Alinor (52 page)

Peter des Roches was no holy man of God; he was too intent upon the affairs of every day. Nonetheless, he was sufficiently a priest to regard his obligations seriously. He had known Ian a long time, had been his confessor years before at John's court when John was only Richard's heir. When Ian had written to him, shortly after Simon died, and described his desires and his fears regarding a marriage with Alinor, Peter had considered the matter seriously, including the king's probable disapproval. Still, he had decided it was best that Ian marry the woman. Thus, he had a sense of obligation regarding the marriage he had forwarded. He had informed Ian late in January of mild feelers, which he had done his best to discourage, about an annulment. Now that an Archbishop of Canterbury, who could grant an annulment, was appointed, he felt Ian should be kept abreast of affairs.

Truthfully, Ian was not much concerned that John would try to annul his marriage. He suspected things had got beyond that stage in John's mind. Nonetheless, he was glad of Winchester's news. John might accept the
fait accompli
—Ian knew the Pope had baited the lure well with a rich gift of four magnificent rings and other precious jewels set in gold. In that case, there would be a period when all the king's attention was given to testing and coming to terms with his new archbishop. Or John might defy the Pope, and his rage would be directed to winning a far more serious contest than one with a single vassal. Ian sincerely hoped John would accept Langton—at least superficially. He had an enormous respect for the man, but, beyond that, it would be better if John's mind was occupied with a battle of wits near at hand. Letters to and from Italy took too long. In the waiting periods, John was all too likely to take out his spleen on some local issue. Probably the king would not bite off as large a piece of trouble as interfering with the Earl of Pembroke, but, Ian suspected, he and Alinor would make just the right-size mouthful.

It was a little surprising, in fact, that he did not yet have news of the king's reaction to the election of Langton. Ian shrugged and sat up as Owain brought his clothes and armor. At the moment there were more pressing matters to attend to. Dressed, Ian stepped out of the tent and sniffed the air. Geoffrey, bless the boy, was obviously providing something more substantial than bread and cheese and wine for breakfast. Then Ian joined the crowd of men drifting toward the back of the camp. A small bell rang; they all quickened their pace. Ian picked his way through the ranks of kneeling men to join Sir Robert de Remy and Simon's loyal castellans. With one eye on the sky and one on Ian, the priest began Mass just as Ian bent his knee.

On the last "amen" Ian was on his feet. He stepped toward the priest and nodded at him. The priest rang his bell again, more emphatically. The men farther back stood, the ones nearer by hunkered back on their heels. The silence, Ian noted cynically, was more profound than during Mass. Of course, that was not completely fair. No one expected to understand the words of the Mass; it was sufficient to be there as an act of faith. Being there brought God's blessing upon you; it was magic, and not meant to be understood by men. On the other hand, everyone expected to understand what Ian said, and it might be that their lives would depend upon his words.

"The battle places of each party and the dudes of each I will leave to be explained by your own captains. I have only a few words to say. This is not an action of war. There is to be no looting. The keep is the property of my son by marriage, and I will not have anything of his despoiled. Swift and painful punishment will fall upon the man who steals or damages more than necessary anything in the keep. For the same reason, quarter is to be offered to any man-at-arms who desires it and to the castle servants if they offer no resistance. In fact, any person who does not resist, among the common folk, is not to be harmed in any way.

"On the other hand, I am not unaware that eager service must be rewarded. It is my understanding that the castellan here has amassed a considerable personal fortune. This, of course, does not belong to Adam and may justly be distributed among you. No man will be permitted to seize it all, and I will see to its fair distribution, including my share, which will be reserved to increase the prizes of the twenty most daring and valorous men."

A cry of pleasure went up. Two men, or even more, depending upon fatalities, from each group would come away from this battle with gold and silver, perhaps enough to buy a wife or a farm, if that was their desire. Ian knew well what he was doing. Under his arrangement, no man needed to be first and best. No penalty would attach to helping a friend, nor would there be any profit in slyly harming a battle comrade who seemed to be stronger or more successful. More, in fact, could be gained from attaching oneself to such a comrade and trying to increase his success so that you might shine by reflected light.

"As to the castellan and his family, I leave that to your own judgment. If you desire to take him prisoner in hopes that ransom may be paid by someone, by all means do so. I have no particular lust to see him or his family dead. However, I will not pay nor lend him a mil to preserve him. He has violated his oath to his dead overlord and sought to win advantage from a helpless widow and child. He is filth in my eyes, less than the beasts who have not God's law and precepts of honor to guide them."

Ian knew he had almost certainly condemned the man to death and his womenfolk to rape and murder. He hoped there were no young girls in the man's family, but it was not going to give him second thoughts or sleepless nights. Not only was he truly offended at the castellan's dishonorable act, but he also had two more keeps to take and a lesson to administer to the loyal castellans. When news of this castellan's fate reached the ears of the two other rebellious men—and Ian would make sure that it did reach them—the chances were greatly increased that they would yield without further resistance. To do so would ensure them of their lives and their family's lives. What they would do to live afterward was questionable, but possibly they had families that would take them in or they could try the tourney trail. Life was sweet.

In addition to the possibility of saving his own men future death and injury, Ian was planning on nipping future rebellions in the bud. He had gone to great trouble to be generous, mild, and affable to the castellans who had loyally answered his summons to fight for him. It had not always been easy, as his mind seesawed up and down according to Alinor's whim, but he had succeeded. The men were comfortable with him and trusted him. Now he wished them to see the other side of the coin. It was not sufficient to say "I am terrible when angered." It was far better to say nothing, to smile and show how ill those who broke faith fared.

"And now," Ian smiled as he looked out over the men, "I am sure you are as eager to break your fasts as I am to break mine. Eat hearty. If you do your work well, we will have dinner in the castle. If you are slow, you will miss your dinners altogether. Good fortune. God bless you all."

He turned to say a few courteous words to the priest while the men dispersed. Ian's chaplain was a sensible young man, not nearly as good or learned as Father Francis but also far less likely to preach a sermon on the evils of violence just before men went into action. In fact, he never preached sermons before battles, only offered the men the mystical comfort of the Mass. And when he did preach, few of his sermons failed to include the themes of upholding honor and righteous wrath, nor was he above wearing armor and wielding a mace to defend his Bible and chalice and holy relics. Father Jocelyn, Ian believed, would rise high in the church— and he would do the best he could to help him. Ian finished what he was saying, and the priest began to fold up his traveling altar.

"My lord―"

"Yes, Robert?"

"I need to talk to you."

The young man's eyes were bright, his color high. He was almost as excited as Geoffrey. It occurred to Ian for the first time that Sir Robert might never have been involved in taking a keep before—he had never thought to ask. It did not matter, because he was part of Ian's own personal fighting force and Ian had no doubts at all about his courage, but he wondered under whom he had trained.

"Very well. Come and share my breakfast. We do not have much time. Nothing is wrong with the preparations?"

"Oh no, Lord Ian. The ramps are in place, covered with brush, and the scaling ladders are in the ditch covered with mud. They need only to be lifted to the ramps."

An expression of acute distaste crossed Ian's face. "Whose brilliant thought was that?"

"Mine, my lord," Robert replied apprehensively. "I thought it would save time. They cannot be lost in the mud, I swear. They are all marked, and the men who are to lift them know well where they must seek. Have I done amiss? I fear―"

"No, no," Ian laughed. "The thought was wise. If it works as planned, it will save time. But, Robert, in God's name, think how we shall all stink!"

"Stink?" Robert repeated blankly.

Of course they would stink, covered with the mud from the drained moat, which was rich in half-decayed feces and garbage. But what had a stink to do with anything? Everyone stank anyway, after working in the heat all week, with no chance to wash and no change of clothing.

"Never mind," Ian soothed, "it is a personal oddity in me. Sit."

He gestured toward a second campstool, and Geoffrey hurried over with a large wedge of cold meat pasty and half a fowl.

"I am sorry, lord," Geoffrey said. "That is all I saved from dinner. I did not think―"

"Bring bread and cheese and another cup, and we shall do well enough. Leave it. I will serve. Go arm yourself."

Ian broke the fowl into pieces and cut the pasty in half with a slight smile on his lips. He had sent Geoffrey away for a purpose. He did not misunderstand the boy's trembling, but Sir Robert from the superior level of his 21 years of life might do so. Six parts excitement, three parts eagerness, one part fear was what Ian judged Geoffrey's affliction to be. He would do well enough once he had duties to perform.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Robert?"

"The women." The young man choked a little around the mouthful he was eating. "You said no word about the women. The men will think they are free to do with them as they please."

It was, of course, exactly what Ian wanted them to think, but how did one say that to an inexperienced young man who had been raised in a decent household? Sir Robert's precepts about women were clear. A serf girl might be raped in a field; a gently born woman might be seduced, but must not be forced. When you married, you could beat your wife for a fault, but she must be protected against harm by anyone else. Moreover, even in a war, the gentleladies were not to be assaulted or insulted—they usually brought good ransoms. Ian rubbed the back of his neck under his hood. His situation was particularly difficult because only a few days earlier he had had a long discussion with Sir Robert on the finer points and deeper meaning of honor, stemming from what happened at the tourney.

"I know. That was because I did not know what to say," Ian temporized. "By his act, the castellan has put himself beyond the law, has made himself less than a man, and that which is his is lessened also, its quality destroyed. He gave oath before God that he would faithfully administer his trust and return it on demand. He has stolen this property, and to make it worse, stolen it from a child of seven, as well as violating his oath before God. He is not an honest enemy as might be if he were, say, Philip's vassal and I John's, and we came to blows. Then he and his would deserve to be treated with honor, no matter how bitter the conflict between us. If I ordered the women to be spared, where would be the difference between honorable war and thievery?"

"I see."

"Robert," Ian said, amused by the fact that the young man's appetite was in no way diminished—his concern had apparently been more that he should not transgress his lord's sensibilities again than for the women involved —"if you can and you wish to shield the women, it will do you no particular disservice in my eyes. That will be your business and nothing to do with me—ever. Remember, if you cannot find a relative to take them, you will be burdened with them. Every man must know, you also, that although I will strive with all my power to help and protect a faithful vassal, I will not mitigate the punishment of an unfaithful one by so much as a hair."

Sir Robert merely nodded acceptance, his mouth being too full of meat pasty to make a reply practical. Ian gnawed the ends off the thigh bone of the fowl and sucked experimentally at the marrow. He heard the battle leaders urging their men to form up. Sir Robert heard also. He swallowed hastily, gulped down the remains of his wine, sketched a salute to Ian, and went off to attend to his assigned duties. Owain and Geoffrey appeared by the side of the tent with Ian's shield and helmet. He got to his feet and smiled at them.

"Owain, you will hold your place by my left shoulder. Do not be carried away. If a blow takes me on that side, God help you."

"He will need to, my lord, for I will be sore hurt or dead. I will not fail you."

"No, I do not suppose you will. Now, Geoffrey, you may draw your sword if you wish, but you may use it only to defend yourself at need. I do not wish you to become embroiled in the fighting. You must be free to carry messages for me. In such a battle, where the parties are hidden from each other, this is a most singularly necessary task. It is dangerous—I am sorry for that—but you are fittest for it. You are a small target and light on your feet. I tell you again, your first duty is to deliver the message and bring back a reply. Do not stop to help the wounded or try to save a man overmatched by others. This may be a hard thing, for you will doubtless see pitiful sights that you might amend or avert, but that is not your purpose. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord."

There was disappointment in the young face. Doubtless Geoffrey had envisioned himself a full-blooded warrior. He was not far off at that, Ian thought. Geoffrey's improvement in fighting technique was nothing short of spectacular. He made up in speed and ferocity, in pure determination to excel, for any deficiency in size. He was very nearly as good as Owain, who was two years older, although he was less powerful, of course. But the boy was beginning to grow now. He would be taller than his father, a good size, not so awkwardly tall as Ian was himself—if he lived long enough.