By Sylvian Hamilton (36 page)

'Is
he married?'

'Was.
She's dead. Odd chap. Does some sort of trade nowadays. Relics. Funny
business really.'

'He'd
be a good match for Janiva,' said Lady Alienor.

'Match?
Janival But he's a knight!'

'All
the better. He's already wealthy, he can choose to marry where he
likes. I'll have to talk to her.'

'Alienor,'
said her husband warningly, 'don't meddle!'

'Meddle?
Sir Guy! How could you say such a thing? I never meddle!'

'Not
much,' muttered her lord to his lady's retreating back.

'What
did you say?' She looked back at him over her shoulder, chin high,
very pink.

'Nothing.
Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing at all!'

She
was smaller than he remembered, and more beautiful. To Straccan's
surprise, when he lifted Gilla off her pony she went straight to
Janiva as if they knew each other and knelt on one knee at her feet,
kissing her hand as if she was an abbess. Janiva put her arm round
the girl, and they stood together, smiling.

'Mistress
Janiva,' said Straccan, pulling off his cap.

'Sir
Richard, and Gilla, I am so glad, so very glad to see you well.'

Later,
when Gilla began yawning, Janiva put her to bed and rejoined Straccan
outside in the sweet warm summer evening. Subdued birdsong surrounded
them, and there was a scent of roses and mint. They sat on a bench
among the herbs, Janiva with her spindle, Straccan shredding a sprig
of thyme.

'Sir
Richard, may I ask ... do you mean to place Gilla in the convent
again?'

'I've
been wondering about it. I'm away so much, it seemed wise, and she
was happy there. But now ...'

'I
have a suggestion,' she said, hesitantly.

'Tell
me.'

'Keep
her with you when you can. Let her visit the convent, spend a few
days there from time to time. It would look strange else. But when
you must go away and will be away some time, send her here to me.
No--' as he made to speak '--wait, let me finish. So much has
happened to her, such strange things, she is changed from the child
she was. To me, if she needs to, she can talk about it; but if she
talks at the convent of things she has seen and done the good sisters
won't know what to make of it, or of her. She won't fit in.'

'Misfits,'
said Straccan, frowning.

'What?'

'Soulis
said I had roamed about the country collecting misfits. Is that what
my daughter is now?'

'No
more than I am! But that is why I ask you to let her come to me where
she can talk, and be understood and safe, and loved.'

'If
she becomes a woman such as you are,' Straccan said, 'I will be well
pleased.' He took the spindle from her and laid it on the bench
between them, then took her hands in his. They were well shaped, fine
but strong, not the pale delicate hands of a fine lady but capable,
loving hands, skilled in many crafts. He kissed them.

'Janiva--'

There
was the sound of a horse coming fast, and Bane burst over the fence
and flung himself from the saddle. 'King's men,' he gasped. 'At the
manor. Asking for you. Coming here.'

And
as Straccan got to his feet, sending the spindle flying, there they
were—half a dozen mounted archers in the king's livery, with
their captain—neat, efficient, polite, implacable.

'Sir
Richard Straccan?'

'Yes.'

'The
lord king summons you to attend him at Nottingham, Sir. I am to
escort you.'

'What
for?'

'I'm
not privy to the king's mind, Sir Richard. I just do as he tells me.
And he told me to fetch you.'

'Janiva
...' He turned to her. 'Gilla ...'

'It's
all right,' she said quickly. 'I'll take care of her. She needs rest.
Don't worry about her; she's safe now.'

Straccan
turned back to the captain. 'What about my man Bane?'

'I've
no orders concerning him, Sir. He may go or stay as you please.'

He
unbuckled his purse. 'Hawkan, take this to Saint Mark's Priory. It's
somewhere near Christchurch. Give it to the prior. Tell him all about
it. Tell him how we met Brother Celestius, and that this gift is in
gratitude for your life. Go now.' Before anything happens to stop
you, his eyes added. Bane put the purse inside his shirt. 'When
you've done that,' said Straccan, 'come back here and escort Mistress
Janiva and my daughter home to Stirrup. I'll see you there, when the
king's finished with me.'

He
fastened his jerkin, feeling the crackle of the letters inside
against his shirt. The sound of the grey's hooves receded fast as
Bane left on his errand. Straccan's sword and harness hung by the
door; he reached for them, then drew his hand back. 'You will want my
sword?' he asked the captain.

'I
have no orders concerning your weapons, Sir,' said the young man
looking surprised. 'You are not my prisoner. I am to take you safely
to the king.'

'Ah!
Do you have a spare mount?'

'Er
... no, Sir.'

'Well,
I have no horse.'

The
captain rose to the challenge. 'Simon!' One of his company nudged his
horse forward. 'Sir Richard will take your horse. Double up with
Tom.'

'Then
I am ready,' Straccan said. He went into the house, bent over the
bed and saw his daughter's eyes were open. 'It's all right,
sweetheart,' he said quickly. 'I have to take those letters to the
king, that's all.'

'Can't
someone else take them?'

'No,
there are things I must tell him. I shan't be long. Mistress Janiva
will look after you, and Bane will bring you both home when I get
back.' He kissed her and stroked her hair. Then he took Janiva in his
arms, held her close, smelled the perfume of rosemary that scented
her hair and clothes. Spurs and harness jingled outside. Buckling his
sword belt, he walked out and mounted the horse held ready for him.

When
they were out of sight, Janiva turned back to the fragrant little
room and saw that her cat had crept under the blanket and was purring
happily, tucked against Gilla's shoulder.

Chapter
41

He
had been killing time in Nottingham Castle for three days before he
saw the king. It was a relief to find that he was, in no sense, a
prisoner; he could come and go about the town as he pleased. And
Straccan told himself he should not really be surprised that the king
had come to Nottingham on his way to the Scottish border, stopping
also at York and Durham to gather men and supplies for his
expedition. If spies were set to watch men as politically
insignificant as himself, of course they would be watching the great
ones. King William's designs on the north lands would be no news to
King John.

On
the morning of the fourth day the king sent for him. They had not met
before, though he'd seen the king at a distance a few times. Now he
remembered everything he had ever heard about John: murderous,
perverse and deceitful, suspicious, ungodly, touchy—and the
other side of the Angevin coin—generous, genial, brave,
indulgent, dangerously intelligent.

'Sir
Richard! How good of you to come!' The king put a friendly arm round
Straccan's shoulders and walked up and down in the castle garden with
him. 'This isn't anything like it was in my mother's day,' said John,
jerking a disparaging thumb at the shrivelled roses. 'Greenfly! See?'
He pinched one off a bud and squashed it. 'The gardener tries
everything, but nothing works. Do you know anything about roses. Sir
Richard?'

'No,
My Lord. I've not had much to do with gardens.'

'Nor
me, nor me. I knew she was a witch, of course.'

The
abrupt change of subject made Straccan blink. 'The Lady Julitta, My
Lord?'

'Julitta,
yes, who else? Haven't run into any other witches recently, have you?
Christ, I hope not! Pity she got away. Not that I blame you. You have
letters for me.'

'Yes,
Sire.' Straccan proffered the packet, and the king leafed through
them.

'De
Vesci,' he murmured. 'Well, well, what a surprise! And that little
sod Mowbray, after all I've done for him. Percy, too, another
ingrate. Grellay, he owes me a thousand marks, FitzWalter, de
Lacy—all of em northerners. Must be the climate.' He handed the
letters to the clerk who followed him about, writing desk hung round
his neck, pen and inkhorn always ready. 'This the lot?' 'No, My Lord.
We divided them, these for Your Grace, the others for the King of
Scots.'

'I'm
on my way north, as it happens, for a few words with my brother of
Scotland,' John said ominously. 'Didn't meet him yourself, did you?
No? I don't suppose he calls me his brother of England,' he added
morosely, kicking at a faint-hearted clump of pinks. 'I wouldn't like
to think what he calls me. He'll have to be brought to heel again;
it's getting to be a habit. What were you doing in Pontigny, by the
way?'

It
seemed an age ago. 'It's rather a long story, Lord King,' said
Straccan.

'Good,'
said John, bending and pulling up a wilted something.

'Look
at that! Shocking!' He threw it disgustedly down among the
sorry-looking roses. 'Carry on, Sir Richard. I like a good story.'
Straccan told him about the icon, and how it led him to Julitta.
About Soulis's order for the finger of Saint Thomas. 'That's why I
went to see the archbishop,' he said. 'I didn't expect to get
anywhere, but I had to try.'

'He's
no archbishop of mine,' growled the king.

Whoops,
thought Straccan, and said, 'No, My Lord. Your pardon.'

'A
figure of speech, I know, I know,' said John. 'Let's go back inside.'
On the doorstep he half-turned and shouted, apparently to nobody,
'Get these things watered; they're probably dying of thirst. I know I
am,' he added to Straccan. 'Come in, come in, I'm expecting someone,
and I do want to be in when he arrives. How did you get Langton to
let you have the relic?' He held out a hand, and a servant placed a
cup of wine in it.

'It
turned out that he felt himself under some obligation to me. I had
done a service to his nephew, years ago, in the Holy Land.'

'Ah,'
said John. 'How fortunate! You seem to be a lucky man, Sir Richard.
Luck's a strange thing, so unaccountable. Your horse was killed, I'm
told.'

Straccan
was surprised. If the king's uncanny knowledge of such minutiae was
due to Larktwist's report and Larktwist only one of many wandering
spies, then John's espionage system must be the envy of Europe. 'Yes,
Lord King,' he said. 'By the man-eaters.'

'Well,
well,' said the king thoughtfully. 'Pity to lose a good horse. Had
him long?'

'Eleven
years, My Lord.'

The
door opened, admitting a sergeant and two men-at-arms roughly pushing
another man before them. 'Ah,' said the king, beaming. 'Sir Gilbert.
Feeling better, now, are you?' The man reddened, gazed at the floor
like a naughty child and said nothing.

'Gilbert
was very sick when first I sent for him,' John told the smirking
company in general. 'But it seems my second summons found him
recovered. A minor miracle, perhaps? It's been a good year so far for
miracles. Why, only this summer a band of white monks from Altraham
took their skull of Saint Joseph on the road to raise money, and by
God's Grace the rest of the saint's body grew back! They ended up
with the whole thing, bar a few toes. Isn't that a marvel? I wonder
what happened to the toes.' He looked slyly at Straccan. Oh Christ,
thought Straccan, those silly sods, no idea where to stop! And pox
take that Larktwist and his big accurate mouth! But he met the royal
gaze innocently, and the king smiled.

'Well
Gilbert, speak up,' said John cheerfully. 'Cat got your tongue, has
it?' He put a handful of grapes in his mouth and began chewing.

'Yes,
My Lord, I mean no, My Lord.'

A
royal-liveried man appearing in the doorway caught the king's eye,
was beckoned forward, and whispered for a few moments into the royal
ear. John nodded, his bright eyes on Sir Gilbert. When the messenger
had done, the king snapped his fingers, and a servant popped out of
the crowd to give the man a few coins.