Gifts of the Queen (32 page)

“Well, brother," he said, as if they spoke at ease alone. Off at your hunting again, I see." Since his voice was slurred, he may have meant a simple thing; but there were those who, remembering how Henry had been hunting when his father died, wondered aloud that Geoffrey should remind him of that; and certainly Henry himself, sensitive upon an issue that had already caused him so much grief, Henry took the words amiss.

Beginning to swing down from the gray horse, Henry paused, one foot in the stirrup which, as good horseman, he should never have done, threw his cloak back as if he felt too hot—another mistake—spoke angrily to his brother, which startled the horse.

‘And you, little brother, "he snarled, "we have expected you to come crawling for your share."

‘I have no land to do homage for," Geoffrey said. "My three castles are already yours, my bride shut up in a nunnery. Shall I lick your boots for fifteen hundred pounds?"

Not a wise speech either, and again unlike him. I myself have never known Geoffrey to sound so wild. He has a ready tongue, but mostly coats it sweet, though beneath it is sharp enough. When I looked closely, I saw his fine clothes were dark with sweat and dust as if he had been walking or running a long way in the heat; and when he raised his hand, a red gash showed across its palm, an open cut that still leaked blood. Henry may have noticed this or not; in a rage, like a bull, he focuses only on one thing, but others of us there did, and commented on it loudly enough. But Henry, angry that Geoffrey chose such a public place to pick a quarrel, angry that Geoffrey should mention again his inheritance, angry that we southern lords were there to listen in, brought down his whip. He meant it for his brother's back, but at the last moment, Geoffrey jumped aside, a nimble leap for one so drunk. The lash caught the gray horse along the flank, making it thrash and squeal with pain; the cloak that the king had so carelessly tossed aside twisted and tangled in the reins. With one foot still caught in the stirrup as I have said, Henry was dragged backward, his spurred foot digging into the cobbled yard, his hand encumbered with the whip. That flash of anger, that whiplash had lasted but a second's space; it dragged Henry off his feet, like to trample him to death, sent Geoffrey cowering behind a horse trough, set us all off in a flurry of fear.

'Intent at first to take in every word, and make the most of a family quarrel, we all had crowded too close and were obliged to look to our own mounts to avoid being tossed off. I had already dismounted myself, so from a vantage point, saw how the king's men paled with fright. And saw how Geoffrey, although he shrank away, watched Henry avidly. It suddenly crossed my mind that Henry dead would give Geoffrey all he could want, but that thought, too, died on the instant.

'Although Henry was dragged along, he did not panic but rammed the whip butt into the horse's side, yanked down hard on the bit, and hauled himself up in the saddle. He certainly regained his composure first. "In a nunnery is it," I heard him yell. "We'll have you in a monastery yet, since you sniff under women's skirts like a monk." Not a felicitous remark either. I saw several of the royal priests, on their knees praying for his life, cross themselves against such blasphemy. But Henry cares little for church laws, as you know, gives churchmen scant respect. And his anger was such that, although he did not ride his brother down, as for a moment I thought he might, he used the whip again and again against the horse.

'One of the other lords on foot, who had been watching the king's arrival, now came forward. Up to the king he strode, paid him no heed, bent down to examine the animal's weals and cuts. It still started and shook, but he paid that no heed either, smoothed its heaving sides, gentled it.

' "Those cuts need care," was all he said, but when he straightened up, I saw the look he gave the king. He was not armed, of course—no man is, save the guard—and I had never seen the Count of Sieux before. They told me the last time he met the king he scarce could walk and had a price on his head. I know nothing of that but I tell you a brave man it was who dared cross that lord then. And the look Henry gave him back—I am not used to giving judgments out of hand, nor am I a betting man; but if I were, I would have wagered half my lands that one day, somewhere, sometime, these two would meet, not king and count, but man and man, and sword to sword, and God help him who tried to intervene. For there is a similarity, I think, between king and count, although both would run me through for saying so, something stubborn, untamed, which we men from the south have lost, if ever we had it, which perhaps we did not. We are an older breed and different, already lords of great lands while they were still pirates in the northern seas. But they have a look beyond arrogance, as unyielding as oak, a kind of strength that has already made them a master race, lords of the greater part of our known world—kings of England and Jerusalem, conquerors of all of southern Italy, holders of the island of Sicily, a Norman conquest stretching from north to south to east.'

He sighed, 'And they know it, more's our luck. Well, that too is the way of the world, as I told Count Raymond of Toulouse when he asked. "Beware of Henry," I told him. "You avoid him now, he will seek you out." And so that day, I thought too, "Beware, Henry King, of Count Raoul."

' "Greetings, Raoul," Henry said. He was still panting to catch his breath, his scant red hair, for he loses it young, plastered across his skull, his pale skin mottled as with cold, the vivid bruises where he had been dragged showing on his arms and face. He managed the horse with knees and legs, a good horseman is he too, when not enraged, and the horse he bestrode was a noble one.

'Raoul gave him no such greetings—pride again—patted the horse one more time.

'They told me later it was one of the Cambray grays, and that I should have guessed. "I know how to care for horseflesh," Henry said, out of a silence that continued too long, making his face darken with chagrin.

' "Aye," said Raoul. He wiped his hands along his sides. Like Henry, he wears simple clothes, no elegance or style with either of them. "As well, I suppose, as you do your lands."

' "God's breath," Henry swore, "God's Holy Mass, what of my lands?"

' "Thus," Raoul said. "Give your brother land and title of his own that he stop envying you yours, and me mine. Give him a wife to keep him quiet—there are wives in Brittany for the taking—or geld him. But keep him away from Sieux."

' "What of Brittany?" Henry now asked. He too is quick and to the point.

' "Nothing to me," Raoul said. "I keep only the Welsh in hand. But since the Brettons urge the Welsh princes to revolt, if you control the one, you control them both. I shall to England to patrol the border there, that is my concern. See you to the settling of Brittany here."

'I had never heard a man address his overlord in such a way, much less a king, with such a lack of respect. And it is said Henry can reduce proud men to sniveling fools. I do not fault Lord Raoul, you understand—what Henry did at Sieux is well known, and what Raoul did at Boissert equally so. But to make a king look like a school boy with his breechcloth down—well, Henry got the worst of it this time. He beckoned to a page to bring him wine—Henry who never drinks, and who despises us because we do. (I count it no disgrace to wear silk or to like good wine, but if they prefer to ride in homespun like their grooms and drink watered beer, that is to their taste, not mine.)

' "By the Rood," Henry spoke carefully, holding anger in check, "you take much upon yourself. Count Raoul, to plan a progress along our border without our leave. You refused me last time I asked you to."

'Ask' and 'command' are two different, words," Lord Raoul drawled, "but in any case, less of a progress than was spoken of at Boissert Field. It was a progress through a dukedom that your Normans planned; I speak of a stretch of bog and heath, not worth the fighting for, but mine I think. Mine by law and by holy oath to do with as I please. And that horse you so misuse but part the payment I gave for it."

' "That's as we decide," Henry said. Now, he may not look or dress like a king, but he has the tenacity of a bull, and when he lowers his head, he charges for the most vulnerable place. "Your wife found Cambray worth biding much to get."

Raoul kept his hands clasped behind his back but I saw now he held them to keep them still. Henry had struck a shrewd blow with that remark.

' "But it is still ours," Raoul said. "And that's a lesson worth remembering. We cannot have one law for king and one for lord. Land done homage for is justly held, and that a feudal right your lawyers in England should take into account. Nor can any man, still less a king, quest back and forth across the sea to keep a peace. Better, great King," and I think he spoke the word not to make a mock, but as if he wished Henry would merit it, "better to give your vassals some credit for common sense. Leave the western border to our lordship as has been so these last three kings. Keep your queen out of our affairs. Give your brother charge of the west here, to quiet him . . ."

'From behind the horse trough, Geoffrey said, "That's a gift I'd gladly take, and thank you for your lesson on loyalty. Ask all these gentlemen here arrayed where they heard so fine a talk, which the queen arranged for their delight. Poitiers is jammed with ladies these days, if you know where to look for them. Queen Eleanor keeps them under lock and key that we men must go there hunting for them, but we learned a goodly lesson of our own today, and the Countess of Sieux gave it us."

'Raoul said evenly, without rancor, "The Countess is left at home."

' "Then I cry you pardon," Geoffrey smiled. "I thought she visited with the queen. I thought I met with her at Poitiers. She . . ."

'Whatever else he would have said was lost in a gust of wind. Count Raoul leapt across the trough, rammed his fist under Geoffrey's rib cage, laid him out into a midden heap. Geoffrey hawked and spat, his silken tunic besmirched with slime and dung. Count Raoul a second time wiped off his hands.

' "One last thing," he said. "Touch not another's property lest your own be touched, a most important feudal law. And no man mouths my wife's name without my consent. That is a law of my own."

'Without more ado, without a by-your-leave, Raoul left—the king still sitting on his horse, brother Geoffrey still on his face in the muck, we courtiers still with our ears pinned back.

'Long and many were the wagers made that day. I tell you, I am no wagering man, but those Angevins will not let him rest. Nor will he them. Bound together by some rule beyond my understanding, bound together by some code, they urge each other on. Lord Raoul left then; I did not see him again. Sir Renier's message from you, reaching him, I suppose, to speed his return, although not, I think, until many hours after your starting forth, for the man who bore it was delayed. And that delay too Geoffrey or the king or even the queen might have deliberately arranged.' Ademar had paused then. 'But if not now,' he had said, 'some other time Henry and Raoul will meet.'

Well, the confrontation between Raoul and Henry was not now. Enough had been done now that there was no need for Henry to look for revenge, since others were already set on it for themselves. And what Lord Ademar foresaw, that final meeting between king and count, a wager that no man dared speak openly about, treason even to think of, yet one day Lord Ademar was to witness it. And when and how will be told by him in due course. Sufficient for the moment that Lord Raoul started after us, but too late to be of help. Had I known before the extent of Henry's newest quarrel with Raoul, would it have comforted me, made me change my plans? Was it worse not to know? Two men had done us grievous harm, a queen had done me as much, all three combined against us as Sir Renier had warned. And before us who knows what malice was poised to strike. So, with only imagination to feed my thoughts, no plans, no future but to reach Sieux before that malice did, we crossed, unseeing, that fair and pleasant land, and on the fourth day arrived at the Sieux River, close to our boundary.

We reached the river at an early hour, already tired, for we had paused but seldom these past days and nights. We came to a ford further west than usual, closer to the town of Saint Purnace. Although I have never liked the place, and never willingly have gone there since, even that day its name spelled home, and its church spire, which can be seen for many miles, took on a welcome look, floating from the autumn mist like a building hung in space. The waters ran higher than usual; there had been rains in the mountains and the coldness had a chill like snow. All seemed familiar, safe, and for the first time, Walter's frown of tension eased. He pushed back his mail coif and ran his fingers through his hair. He had ridden us hard, as hard as his master would; but, had we waited for Raoul's command, we should perhaps have been too late, and that he now acknowledged. Now he could admit we had done well to have come so far alone, and since we were but a short ride from Sieux—an hour or two—we must have outridden the de Boissert men, all threat left behind. And Raoul, being warned, would be in no danger with his much larger force. But the French men-at-arms who had done us such good service uncomplainingly, they still swore it was a mystery.

'For, lady,' the younger one explained, an argument we had had many times before, 'how is it possible that, in all of France, not one peasant has seen a group of horsemen riding along, not one child has waved at them, not one housewife tried to cheat them of lodging fees?' He meant, of course, that they too must have had support, fresh horses to exchange at need, bribes given to keep mouths shut. Only great influence can do that. They debated among themselves, an ongoing debate which today had lost its urgency.

I sat with my eyes closed, letting the rising sun warm me. We were not even unduly alarmed at the sound of hooves coming from the east. Eastward lay Sieux; no one had gone that way we should fear. And there was even less cause for alarm when we saw who it was, a group of masons in their monthly retreat, returning to Saint Purnace for supplies, among them Master Edward, whose small horse and strong compact frame were distinguishable from a long way off.