Roselynde (44 page)

"You are sick, Simon?" Alinor looked at him anxiously,
as if she would eat him with her eyes. He appeared thinner, a trifle tired, a
little bluer under the eyes and less ruddy than usual, but not ill.

"Not that kind of disease—an uneasiness of the mind."

"But you are tired and pale."

Simon snorted. "That is from drinking myself blind every
night and whoring around— Oh, God! Now I have overset the fat into the fire.
Alinor—"

To her own astonishment, Alinor burst out laughing. For one thing,
Simon's dismay at his slip was really comical. For another, what Simon referred
to was no love affair with a lady but the use of a female for the relief of a
need exactly as a man would use a vessel to relieve his bladder or his bowels.
One could not be jealous of such women, not unless a husband preferred their
beds to yours when your body was available. Still, she had not meant to laugh,
for that condoned sin and it was neither pious nor proper.

"I am glad you take it so lightly," Simon said, not
sounding glad at all. "For a maid of some seventeen years, it seems to me
you know overmuch of such matters."

"How could I not?" Alinor choked. "When Beorn is
forever telling me that this man and that have fallen out over some whore and
he has given this or that punishment."

"You punish your men for whoring?" Simon exclaimed.

That set Alinor off laughing again. "I might as well punish
them for breathing. No, for fighting among themselves. But, Simon I do not
really take it lightly in that it seems to me you are not usually given to
overindulgence in wine and— and such other pleasures."

"Pleasures! There has been little enough pleasure. I—

There is the hospice, and I have not said, really, what I wanted
to say. Alinor—"

This time the eyes Simon turned upon her held what she desired.
Alinor reached across and touched his gauntleted hand. "There will be much
feasting tonight. We will find a moment."

In that assurance Alinor had not been correct. Although the
hospice, a monastery that Richard had taken over to house his sister and mother
in safety, was sufficiently large for the whole party there was far less chance
for mingling than in an English keep. The women were quartered in the monks'
cells. Alinor wondered what the good brothers would do when they returned to
cleanse their beds of the contamination of female occupancy. She wished also
that they had bothered to cleanse them of the six-legged occupants that
infested them so freely. Richard had taken over the Abbott's house, and the
gentlemen were placed in the guest houses and the lay brothers' quarters. The
refectory served as Great Hall, but because it was not central between the
women's chambers and all other places, as would be true in a keep, there was
little coming and going in it.

Neither Alinor nor Simon could find an excuse to meet. Nor,
although both wandered about as much as seemed safe, did they meet by chance.
That night there was indeed feasting, dancing, drinking, mummers, and all else
that went with the last permissible feast day for forty days. There was also a
dearth of ladies, especially young and handsome ones. Joanna and Alinor were
besieged at every moment by a circle of men. Once Simon did dance with Alinor
by outmaneuvering four other gentlemen, but one could have neither a serious
nor a loving talk when surrounded by others and while being constantly
separated by the movements of the dance. Moreover, it was impossible to slip
away and out into the enclosed garden. Too many young men had their eyes on
Alinor, hungering as they were for the company of a woman of their own class
who spoke their language.

Favouring her warden was one thing; being rude to King Richard's
gentlemen was something entirely different. Alinor laughed and talked and
danced. It was a queer thing, she decided, that one could enjoy oneself
heartily and yet have a constantly increasing sense of discomfort. Simon was
not alone in his near hysteria. All the gentlemen were unnaturally keyed up.
From a remark here and there Alinor discerned several causes. There was deep
suspicion of King Philip's sincerity of purpose. He had already left to help
the besiegers of Acre, but all felt and two said openly that Philip would find
an excuse to return to France as soon as Richard was well involved in the Holy
Land.

"And then," a young, newly invested Norman baron growled
bitterly, "even if he does not make open war for fear of the Pope, he will
bribe and corrupt our seneschals and vassals. By the time we return, Normandy
will be his."

The English barons were no happier. The old earl of Leicester had
died in the early autumn and his son had come to Sicily to be invested by the
King with his lands and titles. He had brought such a tale of Longchamp's
doings that even Richard had seemed disturbed. Yet the King would do nothing
beyond promise to correct all abuses upon his return.

"There will be nothing left to correct," Leicester
muttered, once Alinor had got him started by bewailing Sir Andre's problems.
"He is not King of the English," he added in a bitter whisper as the
movement of the dance brought their heads together for a moment. "He does
not care. Lord John loves the English. He has his faults, but—"

"Perhaps there is more lack of understanding than lack of
caring. You know, Lord Robert, when first one speaks of this matter and then
another on that matter and each seems a small thing, the King does not see that
all are dissatisfied. The English lords should go all together and complain.
They should go now, while the Queen is here. It is even possible that she will
lend her voice, and that would be of great benefit."

"That is a very wise thought, Lady Alinor. In most things the
King is a most excellent person. How he can favor a—a thing like
Longchamp—" His voice checked and a frightened look came into his eyes.

"I am sure the Bishop of Ely conceals his faults from the
King," Alinor said blandly. "One puts one's best foot forward for
one's lord."

Not only political problems were unsettling the Crusaders,
however. Even those who did not fear King Philip or William Longchamp were
deeply troubled. A young Poitevin bemoaned his nearly penniless state. They
should have been on their way home, he protested.

"We started a year ago, a full year have we lingered here,
eating up our substance. What am I to do? I desire greatly to do God's work,
but soon my men and I will starve. If we are to linger here until the King
marries the Princess without opportunity to refill our purses from the goods of
the infidels, I do not know what will become of us. I desire that the King be
married and that there be heirs of his body. That is most necessary, but—"

"Perhaps the King will obtain a dispensation to marry during
Lent," Alinor soothed.

"How can that be? You know the speed with which the Pope
moves, and the King and Pope Clement are not exactly enamoured of each other.
The dispensation would take longer than the passage of forty days."

"Would it be a great offense against God, do you think, for
the King to take the princess with him? He could then start as soon as his
business with Queen Alinor is finished," Alinor suggested innocently.

"Why should that offend God? The purpose of union between man
and woman is to bear fruit, but for gentlewomen such a journey would be
dangerous and most difficult."

Alinor began to laugh. "To say that to me, who have ridden
with the Queen. Have you never traveled in Queen Alinor's company? We frail
women have climbed the mountains in midwinter. I know that Lady Berengaria
burns to see the King's doings in the Holy Land. So much she has said openly to
me. She would count neither difficulty nor danger for that purpose."

All in all, even though she did not set eyes on Simon again,
Alinor felt she had put in a good day's work. She fell asleep in the best of
good spirits, thinking she would send a man to bring Simon to her the next day.
He was, after all, still her warden and there were matters upon which she
should ask his advice. However, Alinor had no opportunity. As soon as she had
broken her fast the next morning, she was summoned to the Queen. At first she
wondered why rather idly, but then she became increasingly nervous. Perhaps her
tongue had been wagging rather freely during the dancing the night before. When
she saw the Bishop of Rouen and the King were with the Queen, Alinor's knees
began to shake so that she could barely cross the room to make her curtsies in
form. The black scowl on the King's face did nothing to relieve her tension.

"Ah, here is our little scribe," the Queen said.

Alinor made an effort and did not fall down in the excess of her
relief and surprise.

"Madam, she is little more than a child," the Bishop of
Rouen protested.

"Yes," Richard growled, "and I do not believe
William would tamper with your people, Mother. Whatever he has done or not
done, no one will ever make me believe he is not loyal to me."

"To you, my love, he is completely loyal," the Queen
agreed. "I have never said he was not. It may be that most of the trouble
has been caused because he was too loyal, not seeing where you, yourself, would
temper justice with mercy or make an exception."

"Then why should he set spies on you? You are my mother. How
could you wish me harm?"

"My heart, light of my eyes, that he is loyal to you does not
make him loyal to me. He knows that the English appeal to me against him. He
wished to know whether I favored them and what I would do. He felt he needed to
protect himself."

"Well, was he not right? Are you not here speaking against
him?"

"Yes, I am, and this I did not try to keep from him. I
permitted his creatures to copy every letter I wrote to you. However, I did not
see why William Longchamp should read my heart when I opened it to my daughters
nor take vengeance on a man whose complaint I believed to be just. For these
purposes I used a scribe I knew to be incorruptible—at least by Longchamp. I
wish to point out to you what has come of Longchamp's meddling, Richard."
The Queen's voice became cold and angry. "Your brother, John, who was at
peace with you and the realm, living quietly on the lands you gave him, well
content with the marks of your love, has been awakened to suspicion. To secure
his
own
safety in case ill should befall you, Longchamp has made treaty
with the Scots to support Arthur's claim to the throne provided Longchamp is
retained as Chancellor during Arthur's childhood."

"I have the right to name my own heir," Richard
blustered.

"Beloved, beloved, of course you do. Have I said a word
against it? But you, yourself, wrote that the matter should be held secret, and
secret I held it."

"From your little scribe also?" Richard snarled.

"Most certainly. Alinor has never seen a letter of yours to
me, nor has she ever written an answer from me to you. After Longchamp had so
betrayed you, I wrote to you myself, with my own hand. Richard, dear heart, try
to believe this is not idle persecution of the Bishop of Ely for silly,
womanish reasons."

"My lord," the Bishop of Rouen put in, "Her Grace
speaks the truth. I have no quarrel with the Bishop of Ely, but what I hear
from my fellow bishops paints an ill picture for the peace of England.
Longchamp has insulted and oppressed them as well as the barons."

"Richard, if there is war in England—and I swear there will
be if you do not curb your man—not one groat will you get from there to aid
your Crusade. Leicester has been to me to ask if I would speak with him and the
other English barons to beg you to use your authority to redress Longchamp's
offenses. I tell you, the English are like their own coals. They are slow to
take fire, but they burn hot and they burn very, very long."

"Very well. Very well. We have been over these matters
before. I still ask why you would entrust such secrets to a chit of a
girl."

"Considering what she has already heard," the Queen
pointed out, "it is a little late to be thinking of that. Nonetheless, I
will point out that Alinor has nothing to gain from Longchamp. She is not in the
Church and cannot be advanced or harmed by his legatine powers. I doubt that,
even now, he has money enough to bribe her. Moreover, he has attacked both Sir
Andre Fortesque, who has stood as father to her, and her warden, Sir Simon
Lemagne, for whom I suspect she has a soft spot in her heart. What is more, I
think Alinor loves me a little, and—"

"I did not think she would send a message off to William, but
she will gabble the whole out to all the women—"

"No, she will not. She did not speak of the arrangements for
the Lady Alais, and that would be far more interesting among my ladies than the
affairs of William Longchamp."

"A most discreet young person," the Bishop of Rouen
commented.

Richard continued to scowl directly at Alinor now, but slowly the
scowl was replaced by a puzzled frown and then, suddenly, he began to laugh.
"Sir Simon's ward, eh? Discreet, eh? You," he said pointing,
"are the causer of brawls at our public welcoming. We remember you."

Alinor curtsied again. "Your memory is faultless, Your Grace,
but, so please you, my lord, it is not anything I
said
that caused the
trouble."