Cloud Walker, All Fools' Day, Far Sunset (7 page)

‘Forgive me, Seigneur,’ said Kieron with accidental humour, ‘I was not conscious of your presence.’

‘Ha!’ Seigneur Fitzalan permitted himself a thin smile. ‘I will remember the jest … Well, boy, you struck the Mistress Alyx, repeatedly, in a place to which no gentleman cares to refer. Before I determine your fate, I would have you know that this is a precedent. Derive some satisfaction from it, if you may. Previous to your assault, no man – not even I – had ever laid hand upon my daughter in anger. What, then, have you to say?’

‘Nothing, Seigneur,’ said Kieron after a moment or two of reflection. It would be stupid to plead for mercy. It would be stupid to try to explain the provocation.

‘So, boy, you are fairly condemned?’

‘I struck Mistress Alyx, Seigneur. I intended no permanent damage. That is all.’ He looked vaguely at Alyx. She was no longer the imperious young lady. She seemed white-faced, unhappy. Well, thought Kieron, let my death lie on her conscience for ever.

‘That is all?’ thundered Fitzalan. ‘That is all?’

‘Seigneur,’ said the gaoler, ‘allow me to encourage him.’

‘Be silent, fellow,’ snapped Fitzalan irritably. ‘A knock on the head and his present situation ought to be sufficiently encouraging for the time being … Well, prentice, you have spoken. You have nothing further to add?’

Kieron thought for a moment. There was much that could be added, of course, but best keep it to essentials.

‘I pray that my actions will not reflect upon Master Hobart, who is a kindly man and a great painter, and responsible for no actions but his own. I pray also that my parents be held free from blame. It was simply their misfortune to beget me. Already, they have their punishment.’

Seigneur Fitzalan made rumbling noises in his throat. His moustache quivered. Mistress Alyx leaned forward and, looking at Kieron, began to stroke her father’s long silver hair.

‘As to your punishment, prentice, I have given some thought to it. At first, I was minded to have your head struck off, as an example to all upstarts and mischief-makers, of which there are always a few in any domain. Then, since such a punishment was somewhat final and likely to be forgotten by many in a twelve-month, I was inclined to clemency, striking off only the offending hand and blinding the offending eyes.’

Kieron shuddered. Death was preferable to clemency.

‘However,’ continued Seigneur Fitzalan, ‘my daughter Alyx, who is not without a mind of her own, suggested a more ingenious punishment.’

Kieron’s mouth ran dry. The horrors already mentioned seemed bad enough. But, evidently, they were not sufficient to give Mistress Alyx the satisfaction she required.

‘So, prentice, you will endure the punishment that Mistress Alyx has recommended, since she is the offended party.’

‘Seigneur,’ said Kieron quickly, ‘I accept death by decapitation. It is just.’

‘Do you, now? The choice lies not in your province, boy. Think yourself fortunate.’

Kieron did not think himself fortunate. The axe was quick, whereas whatever Mistress Alyx had devised was likely to be slow.

‘I sentence you,’ said Seigneur Fitzalan, smiling faintly, ‘to attend Mistress Alyx upon her request, to execute such drawings as are necessary, and never again to raise your hand towards her in anger lest mine be raised fearfully against you … You are lucky, boy, that my daughter enjoys peculiar whims and also has womanly methods of twisting my resolution. Well, what say you?’

Kieron’s mouth opened and closed, but no words would come.

‘Loose him, father. The boy has suffered enough.’ Alyx gazed compassionately at Kieron. It was the first time she had spoken.

Fitzalan cast a despairing glance at ceiling. ‘When will I ever understand the ways of a woman?’ Then he signalled to the gaoler, and Kieron was released from the manacles.

He found his tongue. ‘I thank you, Seigneur, for the mercy you have shown.’

Fitzalan laughed. ‘Mercy, by Ludd! Speak to me of mercy when Mistress Alyx has taken her vengeance. Now get from this place and pray somewhat.’

The following day, Kieron presented himself at the castle as usual; but Mistress Alyx chose not to receive him. He returned to Hobart’s house dejected, convinced that Alyx had had time for reflection and that the commission was lost, seven hundred and fifty schilling and all. He supposed he ought to count himself lucky that he got out of the affair as lightly as he did. But he was truly mortified. He was mortified because he feared that his conduct might reflect upon Master Hobart, and that the old man might lose other commissions also.

He had related the entire story as accurately as he could, adding nothing, omitting nothing. He had expected that Hobart would be dismayed and also disgusted with him, would wish to beat him certainly, and quite likely would desire to end the apprenticeship.

He was right in that Hobart was dismayed. He was wrong in that Hobart would be disgusted.

‘My son, I see that Mistress Alyx used you cruelly. Forgive me. I know that she is a wilful woman. I did not know that she would abuse her position. It matters not if we are out of favour at the castle. I liked this commission but little, anyway. What matters most is that you survived the incident.’ He tried to laugh, but wound up with a fit of coughing that needed to be settled by usquebaugh. ‘In any case, we have the refined flax seed oil, for which the demand will be prodigious.’

Kieron was amazed. ‘You are not angry?’

‘Yes, I am angry that talent should be impeded by temperament. What is Alyx Fitzalan? Nothing but the daughter of Seigneur Fitzalan. That is her sole significance. But you, Kieron, are an artist and quite possibly a man of genius. It is unfortunate that you beat her – though I rejoice in the thought, having had some temptation myself – yet it is not disastrous. Fitzalan was wise enough not to pursue the matter. We shall live.’

‘Sir, I am grateful.’

‘Say no more, Kieron. Tomorrow we will fish for trout.’

But, on the following day a lackey brought a summons. The Mistress Alyx Fitzalan desired that Kieron, apprentice of Hobart, attend her with his drawing materials.

‘You will not go,’ said Hobart. ‘I will plead illness.’

‘Sir, I must go,’ said Kieron. ‘It is part of the sentence.’

As before, Alyx was seated at the clavichord, waiting for him. A book rested on the music machine. Kieron recognised it.

‘Good morning, Master Kieron.’ He was taken aback at her civility. Besides, he was not a master, he was only an apprentice.

‘Good morning, Mistress Alyx.’

She stood up and held out the book.

‘You were interested in this volume, I recall. It is yours.’

Kieron was shaken. ‘Mistress Alyx, you are most kind.’ He took the book, fingered it lovingly. ‘You are too kind. I—’ He stopped.

Alyx smiled. ‘Let us forget the past, Kieron. How would you like me to pose?’

‘As you will, Mistress. As you will. I can take many sketches and compound them into something from which Master Hobart will discern the necessary form.’

‘Kieron?’

‘Mistress Alyx?’

‘Call me Alyx.’

He was shaken even more. ‘Yes – Alyx.’

‘Kieron, no man ever before beat me.’

‘I am sorry, Mistress – I am sorry, Alyx. I thought you commanded me to forget the –’

‘Kieron?’

‘Mistress – I mean Alyx?’

She rose from the clavichord and came close to him. Her gown rustled, and there was a fragrance about her, a redness in her cheeks, a softness in her eyes. She did not now look at all like the ice-cold girl who had goaded him beyond endurance. ‘I treated you ill, and I am sorry. Yesterday, I cried into the night because I had been cruel and stupid, and I thought you would hate me. Do you hate me? If so, I must learn to bear it.’

Kieron knew not what to say or do. For reasons he could not understand, his heart seemed to be exploding in his chest. There was sweat on his forehead and a fire in his limbs. At length he found his tongue.

‘Mistress, I do not hate you. Truly, I do not. Something has happened that … Perhaps my mind is sick.’

She smiled. ‘You forget. Say Alyx. My name is Alyx. You shall use it always when we are alone.’

‘Alyx,’ he said idiotically. ‘Alyx.’ He could think of nothing else to say. The word seemed both familiar and strange, a magic word. An incantation.

‘Your mind is not sick, Kieron. At least, no more than mine … We are friends, now?’

‘We are friends.’ Kieron was trembling. He seemed to be standing outside himself. He seemed to be listening to the voice of a stranger … Why did she stand so close? Why was there a roaring in his head?

‘We are close friends?’

‘If it is your wish.’

‘Is it not yours?’

‘Alyx, I – I …’ There was nothing to say. Nothing that made sense.

‘Kiss me, Kieron. Your lips on mine.’ The book dropped from Kieron’s hand. He did not notice. Neither of them noticed.

‘Kiss me,’ she whispered. It was a whisper that drove all rational thought from Kieron’s mind.

He held her in his arms. He felt the life in her. He felt her breasts against him, the liquid warmth of her belly. He felt her lips upon his.

This was like to earn him the donjon, the lash, the irons, the rack, all manner of tortures. He did not care. The taste of Alyx Fitzalan’s lips, the touch of her body – he did not care.

Presently, they stood back from each other.

‘No man ever beat me before. No man ever held me so before. No man ever kissed me so before.’ Alyx seemed happy, even complacent. ‘I love you, Kieron.’

‘I am terrified of love,’ said Kieron. ‘It is a destroyer. But I love you also. I thought I hated you, but the hatred was a form of love.’

Alyx frowned as reality came back to her. ‘It is but a short-lived bloom, Kieron. Let us enjoy it while we may. The child Petrina is your destiny. Talbot of Chichester – a pale, sad thing – is mine … Does Petrina kiss as I do?’

‘Alyx, I know not, I do not – I have not …’ He floundered.

‘Hush, dear one. You gave me my answer … Until this time, you were but a prentice painter bullied by a thoughtless minx, taking advantage of her father’s power. But love is dangerous, Kieron. It makes us equal in each other’s sight; but in the eyes of the world the gulf between us is wide. Talbot and Petrina, and the customs of our people, hover about us like ghosts. We must be very careful, otherwise we shall be destroyed.’

Kieron managed to smile. ‘I will be careful, Alyx, if only because I must. I am afraid for both of us.’

She took his hand. ‘Be not too much afraid. If we keep our heads, all will be well.’ She laughed. ‘I surmise my father required Master Hobart to keep me distracted for at least a two-month. Is that not so? And you were to be the sacrificial lamb.’

Kieron shrugged. ‘It is so, Alyx. Indeed, it is so.’

‘Well, then,’ she said gaily, ‘who will protest if we stretch the two-month into a three-month? Not my father, not Master Hobart. Each would be delighted at the success of the stratagem. So, in public, I will be the haughty Alyx, whose aim is to humiliate you. And you will contrive to play the poor prentice who bears what he must for the sake of his master and his art and for the sake of his future. Can you bear this device?’

‘I can bear it.’

‘Good. Today, you will make sketches; but, tomorrow, we will ride again. Doubtless, you will fall off. The people will learn of it and be satisfied. Kieron-head-in-the-air – yes, I know what they call you – will be humiliated once more. Can you bear it?’

‘I can bear deception only for the sake of truth.’

‘Well spoken, my love.’ She came close and kissed him. ‘When we are alone – truly alone – you shall command me. I will kiss your feet, if it is your pleasure. I will stroke your hair and hold your body close to mine and rejoice in your touch.’

‘Alyx, do not make me cry.’

‘The tears will come later, Kieron – when I am taken to Talbot’s bed, and Petrina comes to yours. How shall either of us bear it then?’

He held her tight. ‘I do not know. I know only that we have a little time. For that I am grateful.’

‘A little time,’ sighed Alyx. ‘Only a little time. So sad … I want to learn about you. I want to learn as much as I can. Do you truly want to be a painter like Master Hobart? Or is there something else.’

‘Most of all,’ said Kieron, caressing her, ‘I want to fly. I want to conquer the air as the First Men and the Second Men did. I want to feel close to the stars.’

‘Kieron-head-in-the-air,’ she murmured, ‘I love you. You are nothing but a fantasist, a cloud walker.’

Brother Sebastian gazed at Kieron, lying on his daybed, without any animosity or any attempt to inspire fear. Brother Sebastian, a pleasant-looking man of thirty years or so, concealed his ambition, his desire for power, beneath a benign exterior. He rarely bullied. He preferred to look sorrowful. People did not like to see Brother Sebastian unhappy.

Kieron’s broken leg twitched abominably. It had been set by Seigneur Fitzalan’s own surgeon. Nevertheless, Kieron remained convinced that the fellow knew little of his art. Already, when he stretched and measured his limbs, Kieron seemed to detect that the good leg was significantly longer. He would hate to exchange his present title for Kieron-game-leg. Besides, who would condescend to wrestle with a cripple?

Brother Sebastian was in a quandary. At the insistence of Mistress Alyx, Kieron had been removed temporarily from Hobart’s house and given a room at the castle. Alyx had roundly condemned Kieron to her father, for indulging in childish pranks, and had implied that Kieron had broken his leg almost deliberately in order to avoid making the sketches and rough compositions that were necessary for the commissioned painting. Why, therefore, let the prentice have an easy time of it? Better, surely, to bring him to the castle so that he could continue his work without delay. That would teach him that he could not evade important affairs merely by breaking a leg.

Seigneur Fitzalan gave his daughter a curious look. He was an intelligent man. Intelligent enough to realise there were certain things it were better not to know. Besides, the boy was useful. Alyx had been relatively docile since she had had the prentice on whom to vent her feelings. So Kieron had been given a room in the castle while his leg mended.