Joanna (13 page)

Now they discovered that Geoffrey was a very merry companion. He liked a sup of wine as well as the next manand had a hard head for it; he liked a pretty girl as well as the next manand did not worry overmuch about sin. Sir John of Mersea, Sir Robert de Remy, who held Telsey, and young Sir Giles of Iford decided they were going to enjoy this campaign.

All returned to camp in the best of good humors, the older men to eat and then stretch out on their camp beds which, if not equal to the soft feather beds of home, were a good deal better than the plain ground they had been sleeping on. The younger men were also thinking of bodily comforts, but not of sleep. Having picked out the cleanest of the camp whores, they had a rather loud party. Geoffrey’s lute was tuned to a more raucous note and a livelier measure than “Stella Maris,” and the women dancedwith less and less clothing to obscure their movements as the late afternoon darkened into the long summer dusk.

Joanna’s messenger had caught Geoffrey when he first rode into camp, but, having heard how quickly the man had come and that his father had already been informed, Geoffrey put the matter out of his mind temporarily. For one thing, he did not expect Joanna for at least another week; baggage carts moved slowly even when the roads were good and the rain of the past weeks would have turned them into a muddy mire. For another, Geoffrey was a little resentful. He knew it was not Joanna’s fault, but her presence in Whitechurch would be a nuisance. It would oblige him to spend a good deal of his time at court. This would spoil his plans for completing his knowledge of the men he was leading and expose him to the constant pinpricks of Isabella’s tongue.

Worst of all, it suddenly came to Geoffrey that Joanna would now be intimately associated with the ladies in his   past. Although none of those was nursing a broken heart, several of them had loose tongues and at least one was a vicious bitch who would positively joy in betraying him to his betrothed. What the devil was he going to do about that? Of course, it was none of Joanna’s business, and he could tell her that. He had not been betrothed to her then. Still, he would have preferred He had been a fool. He should have stuck to the paid whores who did not rise up and intrude themselves into a man’s life after he was through with them. That would teach him to be so fine and object to a little dirt. Better lice and stench than a mouth spitting venom. No more fine ladies, Geoffrey vowed. He would have Joanna soon enough, and until then he would take his amusement where it was safe to do so.

Under the circumstances, the lady of greensleeves Geoffrey had chosen was treated less casually than usual, and when the other young men were gone he told her to take off the rest of her clothes and began to divest himself of his own. The girl was a little surprised. High gentlemen usually did not bother with nakedness for her kindthe quicker the better for them, like taking a pissbut she was willing and unafraid. These four
were
gentlemen, only desiring a little natural fun. There were other “gentlemen” who used a girl of her profession for very queer pleasures they could not take with their wives or noble mistresses.

Just as Geoffrey was giving voice to a very bawdy tavern song, Joanna rode through the gates of Whitechurch. It took a little time to dispose of her men and arrange with Beorn that he or Knud should seek her out at irregular intervals on various specious excuses. Then she had to present herself to Isabella. The ladies looked very oddly at the huge dog that paced beside Joanna, but the beast was quiet and foolishly friendly and no one made any comment about it. Isabella only told Joanna, with a sly smile, that Geoffrey was not staying there; he had chosen the greater freedom of the camp. With an unmoved expression, Joanna asked for permission to inform Salisbury of her arrival. Obligingly, still   smiling, Isabella gestured at a boy who was close by to carry the message. The boy, young and uncertain, had spilled the whole tale, and Salisbury, having bitten back the comment that sprang to his tongue concerning the queen’s ancestry and character, then told the page to ride out to the camp and tell Geoffrey that his lady was come.

Half an hour later, the child was back in tears. He could not come near Lord Geoffrey, he explained. The lord and some friends were making merry, very merry. He had been afraid to intrude on their pleasure, and it did not sound to him as if the party would soon end. Salisbury looked with blank amazement at the trembling child, opening his mouth to blast him for such stupidity. Messages did not wait upon the end of pleasuring. Then he recalled to himself where the boy had been trained. Messagesand sometimes matters of far graver import than this boy carriedcertainly did wait on the end of pleasuring in this court. With a resounding oath, Salisbury dismissed the frightened page, telling him to hold his tongue if he did not want it cut out, and strode off to the stables. So delicate and innocent a lady as Joanna must not be offended with such information nor must she be hurt by the absence of her betrothed husband at the dancing that evening.

Tostig of Hemel, Geoffrey’s master-at-arms, caught the reins of Salisbury’s horse as the earl swung off his mount a few yards from Geoffrey’s tent. “My lord” he cried urgently.

Salisbury thrust him aside ungently with an irritable grunt.

“But” Tostig offered, following him a few steps.

Then he shrugged and fell back as Salisbury glared at him. He had tried. The father and son were on the best of terms and there was no serious wrong in what Lord Geoffrey was doing. It would not be the first time a father had learned his son was a man in all ways. He watched Salisbury duck under the tent flap, grinned and retreated.

“Get out of there and get dressed,” the earl roared.

Geoffrey rose off the whore and onto his feet in as neat a   piece of levitation as Salisbury had seen in a long time. “What? What?” he gasped, groping for his sword before his eyes focused on the interruption.

As he looked at his son, Salisbury’s irritation evaporated. Geoffrey was a most personable young man, even now with his eyes dazed, his hair lank, and sweat beading on his shoulders and trickling through the sparse hair on his chest and belly.

“Father!” Geoffrey exclaimed, “What it is? What is wrong?” And before the earl could answer, he shouted, “Tostig, my arms!”

“No,” Salisbury said, “Court dress.”

“Court? Court dress?”

It was clear enough at this moment that Geoffrey’s mind was still thrall to his thwarted body. Salisbury made an effort and did not laugh. He would not have been pleased, when he was Geoffrey’s age, to be laughed at in a similar situation. In fact, he thought, he would not be overpleased if it happened right now. That notion was irresistibie, and Salisbury did grin. It was a mistake. Geoffrey’s face became suffused with color and his eyes lightened to gleam golden as a wolf’s.

“No,” he snarled. “I do not care to come to heel like a tame dog at the king’s whim. If there is business, I will come at a reasonable hour tomorrow.”

“It is nothing to do with John,” Salisbury replied a little stiffly. “Joanna rode in just before vespers.”

“Joanna!” Geoffrey exclaimed, his color diminishing, “It is impossible. Her messenger came only”

“Impossible or not impossible, she is here.”

A string of heartfelt obscenities trickled slowly out of Geoffrey’s mouth, but when Tostig came in with his mail he said to his man, “Never mind my armor. Get me something decent to wear. I must ride to court.”

The relief in the young master-at-arms’s face was hidden as he bent over the chests of clothing. He knew just how much wine his lord had swallowed and he had been wondering what he would do if his master was so far gone that he   wished to come to blows with his own father. Lord Geoffrey was not usually touchy, but the circumstances were not exactly an everyday occurrence.

Meanwhile, Geoffrey had looked vaguely at the whore, who had rolled hastily off the cot and was now crouched at the far side of the tent. He held out a hand toward his father. “Have you a purse? Give me some money. II do not know where”

Salisbury fingered out the two smallest coins in his purse and pressed them into Geoffrey’s palm. The young man walked across to the crouching woman, who, image of fear though she was, still held up a cupped hand. Geoffrey dropped the coins in and told her indifferently to get dressed and go, adding that there was nothing to fear. Then he swung his head back toward his father and blinked owlishly. “I am drunk,” he announced.

“Then you will be no different than half the other men at court. Can you sit a horse?”

Geoffrey drew himself up with great dignity, which was a little marred by his nakedness and by an enormous hiccup. “That is a ridiculous question. I have never been so drunk that I could not sit a horse.”

“May such abstemiousness long prevail,” Salisbury replied drily and went to help Tostig dress him.

Now that the shock that had briefly sobered Geoffrey was receding, Salisbury could see that his son was, indeed, “well to live.” He was not unduly worried. The ride in the cooling night air would doubtless sober him considerably, enough anyway to behave respectably. If not, he could take Geoffrey to his own chamber first and apply some rough and ready measures. It seemed, however, that Geoffrey had spoken the truth as far as his ability to rideif not to mount. Tostig had to hold him upright, fit his foot into the stirrup, and hike him aloft while Salisbury grinned. But once in the saddle, Geoffrey was steady enough.

The father did not mind. He was rather pleased. Like most sons, Geoffrey kept his peccadillos within his own age group, presenting to his parent and his elders in general an   appearance of good behavior. That was ordinary enough, but Geoffrey had had a mischievous, amused, and very experienced mentor in Lord Ian, who had preached to such an effect that Geoffrey was unusually discreet. This skill at concealment had made Salisbury worry a bit about the boy becoming a virtuous prig. It was plain, however, that there was no danger of that. What worried Salisbury at the moment was the frown that was growing between Geoffrey’s brows.

‘‘Your head aches, boy?” he remarked at last.

Geoffrey did not answer so obvious an invitation to say what was bothering him directly. Instead, he said, “You did say that Joanna was come, did you not?”

“Yes. I thought it unwise that you should not ride in to say a word of greeting when the distance is so short. Women take to weeping over very foolish things.”

Again Geoffrey did not reply directly to what his father said. The frown grew deeper. “There were no pages in the court to carry this message? What of Peter or Gervase or Philip?”

The latter three were Salisbury’s squires. When Geoffrey named them, Salisbury looked surprised. He could have sent one of themGervase or Philip who were older anyway; he simply had not thought of it. What was more important to him, however, was the trend of Geoffrey’s thoughts. Some way, Geoffrey was accounting Salisbury’s coming to poor John’s discredit. Hastily, Salisbury told the story of the page who dared not interrupt the party. The frown smoothed out somewhat and Geoffrey smiled, but the curl of his lips showed contempt also. No one liked to be interrupted by business in the midst of pleasurewho should know better than himself at this momentbut the man or woman who would punish the message bringer for such an interruption was a churl. And the man or woman who would allow the delay in imparting information to become the custom of his servants was a fool as well.

That thought was nothing new in Geoffrey’s mind. By habit, he pushed away the bitter knowledge that England   was ruled by a man who was a churl and a fool. There was no one else, he reminded himself, repeating the litany that Ian had taught him. Many times that litany had saved him from irremediable words and acts. Now it permitted him to turn his mind to a different puzzle. After contemplating the dates dizzily for a few minutes, he unwisely shook his head, winced, and lifted a hand to his temple.

“Father, I make it four daysJoanna rode here from Roselynde in four days. Am I so drunk I cannot count, or is that true?”

“I did not speak to her,” Salisbury replied, starting to frown himself, “but that does seem too short a time unless there was some reason for great haste and even then how could a woman endure such fatigue?”

Geoffrey paid no attention to that last question, which was rhetorical anyway. He had grown very fond of his stepmother over the past few years, and he did not make disparaging comparisons between her and Lady Alinor. Nonetheless, it never occurred to Geoffrey that women in general were frail. With Lady Alinor as the principal example in his life, he assumed that women who could not do anything a man couldsave bear arms and set seed into a woman’s bellywere either stupid or willfully weak. Now that he was sobering, he realized that Joanna must have moved without baggage, as Alinor often did. His concern was not for his betrothed’s physical well-being but for the necessity that had driven her.

“I will not return to camp tonight,” Geoffrey said. “Can I bed down with you, father?”

“You are very welcome, my son, but why?” Salisbury asked, grinning.

“I want to talk to Joanna”

“Talk?” Salisbury teased more openly.

Geoffrey did not even seem aware of the obvious implication. “If she has some reason for flying at such speed from Roselynde, I want to hear it in privateand I do not wish to raise talk by dragging her off tonight.”

Salisbury was silent. Geoffrey’s businesslike tone was   bothering him. He had not been surprised when Geoffrey cursed at the news of Joanna’s arrival. He assumed Geoffrey would have cursed at that moment at the information that he had been given a great fortune. Now that the shock was over, however, it seemed to him that Geoffrey should display more enthusiasm. Joanna was so lovely that she could raise enthusiasmand something elsein a pillar of salt, yet Geoffrey seemed interested only in the practical aspects of her arrival.

In this, Salisbury did not take into consideration Geoffrey’s relationship with the queen. Salisbury had never liked Isabella, not only because of her spite toward himself but more because he realized she would do nothing to help John. She did have some influence with her husband because he liked to please her and to make her smile, but Isabella would not even play the traditional role of a queen as a healer and peacemaker. Never once had she raised her voice or bent her knee to mitigate a punishment or soften an exaction. On the other hand, Salisbury neither hated nor feared Isabella. He knew she did not trouble herself with political affairs and, in general, she was too self-centered even to feel much personal spite. Her animosity toward himself he discounted completely, knowing quite well that John could not be influenced against him.