B0078XH7HQ EBOK (5 page)

‘Look, my lord, another messenger approaches!’

The earl, Sir Geoffrey and Robert all turned to where he was pointing. He felt very proud to be the one who had spotted the envoy first.

One of the guards was accompanying a man in plain clothing who had flung himself from his horse’s back and was removing a letter from his belt pouch even as he walked. He handed it over to the earl with a bow and stepped back. The earl looked at the seal on the letter and raised his eyebrows questioningly at the messenger, who said, ‘From the earl of Sheffield, my lord.’

Sir Geoffrey gasped. Simon looked at him in surprise. Sir Geoffrey was never shocked at anything. But yet there he was, looking sharply between his lord and the messenger.

The earl broke the seal and ripped the letter open. ‘What in the Lord’s name can
he
want? I haven’t seen him in years.’ He scanned the lines written on the parchment. ‘He’s coming here, with his retinue. Today.’ He crumpled the letter. ‘Well, of all the …’ he stopped suddenly and looked at the messenger. ‘Return to your master and tell him that I shall be
delighted
’ – he sounded as though he were speaking through gritted teeth – ‘to offer him hospitality until we march for Newark. You may go to the kitchen and seek refreshment before you leave if you so wish.’ The man bowed his thanks and left – how come he was getting to eat when Simon wasn’t? That was hardly fair – as the earl turned back to Sir Geoffrey. ‘He says that as two loyal servants of the king, we should take this opportunity to meet and combine our forces before marching to meet the regent. What can he be up to?’ He handed the letter to Sir Geoffrey. ‘What do you make of it?’

Sir Geoffrey glanced at the letter and handed it straight back. ‘Of the letter, my lord, nothing.’ Simon nodded sagely to himself as the earl took the parchment: he knew that Sir Geoffrey couldn’t read or write. It didn’t seem to stop him being a fine knight, though, so Simon didn’t see why he had to learn, either. He would make this point next time he had to have a lesson and nobody would be able to argue. But anyway, Sir Geoffrey was continuing. ‘But if you mean what do I make of the earl’s motive, I would say he wanted to keep one eye on you. He is probably hoping that you will do something which he can report to the regent in order to curry favour. He does not stand so high under the current regime as he did in the old king’s reign.’

The earl nodded. ‘Aye, Ralph de Courteville was ever John’s lapdog. But he’ll find nothing amiss here, of that I am determined.’ He paused, then turned to his squires. ‘But all this is no excuse for you to neglect your training. Out to the tiltyard, both of you, and practise.’ Simon’s heart rose – he would slip after them and watch. But the earl had evidently not forgotten him. ‘And I believe you have a lesson with Father Ignatius, young man.’

Simon grimaced. He would much prefer to be out in the tiltyard on the flat ground behind the castle, watching Robert and Martin practising their horsemanship. He was about to bring up his foolproof argument about learning to read, but as soon as he opened his mouth, the earl looked at him in that way which brooked no argument, and he shut it again. Orders were orders, so he sighed and slouched morosely towards the gate, kicking his heels as he went.

Joanna sat in the great chamber, a small fire burning in the grate next to her. She was sewing, her head bent over the earl’s blue and gold war banner which she held up to the light streaming in through one of the windows; her needle flew in and out as she inserted tiny stitches. It was not a particularly interesting task – all those little squares made tears come to her eyes if she looked at them for too long – but he would need it on his campaign, and the Lady Isabelle wasn’t one for stitching. She didn’t enjoy it much herself, to be honest, but there was some satisfaction in a job well done. She looked critically at her completed work: the banner would at least not disgrace the earl on his campaign, although it was a shame his sister couldn’t bring herself to sew it for him. She tied off the thread and cut the end with a small, sharp knife.

As her concentration moved away from the banner, she sensed someone else in the room and looked up to see that the earl himself was watching her from the doorway, evidently having been there some time. She jumped to her feet, feeling herself redden, but he gestured to her to remain seated.

‘You reminded me of my mother for a moment.’

She opened her mouth, but surprise took her voice away.

He moved further into the room. ‘I have happy memories of this room. My wife loved it here, furnished it to her own taste,’ he waved at the tapestries, wall-hangings and cushioned chairs, ‘and said that the light here made her feel happy. And of course we spent long evenings here when I was a small boy; I would lord it over my baby sisters and my mother and father would sit across the fire from one another and talk in low voices. I can still picture my mother in her chair by the fireplace, and for a moment when I saw you sewing it took me back.’ He sighed.

Joanna still didn’t know what to say. The earl had never spoken to her in this way before, had never mentioned his past. On the one hand, she longed to hear more about the comforting family life, but on the other hand, it was extremely disconcerting.

He shook his head and his tone of voice changed. ‘Do you know where my —’

He was cut off by a strident voice issuing from the bedchamber at the end of the room. ‘Joanna, this gown is …’

The earl muttered ‘Never mind’ under his breath, but she wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to her or to himself.

Isabelle came through the door carrying one of her dresses, but stopped at the sight of the earl. ‘Greetings, brother. And what brings you up to our little domain?’ There was not the slightest sign in her voice that she might be pleased to see him, and Joanna readied herself for another confrontation. She was in between them; there looked to be no escape.

He didn’t dwell on pleasantries, wasted no greeting. ‘Isabelle, I wish to speak to you concerning an important visitor who will be arriving this afternoon.’ This looked like a possible opening for Joanna to leave: she curtseyed and started to turn, but the earl forestalled her. ‘I would have you stay, for this will concern you also.’

Isabelle swept over to the fire and seated herself in the chair, indicating to Joanna that she should bring another for the earl, which she did before stationing herself behind her mistress. Perhaps if they were to converse about a visitor they might not argue so much. And perhaps the visitor would provide a welcome distraction for all of them.

‘This morning I received word from the earl of Sheffield that he will be arriving this very afternoon with his troops.’

‘The earl of Sheffield …’ Isabelle was almost purring; Joanna could already see the direction her mistress’s mind was taking, and she gave up hope of a peaceful afternoon.

‘Yes. Now, he wishes us to combine our forces and then ride to muster with the regent on Friday, but I suspect that he may have another motive.’ The earl saw his sister’s distraction. ‘Isabelle!’ Her eyes jerked back to his face. ‘This is important! Do you want me to have my estates confiscated?’

That woke her up. ‘Why should you have your estates confiscated?’

‘Because Ralph de Courteville would happily add my lands to his if he could find the slightest pretext to suggest to the regent that I might not be fully committed to his cause – it’s already happened to a number of men. Castles razed, lands laid waste, families turned out … so
that
is why it is vital that we should all be on our guard against careless or frivolous talk. I fully intend to support the new king, but the Lord knows I had no love for my cousin his father, and that might count against me.’

Joanna was taken aback by the vehemence of his tone.

Isabelle also seemed stunned: perhaps the idea of being poor and homeless had bitten deep. ‘Of course, brother. We’ll be very careful in our speech.’ Joanna couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had agreed on anything so quickly.

‘Good.’ The earl spoke with some finality and Joanna expected him to leave, but he didn’t rise. Instead he stayed in his chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest. The two women stared at him.

Finally he spoke again, less brusquely. ‘I also want you – both – to be additionally careful in the earl’s presence. He has something of an … unsavoury reputation.’ He looked hard at his sister and then at Joanna. At first she didn’t quite grasp what he was saying, but then she realised and her cheeks started to redden. She resolved to try and stay out of the visitor’s way as much as possible, not having rank to protect her against any kind of advance. So much for a welcome distraction.

The earl seemed relieved not to have to go into further detail, saying merely, ‘Let us hope and pray that we can all get through this visit unscathed.’

Finally he rose to go, but stopped and spoke again, the words coming out in a rush. ‘And, of course, as an honoured guest, he will have to be offered these chambers.’ He moved quickly towards the door.

Surprisingly, no outburst came. Instead, Isabelle acquiesced in a syrupy voice: ‘Of course, brother. I shall be delighted to give up these chambers to the earl and move into other accommodation while he is here.’

That seemed enough for the earl: he reached the door, bade them goodbye, and left.

Joanna watched him go and considered the import of all the things which had just been said. Meanwhile, Isabelle rose from her chair and paced up and down the room. Then she stopped and smiled.

Joanna, knowing what her mistress wanted to talk about, sighed inwardly and started the conversation – better to get it over and done with.

‘Perhaps, my lady, the visiting earl will bring his brother with him.’

Isabelle’s face took on an expression of fatuous devotion, and she began to extol the virtues of Walter de Courteville. Joanna, who had encountered Walter when he had previously come to pay court to Isabelle and had her own personal opinions about his qualities, said nothing, waiting for the effusive eulogy to end. After Isabelle had exhausted her stock of superlatives, she sat down again and waved a peremptory hand.

‘But now we must think of moving out of these chambers before the earl arrives – pack what we’ll need into a trunk and summon a servant to carry it. I’ll move into one of the guest chambers nearer to the gatehouse. Find the best one and put my things in it.’

Joanna moved obediently into the bedchamber and began to remove Isabelle’s toilet articles from the small table and lay out some of her gowns on the bed.

Isabelle followed her in. ‘No, you stupid girl, not those ones. I shall want to wear the new crimson gown for tonight’s meal, to look my best for the earl.’

Or for the earl’s brother, thought Joanna silently as Isabelle flounced out again. She found the new gown and folded it carefully so that it would not crease, or she would be on the receiving end of another verbal barrage. It was always like this, had been since she’d been given to Isabelle as a companion as a young girl, when Isabelle had married into the de Lacy family. After Isabelle had been widowed she had of course returned to her own family, but as nobody had much use for Joanna, she’d accompanied her mistress. Joanna hadn’t wanted to come, but although she bore the de Lacy name she was but a lowly cousin of the head of the family and must go where she was bidden. It wouldn’t have been so bad except for the fact that Isabelle seemed to have difficulty in distinguishing between ‘companion’ and ‘servant’, and often gave Joanna the most menial of tasks to do, tasks that should have been left to a common maid. Oh well, there were worse situations to be in, she was sure. Life was hard and unpleasant for most women, whatever their rank. At least she didn’t suffer starvation or regular beatings, and she could hold fast to the hope that one day her cousin would arrange a marriage for her with some vassal of his, so that she could be wed to some staid man or other and live out her life in obscurity and domestic tranquillity, and wouldn’t that be something to look forward to. In the meantime she might dream of handsome princes and noblemen as she packed up her mistress’s possessions and went to answer yet another summons as Isabelle petulantly called her name.