Roselynde, page 9
“You are a very foolish and extravagant young woman,” he said reprovingly. “You will have to cease from eating cinnamon cakes.”
“If I promise never to eat another cinnamon cake—what is cinnamon, my lord?—will I be forgiven?”
“Cinnamon is one of those costly spices you have been buying,” Simon said gravely. “It has a taste like— Well, since you have promised, you need not spend any time worrying over it. You are not to buy any more. Do you hear?”
“Yes, my lord,” Alinor murmured, smiling “I hear and I obey. I will, buy no more cinnamon.”
Chapter Six
There are guilts and guilts. There are ugly things that corrode a man and stain his soul. Simon had seen too much of that. However, he had never before known that there are guilts that led to a warm intimacy called happiness.
Obviously it was quite wrong to condone what Alinor had done. Not that any man would lose by it or be hurt by it. Even Alinor’s soul would not suffer for the lie. She had promised to confess and do penance for that. Merely, it was wrong in the abstract. But abstractions were cold and distant things, and Alinor was warm and close.
The crime committed and condoned drew them together. Laughter sparkled between them and Alinor more often spoke to “Simon” than to “my lord.” That was not to say that all was sweetness and light. Both Alinor and Simon were too accustomed to having their own way to agree for long. They quarreled about everything, from the best way to gut a hare—which resulted, to the great amusement of Alinor’s huntsmen, in two well-skinned and clean-gutted hares and two exceptionally dirty and bloody gentlefolk—to the best way to cast for surf fish—which resulted in both nearly drowning when Simon slipped and was dragged under by his armor and Alinor, struggling to hold onto him so that the rescuers could find him, was nearly dragged under with him.
That incident resulted in the most royal battle of all. Simon lost all rationality in his terror over Alinor’s danger and Alinor resented furiously the notion that, because she was a woman, she should permit a friend and companion to be swept away by the undertow. There were only two subjects upon which they did not have high words. When Simon stood on the great gray walls, looked out to sea, and ordered some change in the positioning of weaponry or the manning of the guard, Alinor nodded her head curtly in approval without even a glance at Sir Andre for reassurance. In matters of war, she held her tongue and placed an implicit faith in Simon’s ability. And when, in the long summer evenings, Alinor sat before her embroidery frame, which had been moved to a convenient window in the Great Hall, Simon lounged on the nearest bench, his eyes on the exquisite work and the flying needle that produced it.
“I cannot do that,” he had said softly one time.
Alinor looked up from her work and laughed. “What? Embroider?”
“That too, but I meant I cannot produce beauty of any kind.”
After a moment of silence in which Alinor studied Simon’s face, she said, “That is not really true. There is a beauty in justice. Often and often, I have heard tell, you have made fair and just what was foul and corrupt.”
Simon turned his head to look out at the long shadows cast by the slanting, golden light of the setting sun. “Perhaps,” he agreed wearily, “but it is so mixed with blood and terror— Something lacks in me. I cannot believe what many priests tell us, that the pain and terror of evildoers is beautiful and a joy to God. Beauty cannot be besmirched by fear.”
A week drifted by and then another. Alinor thought no more of a summons to Court. Simon tried not to think at all. He did not quite succeed. When he could find no more reason to delay, they went on progress to the properties held by castellans for Lady Alinor. To Simon’s initial surprise and delight, this changed nothing. There was no need to threaten force to prove Alinor’s authority. They were welcomed with pleasure.
In short order, however, Simon knew why, and the knowledge made him uncomfortable. Alinor seemed to have permitted the condition of vassal and castellan to become confused. A vassal “owned” his land. He paid dues to an overlord, but it was only a small portion of what the estate was worth and when he died his children inherited the land and vassalage by right. Castellans, on the other hand, were merely tenants. They lived in a keep and defended it; for this service they were allowed to retain a small portion of the rents and produce of the land, to hunt its woods and fish its streams. However, a castellan did not “own” property and his children had no right to inherit it. He himself could be moved to a different keep or simply ordered to leave at the whim of the overlord.
The situation was not something Simon could speak of while they stayed at Iford Keep, but when they were riding from Iford to Kingsclere, he reluctantly opened the subject. It was something he feared would really anger Alinor—not make her fly into a half-laughing rage as most of their disputes did but touch something deep and dangerous in her. Alinor was deeply and passionately tied to her men and her possessions.
“The lands are well cared for, the charges promptly and honestly paid,” Simon began, administering a dollop of honey before he proffered the bitter truth. “But Alinor, in the name of God, this castellan is the grandson of the first holder. He must think the lands his.”
The furious denial Simon expected did not come. “Worse than that,” she agreed wryly, “he feels that the lands are his. It is a great danger. My grandfather spoke often of it to me.”
Simon made an unhappy grimace. “To put out an honest holder is a hard thing, and cruel too, but— How did Lord Rannulf let such a thing come to pass?”
“He did not let it come to pass. He did it apurpose. Look you how we were welcomed. Sir Giles can greet us with open arms because he is sure we do not come to tear away his livelihood. He has no need to dare the danger of trying to elevate himself from castellan to vassal because his father held after his grandfather, he held after his father, and he can expect with confidence that his son will hold after him.”
“Yes, and that is all well and good until the day that he begins to think of how little he keeps of the value of the land and how much a vassal keeps. The people regard him as their lord. How will you force him from the land if he should deny you what is yours?”
Alinor shrugged. “There is your finger upon the sore spot in all this good. And, indeed, from that spot infection may spread. My grandfather sought to keep the plague in check by visiting often and for weeks at a time in each of his keeps. I also have tried, but the danger is there and with each generation it grows worse. At Kingsclere the castellan died without issue and at Ealand there were only young children, none fit to hold for me. In these places I have new men. But in Iford, and other places too— Simon, to put Sir Giles out— I could not.”
“Of course you cannot punish a man for being a good servant, you cannot just send him away. However, we could shift the castellans. Sir Giles can go from Iford to Ealand, and that man—”
“Could we, Simon? You know we cannot shift a man after three generations. It would be better to kill him, and his son, than to break his faith in me first and then give another keep into his hands. In his mind Sir Giles knows I have the right to send him to hold another keep for me or even to put him out landless if I desire, but he does not believe in his heart that this can happen. His faith is old and built on solid ground. Shake that faith by making him feel my power, and he will begin to seek ways to wrest that power from me.”
Simon stared at her. It was Lord Rannulf speaking through her mouth, he knew, but Alinor was not mouthing empty words. She understood their meaning well and clearly.
“It is a pretty trap,” he growled, “and I still do not understand how Lord Rannulf could have stepped into it apurpose.”
“That is because you came here with King Henry when the worst of the troubles were over. In Lord Rannulf’s time there was no law nor was any man safe as overlord. It was very easy to find a different master who would make a new vassal out of an old castellan.”
Simon spat an oath. “Yes, I see. And I also see that evil will come of this some day.”
“Do you suspect Sir Giles of wishing to take to himself outright what is mine?”
“No, no. Sir Giles, I believe, you may trust for now. I was talking of the years ahead.”
“You are sure trouble is coming, Simon?”
“Trouble, yes. How can trouble be avoided when the head of the realm is missing and there is no control on the hand that holds the reins? My uneasiness lies in that I do not know what kind of trouble. For now, I will not attempt to change the ordering of your keeps. I do not see my way clearly enough.”
It was just as well that Simon had not decided upon any action. At Kingsclere they found Sir Andre waiting with the message they had been expecting from the queen. Had Simon been conscious of an unfinished task, he might well have used that as an excuse not to respond to the queen’s invitation at once and have blinded himself to his reluctance to do so. As it was, he faced the rebellious desire to keep Alinor to himself.
She is not for me, Simon reminded himself, and drew his breath sharply at the pain the thought caused him. He had realized from the beginning that Alinor was only a prize that he guarded for another man. He had realized from the beginning that Alinor was attractive to him in a different way from the casual animal interest he had felt for all women—except the queen, whom he had long thought the most perfect woman and worshiped as a goddess. After that he had done his best not to think about the matter at all. It had seemed to him that he had succeeded. He had enjoyed Alinor’s company, of course, but he enjoyed many men’s company and many women’s. What shocked him was the intensity of his pain and the increase in that intensity in the past few weeks. While he deceived himself that he was not thinking about her, he had fallen deep in love with Alinor.
Alinor was so taken up with her own reactions, that she had no eyes or mind for Simon’s. For once she was all sixteen-year-old girl with no taint of the woman with heavy responsibilities. She laughed and chattered with Grisel, the wife of Kingsclere’s castellan, and then began to worry about her wardrobe. “Simon,” she exclaimed. But Simon was deep in talk with Sir Andre, and the two men had walked away to be free of the high, distracting voices of the women. “Simon,” Alinor insisted, running over and tugging at his sleeve.
“My lady?”
Alinor did not notice how withdrawn and chilly the voice was. “Clothes!” she exclaimed. “What am I to do about clothes? Do I have time to have new made? Will I be accounted a fool for not wearing the new styles?”
“How would Sir Simon know the answer to such women’s foolishness?” Sir Andre asked sharply, uneasy without quite knowing why.
“In fact I do not know,” Simon said slowly.
“And you a courtier!” Alinor snapped scornfully.
“A courtier who has been long away from Court. The old king did not love me overmuch in the last years. I sat still on my lands.”
“But you must tell me something,” Alinor insisted.
“My suggestion is that you wait and take the queen’s advice. To ape the new fashion incorrectly will make you more a target for sharp tongues than to admit you obeyed your grandfather’s will and, thus, your gowns are not of the latest style.”
The laughing green and gold flecks in Alinor’s dark hazel eyes dimmed a trifle. “And there will be sharp tongues. There I will be as a maid among other maidens, no more mistress and first in importance.” She looked up into Simon’s face and saw it closed against her. “Simon! Do not you desert me. I have no friends at Court, not even any female blood kin,”
Simon’s jaw clenched. “There is nothing I can do for you among the women,” he warned.
“You can tell me if they have led me to make a fool of myself. It is very well to bid me ask the queen, but she is like to have more important business than the style of my gowns.
A shaken laugh was drawn from Simon. “Do not trust me overmuch. Perhaps I have no desire that you appear too beautiful.”
“No, indeed,” Sir Andre said hastily, now well aware of the cause of Simon’s tension— Simon was in love with Lady Alinor. “Alinor, you must comport yourself with great reserve and modesty. If you arouse the hopes of the wild young bucks at Court, you are like to come to grief.” He turned to Simon. “Would she not be safer in a house of her own in London, which can be well guarded by your men and hers?”
To this notion, with which he had hoped to create a diversion, Sir Andre received no reply. Simon had frightened himself mute by his near confession. He swallowed convulsively and, when he still could not speak, turned on his heel and walked away. Alinor opened her mouth to recall him, but Sir Andre’s hand flashed up and clamped across her lips.
“Devil!” he hissed. “Let him be. It is all game and jest to you, Alinor, but you are hurting a good man. You will destroy him if you do not have a care to what you do.”
“Are you so sure it is all game and jest to me?” Alinor rejoined sharply.
“Alinor!” Sir Andre exclaimed. “It is impossible. Do not be a fool.”
“You said he is a good man. And he is high in the queen’s favor.”
Sir Andre put up his hands and pulled his hair. “That is a different thing to being of sufficient weight to aspire to your lands and person. He is a valued servant, yes, but he has no family, no influence, and, I suspect, few powerful friends. A man who deals strict justice seldom makes friends.”
“He has me,” Alinor said slowly, “and, at my command, my vassals—who would, I think, soon obey him for his own sake.”
“Alinor, Alinor!” Sir Andre was whispering, his voice suspended by horror. “Do not bring disaster upon him and upon us. If you name this mad preference of yours—or even show it openly so that it comes to the queen’s ears—you will have a new warden and he—if the queen truly loves him, he will be fortunate and only end in prison. If her favor is less, he will lay his head on the block because of your wild foolishness.”
“I do not believe you,” Alinor said, but her voice was shaking.
“His life and honor are the price. If you wish to gamble with them, there is nothing more I can do to stop you,” Sir Andre said stiffly.
For a moment Alinor was silent. Then she said, “I swear to you I will look before I leap and I will go very slowly and with great care. But if I can win the royal sanction to it, would such a marriage for me content you and my other vassals?”
“You will never win royal approval. Do not look on him, Alinor. You will only make grief for yourself and for him.”
“Answer me. Is Sir Simon such a man as can lead my vassals to their satisfaction?”
Sir Andre rubbed the back of his neck. “He is too old for you.” And, as he saw her draw an indignant breath, “No, listen to me. Now he is strong and fit, but he is only a few years younger than I. I am old. John is not young. You should choose a young man so that when Sir John and I can no longer hold your men together you will have a strong leader for them and to protect your children.”
“What has age to do with that?” Alinor asked. “My grandfather was fit to lead his men and protect me when he was near to eighty years old.”
“Alinor, do not be a fool. Do not make a rule from one exception. In that way your grandfather was not as other men.” He saw her lips tighten and her jaw thrust forward. “Very well! Very well! The man himself would be most welcome to us. You know that. You know Sir John and I were delighted when he was named king’s warden. If he were younger— If the king were willing to throw you away on a man he has no need to bind to him— Those ifs lead only to grief.”
She did not answer, merely stood looking down the hall toward the doorway through which Simon had gone out. Sir Andre was somewhat puzzled by her expression. She did not look contrite, as when she had said, “I will,” and had been reasoned out of a foolish idea. She did not look mulish, as when she had determined to have her own way at all costs, and for that Sir Andre was thankful. She looked thoughtful, as when a new idea that she liked but was not certain of was presented to her.
In fact Sir Andre had judged Alinor’s state of mind quite accurately. Although she was very skilled in handling men, she was almost totally inexperienced in dalliance. She knew only those symptoms of “love” described in the poems of the troubadours or the romances she had read or the exaggerated sighs and ogling glances exhibited by the squires of the men who came to visit her grandfather. And in the last year, when she would have known better how to gauge the value of sighs and oglings, there had been none. Sir Andre had permitted no guestings. He was too cautious to allow a potential enemy into the gates.
Thus, the idea that Simon had a different feeling for her than Sir Andre had was new to Alinor. When she had originally decided to reduce him to a state in which he would ask her permission “to draw breath” she had been thinking of her grandfather’s and Sir Andre’s paternal love, which could really deny her nothing, and of Sir John’s nervous devotion. Her initial response to Sir Andre’s accusation that she was playing with Simon had been mostly a defensive denial. Sir Andre’s horrified reaction had spurred her interest, and by the end of the conversation she was, for the first time, considering Simon as a male creature rather than as a person, male or female, that she liked and enjoyed being with.
It was an exciting, a delightful, and a completely uncomfortable idea. When it was time to get ready for dinner, Alinor had changed her gown three times and reduced her maids to tears before she took herself in hand. She comforted Gertrude and Ethelburga, stripped off the jewelry she had foolishly donned, and sat down to think. The period she had left for reflection was unfortunately too brief to accomplish much so that Alinor descended from the solar still unsure of what she should say or how she should act. She found instead that all her preparations and qualms were wasted. Simon had ridden out and would not dine with them.
An initial wash of relief was ousted by rage. Alinor’s brows shot upward. “Without informing me? To what purpose?” she asked in a voice that made Lady Grisel shrink back from her side and even caused the doughty castellan himself to blench slightly.
