The Black Lyon (20 page)

"Young pup already giving you trouble? Well, if you want to go back on the agreement, I will understand."

"Oh, no," Lyonene said at once. "I am most pleased with the boy and do not wish to relinquish him."

Henry laughed. "Well, you may wish you had answered differently in a few months. After twelve chil-133

dren, one would think I would be ready for all things, but that boy is beyond me. M ayhaps I am just getting old. Well, it is good speaking with you, my boy." He clapped Ranulf's shoulder and left.

"Now, what is so wrong with the boy?"

"It is not the boy, it is you."

"I? But I have not spoken to him."

"He is terrified of you. A cousin has filled his ears with horrible stories of you."

He gave her a half-smile. "And do you know they are not true?"

She told him Brent's story and Ranulfs upper lip curled in disgust. He walked toward the boy and Brent nearly leaped from the wooden bench.

Ranulf looked down at the bowed head and saw that the boy trembled. He stretched out a hand to touch the sandy-colored hair, but did not. He sat on the bench.

"I am honored, my lord, to be your p-p . . . page." The boy's voice was barely audible.

"And, I am most honored to have you. So, you fear the Black Lion?"

Brent did not answer, nor did he look at Ranulf, and his trembling increased.

"Tell me, Brent, do you think the Black Guard fears their liege lord?"

"Oh no, my lord." His head came up. "For they belong to you; they also ..." His fear increased at the memory.

Ranulf's voice was quiet, soothing, reassuring. "If it is as you say and they have no fear because they are part of my household, then you should not fear me. M y page belongs to me just as do my Black Guard. M ayhaps you will be known as the Black Page."

Lyonene could see the boy's face work as he digested this information; then a smile began to form, then a question. "How can I be the Black Page when I do not have black hair? All the Black Guard has hair of your color."

Ranulf held out his hand to the boy, showing him the back of it. "You see, I have enough black hair for both of us."

Lyonene could not help laughing. "It is true. His whole body is covered with black hair."

Ranulf gave her such an intense look that she felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and she turned away to become uncommonly interested in the figures of a tapestry opposite her.

Brent did not yet dare to touch the hand held out to him. "Am I really to be your page, my lord? I may see your black stallion and meet your guard and touch your sword and ... ?"

"Aye, all that and more." Ranulfs eyes twinkled. "We go to supper now, but as soon as we are finished, you may come with us to the stables and see my horse."

The boy stood perfectly still, but somehow he gave the impression of jumping a few feet in joy. He grinned at Lyonene, turned and ran to a group of older boys on the other side of the hall. Within seconds, all the boys turned open-mouthed stares toward Ranulf.

Lyonene whispered to her husband. "I have no doubt he tells them you eat three boys a day and he is chosen to help you in your gruesome slaughter."

Ranulf stood and held his arm for her. When she stood beside him, he gave her the same intense look of a moment before. "I am more concerned with your interest in the black hair that covers my body. M ayhaps you can demonstrate some of this interest to me."

"M ayhaps," she said, looking at him with half-closed eyes.

He pulled her arm closer to his body, as if he were afraid she might vanish. "Come, we must show the boy to Tighe, but later.

Lioness," he murmured, kissing her hand, "later."

* * *

"Come to me, Lioness." His voice was a commanding growl.

She eagerly sought him, cursing the coverlet and robe that separated them. His lips did not tease this morn but demanded, and he pushed her beside him, his weight pressing her into the feather mattresses. Her arms tightened about him and she greedily returned his kiss.

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A knock sounded at the door, and the oath Ranulf uttered was so vile that it caused her to shudder. He did not seem to notice her trembling as he bellowed for the person to enter. A white-faced Brent carried a heavy pitcher of hot water.

"I brought washing water, my lord." His voice quivered.

Lyonene saw the black scowl on her husband's face and plunged a sharp elbow into his ribs. He grunted and turned the scowl on her. She gave him a sweet smile. "Your page has brought you washing water and means to help his lord dress for the procession to the lists." She kissed the corner of his mouth, which was a hard, grim line. He immediately grabbed her and threatened to push her back on the bed.

"Ranulfl" she cried and pushed against his chest. He seemed to recover himself, released her and stepped from the bed, wrapping the loincloth about his hips.

Brent stopped before Ranulf and stared up at him in awe. "You are the Black Lion all over!" He did not understand the laughter he caused from his lord and lady, for he did not know that those were the very words said by Lyonene when she first saw an unclothed Ranulf.

It was a while before Ranulf was readied for the procession, this day wearing the silver-coated mail that was used only for ceremony. Lyonene had to give Brent a hand in lifting the mail and, although the boy was not yet a squire, Ranulf allowed him to help.

"I will see to the horses, and I will return for you in one hour. See that I am not kept waiting."

She tossed her hair. "I am not in the habit of causing you delay."

"Do not play the Lioness with me. Come here and kiss your knight."

He lifted her from the floor with one arm as he quickly kissed her, nearly crushing her ribs. He dropped her abruptly and winked at the staring Brent. "See you how to kiss women; let them know they kiss a man."

Little Brent nodded solemnly, as if he'd just learned an important lesson.

"Come, Brent, we have had enough lessons on women this day," he said, hastily ushering the boy from the room and giving Lyonene a broad grin before she slammed the door on him.

She had arranged for a maid to help her dress for the procession and was careful with each fold of her green silk tunic, velvet surcoat and green, sable-lined mantle. M ost of the women wore their husband's colors or the colors of their liege lord, but too often they made the garments too gaudy for Lyonene's taste. The maid sewed Lyonene's tight silk sleeves in place. M any of the other women made their sleeves so that the top of the forearm was one color and the underside another color; then the rest of the tunic would be a third color. Lyonene thought the resulting multicolored costumes obliterated all color.

The maid made tiny braids at Lyonene's temple and loosely tied them in back with several green silk ribbons. She had liked Berengaria's hair arrangement and hoped her friend did not mind her copying it. She opened a little box in the bottom of the trunk to assure herself that the ribbon was still there. It was a copy of the lion belt and she would present it to Ranulf at the joust, to wear on his helm. She had loved making every stitch of the black and gold lions.

The maid scurried from the room as Ranulf entered. He stopped and stared at his wife.

"Do I please you, my lord?" she curtsied.

"You wear the colors of M alvoisin."

"What other colors would the Countess of M alvoisin wear?" she asked haughtily.

He sat on the unmade bed. "Turn so that I may look at you. Is not that tunic overtight?"

"It is loose, see?" She made as to move the fabric and show him, but her maid had laced the silk too securely. She looked up at him and laughed, then shrugged her shoulders. "It is the fashion. I dare say Lady Elizabeth's will be as tight."

"Elizabeth is not my wife and I care naught how many men gape at her."

"Do you think men will gape at my poor form?" she asked in mock innocence.

He squinted at her. "Do you try to make me jealous?"

"And if I do?"

"Then I would say you should not. I fear I need no aid. Now come below, for we begin soon. I have obtained 137

a black horse for you. You will not mind not riding a white one as the other ladies?"

She knew she would get no compliment from him. She put her hand on his mail-covered forearm. "The wife of the Black Lion cannot ride a white horse; it would not fit with the rest of her men."

His eyes glowed as he looked down at her, and he touched the gold lion brooches that fastened her mantle, the emerald eyes matching hers. He kissed her cheek tenderly.

The Black Guard waited below, and they were resplendent. They stood in order, ready for the procession to the lists. Hugo Fitz Waren rode first, his mail painted green, his tabard black with the rampant black lion on a green field. The Frisian and a black mare stood ready for Ranulf and Lyonene.

When she stood before her horse, Ranulf took something from his saddle pommel. He removed the customary gold circlet from Lyonene's head, tossing it to a castle servant. In its place he put a coronet—gold, with emeralds and black pearls. "A countess cannot appear as an ordinary lady," he said, smiling at her.

She pulled a green ribbon from her hair and tied it to his upper arm, the silk showing well against the gleaming silver.

He lifted her onto the horse, and she adjusted her leg to fit the sidesaddle. Her hair spread about her, grazing the horse's rump behind her.

They slowly made their way to take their places in the long line of people. Hugo Fitz Waren held the black and green banner of M alvoisin aloft, the snarling lion vivid against the emerald ground. His black tabard swirled against the green serge trappings that covered his horse.

Ranulf headed the double line that followed the chief of his Black Guard. Both his tabard and Tighe's coverings were of the darkest black. Behind him rode Corbet, with green clothing and black horse drapes. The colors alternated down the line. Lyonene was totally clad in green as was her horse, with the men that followed her also alternating in color.

Ahead of her and behind her waved the banners of the king and his earls. There was Lord Dacre's blue and gold unicorn, Humphrey de Bohun's six lioncels, Robert de Vere's three crowns, John de M ontfort's sable markings— and the three leopards of Edmund, the king's brother. The colors and the jewels sparkled, and the horses felt the excitement and pranced, threatening to overcome their riders.

Lyonene thought of Brent and knew he rode with his father. She wished there had been time to sew him a garment of the M alvoisin colors.

The great oak gate to the new castle walls was lowered, and the procession began. The noise of the waiting people drowned all thought as the riders slowly made their way to the lists. For weeks the people had been arriving: freemen, serfs whose masters attended the celebrations, women whose profession was to entertain, and merchants—hundreds of merchants.

The lists themselves stood atop a small rise, and they were alive with banners and buntings. Two sets of raised benches had been built on either side of the barrier fence, one for the nobility and canopied in a red and white striped serge, the other for the ladies of the lesser knights who entered the contests, with its roof open to the spring sky. At each end of the long, narrow field were tents.

One end held the tents of the challengers, the other the comers. Lyonene could see the pennant of the Black Lion among the challengers' tents.

Behind the wooden seats and the tents were the small tents and wagons of the merchants, the guild pennants easily discernible.

Among the cheering crowd were many men with flat boxes strapped to them that held food, drink, cloth, saints' relics, medicines guaranteed to cure all and ornaments from the world over.

The fences threatened to break with the teeming masses that strained against them to see the richly clad men and women. As Hugo Fitz Waren entered the gate, his horse stepping onto the soft, sand-covered field, a cry went up for the Black Lion. Lyonene was especially pleased and smiled at the people, but a quick glance at Ranulf showed he did not acknowledge the cheer. In truth, he was more than a little formidable in his black attire, his back straight as a steel rod.

The next group waited as the Earl of M alvoisin rode with his wife and his men around the edges of the jousting field. It seemed to Lyonene that the people cheered louder

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for them, but of course, she chided herself, that was her vain pride telling her so.

They left the far gate and entered the tent grounds at the far end. This area too was enclosed, reserved for the use of the king's chosen men only.

There were three tents sporting the M alvoisin colors, two for his men and one for Ranulf. It was the largest tent that the Earl and Countess of M alvoisin now entered.

Lyonene could not help the memories of her dance that filled her at the sight of the cream silk walls. Ranulf stopped his undressing to stare at her. Then a slow smile curved his lips. He began humming a tune from that night.

Lyonene laughed. "I think you have forgiven me for hiding away and coming to Wales."

"I have said I would forgive you aught."

She did not like his smugness. "I should test that."

"Do not dare," he growled and then saw she teased.

Brent burst into the tent. "I come, my lord, to help you dress. Is it proper that a lady be present in a knight's tent?"

Lyonene narrowed her eyes at Brent's back.

"It is an honor. Brent," Ranulf said to the boy. "No knight may go into battle, even mock battle, without his lady's favor. Now, come and help me prepare for the wrestling. You may help apply the oil over my body."