooked finger brought Sir Andre and Sir John forward.
“Do you accept Sir Simon as king’s warden?”
The voices answered in chorus. “Saving our lady’s honor and grace, I do so swear.”
The queen’s lips folded hard. That was not the answer she desired or expected. There was, however, no way to make them amend it to a simple acceptance without dangerous resentment, not only in them but in all these witnesses. The momentary pique passed, and she smiled.
“Well then, we have done our business. You are all free to go,” but she took Alinor by one hand and Simon by the other, keeping them with her as the others withdrew.
As the Great Hall began to empty the queen sank back into her chair and turned her eyes to Alinor. “I hope you believe now that I spoke the truth in your chamber.”
“I can see that my vassals are well pleased, Your Grace. Thus I do know that you have dealt kindly and truthfully with me.” She hesitated and then, as usual, spoke her irritation aloud. “Sir Simon, however, does not seem exactly overjoyed at having me in his care.”
“And should he be?” the queen asked mischievously. “He has had two long talks with Sir Andre and Sir John. Perhaps they have told him you are no meek and obedient maid.”
“If they spoke of me at all,” Alinor answered stoutly, “I am sure they spoke no ill. Meek, possibly I am not, but I am obedient to reason.”
“That is a round answer,” the queen acknowledged a little too gravely, “and shows a most proper and touching trust in your vassals’ loyalty and prudence.”
“Which surely I have good reason to trust.” But Alinor was over her momentary crossness. She was aware that the queen was teasing her, and her eyes laughed.
“Most surely. So then, Simon, do not look so black and explain how it comes about that you have a misliking to this duty.”
The lightness of the queen’s tone did not communicate itself to her liegeman. He was no longer pale, but his face remained closed. “I can assure you that it has no source in the Lady Alinor,” he prevaricated. “Her faith in her vassals is well founded, so far as I can tell, for we did not speak of her at all. I did not know, you see, that I would soon be so intimately connected with her affairs, and did not wish to ask questions about what did not concern me.”
Both women looked at him, Alinor really angry and the queen concerned. From Alinor’s point of view she, if anyone, was the one put upon. Her property was well run. Until the last year of his life, her grandfather visited each and every holding, no matter how small. When he grew too feeble, she had gone with Sir Andre. The lesser vassals and castellans respected and obeyed her chief vassal; they paid their dues promptly in full. The serfs were not, for the most part, starved or ill treated, they did their share, if not willingly, at least they did not run away to the new, growing towns as the serfs of many other masters did.
Having given the matter some calm thought, Alinor had brought herself to accept the queen’s reasoning. It all very well for her to protest that she was honest and would pay the king his due. Words, after all, were cheap. It was only reasonable to appoint a warden to be sure she was honest. But such an appointment was a prize to be fought over. Alinor knew that royal wardens were not paid. It was customary that a healthy slice of the estate revenues would go into the warder’s purse rather than the king’s coffers. Since it was dangerous to reduce the king’s share by any visible amount, the extra sum was either squeezed out of the estates or taken from the ward’s share.
In some cases, where there had been disseisin or war, where the vassals were trying to free themselves from their overlord, the warden’s task was hard. He might have to expend much of his own resources to build an army to beat his ward’s vassals into proper submission. In other cases where the land itself was ill managed and no one knew the true worth or who was responsible for what duty, a warden might find himself in serious trouble by over- or underestimating the revenue due the king, or he might need to expend much time and labor before the land could be made to pay a fair rental. Then, of course, the warden’s share was only a fair payment for his effort.
Alinor was angry because none of these things were true of her lands. Sir Simon Lemagne had been given a rich gift. He had no more to do than examine the account books—or, rather, Alinor thought a little contemptuously, have his clerks examine them for, surely, the great warrior could neither read nor write himself. Then his great labor would consist of opening the coffers and taking from them the king’s share and his own. What right had he to speak coldly of her “affairs.”
The queen had not a thought to spare for Alinor or her feelings. Never in all the years that Simon had served her had he shown such resentment for a task laid upon him. And never, even when his temper had been aroused, had he failed to respond to her teasing. His ready sense of humor had always tickled him into compliance when he had been bested by her in a game of wits and set to doing something he really did not approve of. All in all, Simon had been acting very strangely since he had not promptly obeyed her on the road.
Of course, he might have changed over the years they had been apart. No, that was not true. There had been no sense of strangeness, no sense even of a break in their well-established relationship, from the moment he had entered the keep at Winchester with the glad news of her release. The queen’s eyes dropped to her hands and her gaze rested on the age-creased and mottled skin. By the name of God, she thought, he is no longer a young man. I think of him as a boy, because thus I knew him best when I was a young woman, but I am an old, old woman now, and Simon is a man, also growing old.
“Child,” she said gently to Alinor, “will you see that a change of garments is laid ready for me? Something warm. These days I feel the cold as the evening draws on.”
There was nothing Alinor could do but curtsy and leave. She knew, of course, that the queen was sending her away so that she could talk Sir Simon around in private. Had the queen allowed even the smallest opening, Alinor would doubtless have bitten off her nose to spite her face by saying she would order her vassals to rescind their acceptance—or something equally silly. Fortunately she had no opportunity to seem either spiteful or foolish and, by the time she reached her chamber, she had reconsidered, swallowed her bile, and was hoping sincerely that the queen would be successful. One thing was sure. Any man who could look with revulsion on being the king’s warden for estates like Alinor’s was not out to line his purse with another’s gold.
The queen, however, was thinking less of cajoling Simon than of trying to discover what was wrong with him. “Simon, what ails you?” she asked as soon as Alinor left them. “Are you ill?”
“No.”
The short answer was even more disturbing. Simon was in the habit of telling her his troubles when she had time to listen to him. And that had not changed either. He had been full and fluent on the subject of the state of England and the problems that state had caused him in the last years of Henry’s reign. The queen put out her hand and grasped Simon’s wrist.
“You must believe I had no thought that you would not welcome this. I thought of it as a jest because that child is a hellion and will run you a merry race, but I thought you would be pleased. I thought I had found part of a fitting reward for the good news you brought and for your long faithfulness.”
“Pleased? You thought I would be pleased that you laid another heavy burden on my back?”
“What heavy burden?” the queen asked, so stunned by Simon’s inaccurate description of what she knew was a profitable sinecure that she could feel no resentment at the rebellious tone. After all, what were liegemen for but to bear burdens?
“You think I will be welcomed here? This land needs a warden as I need a second head. Anything I do or say will be bitterly resented.”
“Of course,” the queen agreed, frowning in worried puzzlement. “There is naught for you to do but judge what the income from the lands should be so that the king receives his rightful due. And for this light duty you may take a tithe—which is rich pay for little labor. I ask again, what ails you? What mislikes you in this duty?”
“I will take no tithe from the pittance that will remain to the king’s ward,” he snapped. Then, horrified at the implication of his words, he passed his free hand over his face. “I beg your pardon, madam. I know you mean to do the best in your power for Lady Alinor.”
The apology was welcome, but he had not answered her question and, it appeared, had no intention of doing so. The queen shrugged angrily. “Very well. It is some embarrassment to me, but I will not press an old friend into an unwelcome task. I shall seek out another warden.”
“No!” Simon exclaimed forcibly.
The queen gaped at him and then shook her head. She could swear that he was as surprised as she by what he had said. “Will you deign to tell me, then, what it is you desire?” she asked furiously.
Simon had not answered the queen’s question because he had no idea what answer to give. He did not know why he should resist what anyone in his right mind would scheme and beg and pay richly to obtain. He knew, indeed, that Queen Alinor had chosen him because she had taken a liking to the girl, because she trusted him not to rob an innocent child. A rapacious warden could ruin even such rich lands as these and oppress the vassals until they turned rebellious. But the queen had been considering his good also. A careful man could recompense himself richly from such a post without damaging the ward’s heritage or cheating the king.
To refuse such an offer was both unkind to the helpless girl and uncivil to the generous queen. Still something in Simon shrank from a close association with the lovely Lady Alinor. Something told him that pain and heartache would be his portion from this wardship. Yet when the queen said she would find another to guard that prize, he could not endure the idea. His heart answered before reason could control his tongue.
“I desire that you will forgive me, madam,” he said huskily. “I will accept this ward, and thank you for appointment—most humbly.”
Chapter Four
When Lady Alinor woke in her own bed two mornings later, she was at first disoriented. Then, when she realized the queen was gone, she suffered an odd sinking sensation. This was so unusual for her, because normally she woke full of energy and enthusiasm for the tasks and amusements of each day, that she lay still to think about it. There were no unpleasant duties on hand that she could remember. In fact, the servants had been so busy and so awed by the queen’s presence that they had been unusually well behaved. There were no hangings or maimings to be done. Alinor always forced herself to go because she felt that she must be recognized as the true authority behind Sir Andre, or whichever of her vassals was dispensing the justice. That gave her a sinking feeling, but it could not be the cause of today’s sensation.
She thought over the day’s work in more detail. Mass and then breakfast—nothing unpleasant there, surely—and then to oversee the spinning, weaving, and sewing of the maids. Alinor surprised herself by sighing. Surely it was most necessary to check upon them. She had not looked at their doings for three days at least and doubtless little had been accomplished, and that little all awry. The maids had all been too busy peeping at the great lady and hoping they would be called to do some minor service for her to pay attention to their ordinary work.
Alinor sat up and shook her head at herself. She was no better than they. There was what ailed her. She, too, had been much enlivened and shaken out of her daily round by the queen’s presence. After her anxiety about her own affairs had been soothed by some very firm and straight talk from Sir Andre and Sir John about Sir Simon’s life and character, the queen’s visit had been pure pleasure. Messengers had pounded up to the keep several times a day, and not all the messages they brought were of high or secret nature. Some the queen read aloud and spoke of freely to Alinor and her men. It had opened a wider world than the sands and fields of Roselynde and Mersea, the woods and dales of Kingsclere and the inland estates. To listen to the doings of kings was, no doubt, more interesting than the overseeing of maids.
By the time the queen was ready to leave—she had stayed over an extra day so that Simon, who wished to keep his own guard with him, could arrange adequate escort for her—Alinor had had to bite her tongue to keep herself from pleading to go along. No virtue inspired this noble self-discipline, merely a mixture of pride and the knowledge that pleading would do no good. Will the queen remember me at all, Alinor wondered. She climbed out of bed and rang the little silver bell that summoned her maids, slipped on the loose bedrobe that was handed to her, and wandered listlessly toward the garderobe to relieve herself. A maid trotted anxiously along behind.
“And what will you wear today, my lady?” Gertrude asked.
“Wear?”
Still bemused by sleep, Alinor was puzzled. One did not gown oneself in rich brocade and gold-embroidered tunics to check on the still room or the weaving room or to do accounts. Rough linen and homespun were good enough for such daily rounds. Then light dawned. They still had a guest at Roselynde. Sir Simon had ridden out with the queen but had returned late in the night. Alinor had not seen him because she was already abed when he came. She had not heard his arrival, of course. The keep walls were too thick and her chamber faced the sea, not the bailey. Now she remembered a maid had wakened her to inform her. Alinor insisted on knowing every event that took place when it happened, even if she had given instructions beforehand, but she had been too sleepy to pay much heed.
The heavy, sinking sensation that had plagued her disappeared as if conjured away. Her eyes brightened and the corners of her generous mouth curved upward. The door of the great world had not closed. And beyond that, here at hand was a delightful, most fascinating, and most necessary task. If it were possible of achievement, great good would accrue to herself and her vassals. If she could conquer Sir Simon as she had conquered her grandfather and her men, the queen’s ear, and possibly the king’s too, would be open to her—through Sir Simon’s mouth.
“Lay out the blue— No.”
Alinor had been about to ask for one of her grandest dresses, but she realized at once that was stupid. Sir Simon was no petty knight from the country. A man in daily contact with the queen and her great ladies would scarcely be impressed by grandeur—particularly inappropriate grandeur. A lady in her own keep did not wear Court dress. He would laugh at her as at a child trying to impress him. Homespun then? No. Her grandfather had liked to see her so rough clad when she worked, but her grandfather had not been a courtier.
