Crown of the Realm (A White Knight Adventure Book 2) (22 page)

Richard
offered a helping hand. “Come. I didn’t break it.”

Drake
gazed up, his eyes burning with the fatigue of spent anger. He was probably as white as the coruscated rock at his back. When he didn’t offer up either arm, Richard squatted beside him, there on the greasy rushes, and drew him against his chest, his arm resting heavily across Drake’s shoulders. Stephen approached.

“I sometimes forget,” Richard said, gazing up. “You are no longer squires. You are men. And king’s knights.”

Seventy and more faces were drawn to the drama in the corner. The knife-edged ridge of the king’s nose sliced the air. “Eat! Even if the morsels stick in your gullet. The drama is over.”

Reluctantly, everyone
obeyed.

The eagle talons dug deeper into Drake’s shoulder
s. “I was wrong.”

Drake swallowed derisive laughter but not the crooked smile that accompanied it. “A king? Fallible?”

“And tractable. A vow,” he said, including Stephen. “I will treat you as the men you are and not as pawns on a chessboard.”

Drake nodded and suppressed a gulp. The tears were there, ready to spring. But dear God, not in front of the king.

The king stood, bringing Drake dizzyingly with him. He clapped his other arm around Stephen. “What you need is a woman.”

Drake said, “The last thing of which I need is a woman.”

Richard turned his head. “Stephen then. For weeks he has been locked up in a hellhole with nothing to keep him company but his hands.” Gathering the men against his broad shoulders, the king embraced them as boys, and neither brother knew whether to laugh or cry.

* * *

Later, everyone seated around the hall, the comte and comtesse of Angoulême joined their guests for an evening of revelry, replete with jongleurs and minstrels.

Alamanda and Guiraut sang a duet, their voices playful
, she playing the part of her mistress’s maid while he was speaking to her of his desire for her mistress.

If I seek your advice, pretty friend Alamanda,

don’t make things hard for me, for I’m a banished man.

For that’s what your deceitful mistress told me,

that now I’ve been expelled from her command:

and what she gave me she retracts now and reclaims.

What should I do?

I’m so angry that my body’s

all but bursting into flame.

Drake and Stephen were given seats of honor, stools propping their feet, pillows
cushioning their backs, and nothing too good for either. Fresh drink, poured repeatedly into their cups, vanished without delay.

In God’s name, Guiraut, a lover’s wishes

count for nothing here, for if one partner fails

the other should keep up appearances

so that their trouble doesn’t spread or grow.

If she tells you that a high peak is a plain,

believe her,

and accept the good and bad she sends:

thus shall you be loved.

Warm and weary, Drake
more than consumed the words of a man who wanted to capture the heart of a noblewoman while the servant wanted to capture his heart, and neither was destined to capture the hearts of anyone.

Now don’t start prattling, young girl,

for she lied to me first, more than five times.

Do you think I can put up with this much more?

I’d be taken for an ignoramus.

I have a mind to ask about another friendship

if you don’t stop talking;

I got much better counsel from Berengaria

than I ever got from you.

Laughter broke out. Richard stood behind the brothers, his fingers digging into their shoulders.

Seigneur Guiraut, I didn’t want your love to end,

but she says she has a right to be enraged,

because you’re courting someone else in front of everyone

who next to her is worth nothing, clothed or
nude.

If she didn’t throw you off she’d be acting weak,

since you’re courting someone else.

But I’ll speak well of you to her … I always have …

if you promise not to keep on doing that.

The singing trailed off …

Beauty, for God’s sake, if she has your trust,

promise her for me.

And ended with Alamanda’s final advice …

I’ll gladly do so, but when she’s given you her love again,

don’t take yours back.

The hearthfire and the wine had done their work. The hall spun lazily. Like his brother, Drake descended into a pleasant torpor, listening to idle talk
and intermittent tunes, none of the words strictly intelligible. Someone suggested the women put the nestlings to bed before they fell off their chairs.

The
Comtesse Alys led the way, a taper lighting the wheel staircase, while Alamanda brought along her charges, boyish in charm and submissive in manner. The women tittered. Smiles played upon the brothers’ lips. Alys discreetly abandoned the guest chamber while Alamanda remained to do the honors. She removed the boots of both men with a certain expertise, and soon had them stripped, discommoded, and at her bidding.

“And does the king pay for your services?”

“My dear Grendel of Poitiers. No man, king, or commoner pays for my services. They come
gratis
or not at all.” Her eyes roved to Stephen. “Is he as much a
gentil-homme
as his brother?”

Drake answered for him, “More. Except he snores.”

“That’s a filthy lie,” said Stephen.

Nimble fingers worked the knots of her girdle. She let the intertwined braids of gold and leather drop to the floor.

“It seems Gui was wrong,” Drake said. “You do take doubles into your skirts.”

“But never triples.”

“My arms,” Drake said, reminding her, “tonight they are both disabled.”

“Except for bringing drink to mouth.” Dainty fingers practiced at stroking the strings of a lute undid the laces of her kirtle.

“The pain was worth all.” To watch a woman undress was a sublime ceremony, and worth watching as many times as possible.

Her smile was honey sweet. “The pain can be worth all again. But I relent. We switch places. You,” she said, taking in both brothers, “shall be my flowers and I shall be your honeybee. That is, if Stephen so agrees.”

“Stephen,” said Stephen, “so agrees.”

The neckline of her gown separated, revealing rosy depths beneath.
A man could smother himself in those malleable distractions and forget his troubles. “What kind of man am I?”

Drake
had said it more to himself than to Alamanda, but she answered, “Like others. No worse and no better.”

“I thought that you and Guiraut …”

“You thought wrongly.” She undid the side laces.

“Ah,” Stephen said, his tongue thick with fatigue, “that is why women have so many laces and such.”

“The better to unwrap the package.” The gown ebbed to the floor, quickly followed by her silk chemise.

The
lit tallow washed over the contours of her skin in shades of sepia. The effect, Drake decided, was well worth the torment of Tantalus. “I am a poor excuse for a lover.”

“I am mistress of the gentler arts. You won’t have to do a thing.”

“Except for—”

She shushed him with a finger.
“Forgetfulness, said the wise man, is the opiate of love.”

SUMMER COURT IN
Chinon gathered the king’s most powerful men from England, Normandy, Aquitaine, and Anjou. Day after fatiguing day, melting candles gave witness to the final preparations for the crusade.

Lists for horses, weapons, armor, ships
, and provisions were drawn. Seneschals in Normandy, Anjou, Poitou, and Gascony were confirmed or appointed. Gerard was made archbishop of Auxienne, and Bernard, bishop of Bayonne. Longchamp was made papal legate in England. Chiefs and constables for the king’s crusading fleet were named. At-sea disciplinary regulations were issued. Richard’s nephew, Arthur of Bretagne, only two years of age, was affirmed Richard’s heir should the king die without issue. A final accounting was made of the king’s treasury.

By day, the king used his tongue and his will as double-edged swords. By night, food, wine
, and song reduced tempers to jelly.

John
was unable to come to grips with the heroic return of two knights. Not only had they been reinstated into the king’s good graces but granted the king’s full trust. The king’s brother bided his time until the day before Richard’s departure, and then sought reprisal. “That man,” the king’s brother said, pointing a sharp finger at Drake, “is guilty of regicide.”

Emulating the legendary court of King Arthur, the king’s council was seated at a round table in Chinon’s great hall.

“His brother is no less guilty,” John pronounced. “And there they sit, privy to the king’s ear. I demand an accounting of their actions.” His fist pounded the table. “One no less stringent than that given the king’s treasury.”

“Which,” Richard said, his sword hand resting tranquilly on the polished walnut, “you no doubt know to the pound and penny.”

The prince’s face bleached as white as the many parchments flung across the vast table. “Dear brother. Are we returned yet again to that unsubstantiated imputation?”

“We are. And ever shall be.”

Not to be left out, Geoffrey Plantagenêt said, “I also aver the brothers fitzAlan guilty of high treason. As such, they deserve no less than removal of life and liberty.”

Richard turned to Drake. “
Sieur fitzAlan, would you kindly offer my brothers their asked-for accounting? But with brevity?”

Drake turned a benign gaze on the table at large. “The assassin or assassins, if they exist, may or may not be present inside this very chamber.” On John’s cackling protest and Geoffrey’s invocation of God’s son, he raised his voice. “But whatever their names, they are neither my brother nor myself.”

John bolted from his seat. “We all saw what happened at Nonancourt!”

“
Restrain yourself, if you can dear brother, and sit down,” Richard said.

“Yes,” added the archbishop of York. “You’re upsetting the symmetry of the table.”

Laughter was contained behind several bowed heads. The princeling did as he was bidden, though not gladly. The king nodded to his marshal.

Randall of Clarendon said, “As king’s marshal, I have made a formal inquiry. No man
here present or outside this hall can confirm or deny with a certainty what happened that night at Nonancourt. The sun was setting, the fire arrows were distracting, and subsequent events added to the confusion.”

“Notwithstanding, a fair maiden is dead,” John said.

“Then perhaps you yourself wish to bear witness,” the marshal responded, his eyes angling toward Drake, “of how Tancrede d’Évreux stepped out of line and released the fatal arrow.”

John finessed the imputation. “And how convenient that he’s been murdered. No doubt by that man there.”

“If you mean Drake fitzAlan,” said André de Chauvigny, “the two of us found d’Évreux’s body together. If you accuse him, you accuse me, which you attempted once before. And, might I add, forestalled several weeks of wedded bliss with my beautiful bride.”

Tittering and chortling traveled around the table.

“You make light of a serious situation,” John said, his face stern and his attitude humorless.

“Not in the least, milord. As any man will attest—including Guillaume de Fors, at present tasting the fruits of his new marriage, and Baldwin de Béthune, may he shortly be so blessed—the marriage bed is sanctified by God and
should supersede petty squabbles.”

“Leaving aside what may or may not have happened at Nonancourt
, that man,” John  said, pointing a finger at Drake, “shot a bolt through the king’s shoulder.”

“I beg your pardon most humbly,” said the king, “but the king’s shoulder is
holeless. If you care to examine his person, it shall be made available to you. But not at this moment, as he is morbidly shy in front of others.”

Laughter replaced
tittering, which vexed the prince all the more. The king’s brother shoved back his chair and stood. Given that he was a short man, power did not accrete to his stature. “You accuse me, is that it? Of fratricide, and God knows what else?”

“
Of neither fratricide nor regicide,” Richard said.

“Suspicion equals accusation.”

“In your eyes only. Now sit down.”

“Then who?
” John said, not sitting. “Declare a name.”

“There is no name to declare, no finger to point, no mastermind to imprison. The matter ends there.” Richard addressed the round table. “Gentlemen, please excuse us.”

On a hush, everyone rose and shuffled quietly out of the great hall. Everyone excepting the king, his brothers, and two beleaguered knights.

“Geoffrey,” Richard said, “you have nothing to add?”

“What more is there to say?”

“That you ought to lose your head at dawn for conspiring to seize the crown of the realm?”

Geoffrey paled but held a sharp gaze on his brother the king.

“Or that
you, brother mine,” he said to John, “should lose your head at dawn for the same reason?”

“I steadfastly deny
culpability!”

“Deny it from the ramparts, with trumpets and festoons,” said Richard. “And afterwards reminisce on your traitorous conduct April last, the both of you, when the king lay abed with a sudden attack of ague.”

“Ague!” John spit out sardonically.

“And further ponder on the inexhaustible supply of honest men eager to put their names on any number of statements and depositions, all of which testify to the indubitable crime
s of high treason by the king’s loving brothers.” Richard’s voice thundered over the loud protests of his brothers, “One by invoking the name of our father and the other by usurping the king’s power in his hour of weakness!”

John resumed his chair without being ordered and became dismally silent.

“Out, the both of you! And don’t return until you are can conduct yourself as men instead of spoiled brats.”

As one
, the king’s brothers stood and stomped out of the hall.

“And so,” Richard said, turning toward the fitzAlans.
“Your opinions?”

“It’s John,” said Drake.

“You’re letting passion cloud your judgment.”

“It’s John,”
Stephen echoed his brother. “Though both your brothers conspired with Philippe.”

“To what end?”

“For one or the other to vie for Alais’ hand in marriage and thence assume the kingship,” Stephen said.

The king sat back
, arms folded, and regarded the brothers. “From where does this conjecture derive?”

“I regret to inform the king
,” Drake said, “that your affianced was with both your brothers that fateful night at Nonancourt.”

“
Was
she?”

“When I awoke Geoffrey for a tête-à-tête, he reeked of her perfume.”

“And John?”

“Was in a state of dishabille whilst the princess Alais was sleepwalking
through the dark corridors.”

“They were busy that night, my loved ones.”

“They were.”

“You forget. John is married already. To Hawisa of Gloucester.”

“Easily annulled,” Stephen said. “Since they are third cousins.”

“
Oc
, we seem to have a surfeit of cousins in the Plantagenêt realm.”

The brothers suppressed amused grins
.

“I am still not convinced,” Richard said. “Even if, as you claim, my brothers were courting the future queen, what proof exists that either one recruited a
once-loyal knight to act as assassin.”

“None,” Drake said on a sigh.

“Or that either covered up his fault with murder?”

Again Drake said, “None.”

“Other men could have killed d’Évreux and the Lady Jacotte. Your
routiers
, as example.”

“By then, they were escorting me to Hell,” Stephen said. “But there is something I haven’t told you.”

Richard waited.

“Irrespective of ten weeks spent in captivity on a king’s mission, the man sitting here before you is not so noble, nor so gallant, nor
so steadfast as you may think.”

“What man is?”

“But …”

He dismissed Stephen with an impatient wave of his hand. “Drake, the queen my mother wishes to speak with you. She awaits you in her apartments. Stephen, if you please,
call everyone back.”

“You haven’t heard me out,” Stephen persisted.

“Nor do I need to. You are with me now, are you not?”

Stephen hesitated before saying, “I am.”

“Then what else needs to be said?”

* * *

Drake was ushered
into Eleanor’s antechamber and there abandoned. Cradling his slung arm with his good one, he paced to and fro amid carpets from the east, embroidered cushions and tapestries, carved chairs and pillowed couches, crafted tables, bejeweled coffers, and marble artifacts.

The doors leading from the queen’s bedchamber
finally opened. Two women entered on a rose-scented breeze.

Her wimple fluttering, Eleanor swept forward and reached out blue-veined hands. “
Mon cher
,” she said, “I regret not having seen you since your triumphant return.”

“The king has engaged most of my time.”

“So I’ve heard. Whilst I have been abed with a nagging cough.” She delivered a kiss to each cheek before examining him. “You look tired. Your arm? Does it plague you?”

“Every day it pains me less.”

“An unfortunate accident. The man who attacked you? Has he been justly punished?”

“He has.”

“And now you return to king and castle absolved of your crimes and restored to your position but no closer to exposing the assassin.”

Drake smiled
charmingly. “I am used to such disappointments.”

“So you are.” She glanced back. “Aveline, don’t you have a greeting for your countryman?”

Drake had not taken his eyes off her since first she passed through the portal. He noted how the handsome linen flattered her figure. Remarked how the dark hue whitened her complexion. Admired how the short veil, held in place by a golden chaplet, rendered her queenly. Regretted how the downcast eyes had lost their sheen. And noticed how the bejeweled girdle revealed a widening girth.

Copying the gesture of the queen, Aveline advanced and delivered two chaste kisses. Stepping demurely back, she
lowered her eyes once again.

“You have searched high and low for my chambermaid,” Eleanor said, smiling, “but it was at her request that we made her unavailable. She had much soul-searching and praying to do, and we acquiesced to her wishes. But now, I will leave you to speak in private.”

After the queen’s graceful departure, Aveline motioned a polite arm toward a chair. He could not sit. The strain was palpable. The quiet, destructive. “I can’t bear this,” he said.

“You can, you know. And you will.”

“You were right,” he said at last. “I didn’t then and I don’t now have the courage to turn my back on king and kind.”

“That is because you
embrace your destiny, and have all along. You are meant to be the lord of Itchendel. And the lord of Itchendel cannot take to wife the daughter of an alewife. It’s not only demeaning, it’s against nature and God. In time you would come to resent me, as I would feel unworthy of you. As I do even now.”

“It is I who am unworthy.”

“You are worth everything, Drake fitzAlan,” she said, tears springing to her eyes. “And shall always be.” She backed away, shaking her head lest her resolve break. “On the morrow, I leave for the Abbey of Fontevraud, there to do what must be done in prayer and solitude. Bertran de Born escorts me.”

“Stephen intends to strike out on his own.
Will you both abandon me?”

“Be gone with you, Drake fitzAlan,” she said, her voice cracking. “I have no more time for knights of the realm.”

His heart ached. He had so much to say and no words to say it with. “This is to be the end, then, between you and me?”