The Champion (47 page)
Leaving the booth, he found Huw, and told the squire to go and look for Monday. ‘Tell her I’ve found him safe and sound, and that I have taken him home.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The squire gave him a questioning look.
Alexander’s face tightened. ‘Some things are better said in private than on a public street,’ he said. ‘Go on, be quick, spare his mother the worry.’
All the way back to the house, Florian chattered fifty to the dozen. About his sword, his new shoes, a neighbour’s dog which had recently had a litter of pups.
‘And you have a baby brother?’ Alexander picked him up on an earlier remark.
Florian nodded solemnly. ‘He doesn’t do anything but drink and mess himself and sleep. Mama says that when he’s older he’ll be able to play with me.’
‘What’s your brother’s name?’
‘John,’ Florian answered promptly. It was not a common name, but neither was it rare. Children born on the eve of St John were often christened thus, and since Florian had been given the name of his birth-saint, it was likely that John had been similarly named. There was no one of that title in Monday’s family, as far as Alexander knew. He still had no idea whether she was married or not, whether Florian had a stepfather, and he was loath to broach the subject without knowing how the boy would react.
The house which he found by a mingling of Monday’s directions and Florian’s pointing was a handsome dwelling, similar to the one owned by his former amour, Sara, the merchant’s widow. Its patch of garden, its orchard and small stable, the whitewashed stone walls and tiled roof spoke of comfort and wealth.
The door was opened by a plump woman clutching a fractious, tiny baby. She wore a plain linen apron over a homespun gown, and her broad face was creased with lines of anxiety. Her gaze left Alexander and dropped to Florian, who was pushing his way confidently past her into the house. Swiftly Alexander explained what had happened, and the creases of anxiety became an expression of relief.
‘You had best come inside and wait for my lady then,’ she said, standing aside to let him enter in Florian’s wake.
A smell of simmering stew came from the cooking pot on the hearth, and there was a bowl of freshly cooked griddle cakes standing on the tiles at the side.
The baby laid over one shoulder, the woman offered him wine, pouring a measure from a handsome glazed flagon into a matching cup. Alexander took the beaker with thanks and studied Florian’s brother. The hair was auburn, the eyes grey-blue, and the baby features nondescript. Whole brothers or half-brothers, they could have been either.
‘Is Lady Monday’s husband in Rouen?’ he fished.
The maid gave him a look from the corner of her eye. She sat down, drawing the baby into her ample lap. ‘On the threshold, you said that you were a friend of my lady’s.’
‘An old friend who has not seen her for a long time.’
‘Then, sir, I think you should ask
her
what you want to know. I value my position in this household; and it is dependent on my discretion.’
What she did not say gave Alexander more food for thought. Florian showed her his new shoes, and insisted on bringing out his favourite wooden jousting toy for Alexander. Two painted knights on horses assaulted each other with lances by means of pulleys behind the destriers’ flowing carved tails. A wry smile on his face, Alexander allowed Florian to unhorse his knight.
Then the door opened and Monday burst into the house, her servants and Huw hard on her heels. She went straight to Florian, picked him up, swung him round, hugged him fiercely, and then delivered him the scolding of his small life.
‘But I wasn’t lost,’ Florian protested indignantly.
‘No one knew where you were,’ Monday retorted. ‘If you cannot obey the rules, then you will have to stay at home with John.’
‘No.’ The child thrust out a mutinous lower lip.
‘Then next time you stay put.’ Monday turned to Alexander, who had been watching the exchange with concealed amusement. ‘I cannot thank you enough for finding him. God alone knows what might have happened. Where was he?’
Alexander told her. ‘It’s the warrior blood in him,’ he added softly, and watched her face turn pink. His wine cup was empty, but he made no effort to leave. ‘We need to talk,’ he said.
Monday took him into the garden behind the house. A snow of pink and white blossom clouded the apple trees, and everywhere the eye sought, it feasted on greenery. Beyond the far wall, with its trellises of honeysuckle and dog rose, Rouen Cathedral pointed towards heaven, its bells clanging out the hour of nones, and joined by the distant chime of the other churches in the city. There was birdsong and peace.
Monday drew a deep breath of tranquillity, and turned to Alexander. ‘I went to Lavoux,’ she said, ‘to Lady Aline; I knew that she would help me.’
Alexander wondered how he could have been so blind as not to consider Lavoux. From his own perspective he had been glad to leave the place and all its dark associations, but Monday had been content there, her position in the bower secure and responsible. ‘Was my offer not good enough?’ He knew it was a stupid question as soon as he asked it. Of course it wasn’t. He could have given her nothing like this.
Monday sighed and began to walk along a path of stepping stones that led to a small arbour with a wooden bench and an overhang of climbing roses. ‘I did not want to live from hand to mouth any more,’ she said, ‘or to be taken for granted by you and Hervi. Yes, you would have married me in good faith, but how long would it have lasted? How long before your eyes turned elsewhere?’
‘I would have done my best,’ he said, tight-lipped. Her words stung him with their truth, and his own mocked him. His best? She had reason to be wary of that.
‘I know you would, but it would not have been enough.’ She gave him a pensive look from beneath her brows as she sat down on the bench and tucked her skirts beneath her. ‘I am sorry if you are angry, but that is how I saw matters at the time.’
‘I’m not angry.’ He sought for equilibrium, but it was difficult. He felt as if he were walking along a narrow ledge in a storm, with a sheer drop below. ‘I’m tying not to be,’ he amended woodenly. ‘So you went to Lavoux?’
She nodded. ‘I didn’t know I was carrying Florian then – how could I? By the time I did, I had reached the conclusion that I was right to leave the tourney road. I had a safe home in which to bear my child, and then to rear him.’ She plucked one of the tender green shoots unfurling from the trellis and brushed it beneath her nose. ‘I would not be without Florian,’ she murmured. ‘God knows, I love him dearly, but if I had the night of his conception to live over, I would be virgin still.’
Alexander swallowed. ‘I have regretted that night too,’ he said. ‘Even at the time I knew it was wrong, but I did not have the will to stop myself. You were so …’ He shook his head, struggling for words. ‘I still think about you,’ he said, and there was a lost note in his voice.
Her complexion grew pink and she bit her lip. ‘It is in the past. I’m no longer the foolish girl you took on your pallet in the throes of drunken lust.’
He winced. ‘I have changed too.’ He leaned against the side of the trellis, knowing that to sit down at her side was too intimate a move. ‘Older and wiser,’ he said ruefully. ‘It is probably of no interest to you whatsoever, but I have not bedded with another woman since that night.’
She raised her head, and he saw surprise in her grey eyes, and also incredulity.
‘Not one,’ he reiterated, ‘neither in ditch nor feather bed.’
‘As a penance?’
‘In a way, I suppose. What happened that night … it made me stop and think – with my head instead of my loins. Was the pleasure worth the consequences? I decided it wasn’t.’
‘So, you’re celibate?’
‘For the moment, although it’s not a binding vow, just a matter of choice.’
The difference in their states begged the next question. Monday’s colour deepened and she shredded the plucked leaf on the edge of her manicured thumb nail.
‘So,’ Alexander gave her a searching look, ‘how came you from Lavoux to Rouen? Does Florian have a wealthy stepfather?’
‘No, not a stepfather.’
‘So you are not wed?’
‘Why not just ask me who owns this house, and whose baby lies in the cradle? It would be simpler.’
‘Then who and whose?’
She smiled at him, but without humour or warmth. ‘I am the mistress of Prince John, Count of Mortain, and imminent King of England, although you will find me in his accounts as a sempstress.’
Alexander took the news without expression, although his stomach had flipped over and a part of his mind was silently mouthing John’s name in disbelief. John, who was famous for his lust, debauchery and casual cruelty. And yet it explained what she had been doing at the tower of Rouen and why people had deferred to her. It explained the fine clothes, the house and jewellery. It also warned him that he was treading on the territory of a man who could destroy him with a flick of his royal little finger. ‘Are you content with him?’ He could not prevent a surge of jealousy.
She spread her arms, exposing the deep, hanging sleeves of her gown, the yards of valuable silk that had gone into its making.
Gold bracelets gleamed on the long bones of her wrists. ‘What do you think?’
He shrugged. ‘That sometimes the wishing is better than the getting.’
She lowered her arms. ‘Not for me.’ There was a determined jut to her jaw. ‘I know what you are thinking, but you are wrong. He is good to me, and what I give in return is but a small price to pay. There are those who look down their noses and call me whore. Well, so be it. At least I am in a better case than those poor women on the tourney circuit. And John wears fine, soft clothes, bathes himself often, and I find it no burden to lie with him. I know it is not forever, but for the nonce, it suits me well.’
Alexander had no reply to the challenge in her tone. She seemed to have weighed up the advantages and pitfalls of her position, and to have few if any qualms. She appeared harder, but then those who did not build a shell to protect themselves from the world were frequently crushed by it.
‘Then I am pleased for you if you have what you want,’ he said, but the words sounded cold and ungenerous on his tongue.
The patter of running footfalls and the barking of a dog heralded the sudden arrival of Florian, his small face flushed with triumph. A brown and white terrier with a stumpy tail and triangular, folded-over ears scampered at his side. The dog was making frantic leaps at a leather ball filling Florian’s fist, and almost knocking the child over in its exuberance.
‘Teasel wanted to play,’ Florian explained.
Monday and Alexander exchanged glances in which there was a mutual glimmer of amusement.
‘He told you, did he?’ Monday asked.
‘Yes. Hilda opened the door to let him out, and I came too.’ Florian threw the ball and it bounced into the middle of a clump of sage. The terrier followed with a leap that flattened the tender leaves, and caused Monday to draw her breath through her teeth in dismay. Florian’s eyes strayed once more to Alexander’s scabbard.
‘Are you staying?’ the child asked.
‘Not today, I have duties at the palace.’ Alexander crouched to bring himself to the boy’s level. His son. The sense of wondering tenderness engulfed him again.
The dog returned, slobbering over them with the retrieved ball. Alexander grasped the slimy object, and after a brief tussle, retrieved it from the dog’s jaws and hurled it across the garden. It bounced off the wall into a pile of manure waiting to be dug in.
‘But you’ll come back?’
Again, Alexander and Monday exchanged glances. ‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘But a good guest waits to be invited.’
Monday frowned, her gaze flickering between man and child. ‘Then if your duties do not take you elsewhere, and mine do not call me, perhaps tomorrow you could dine with us,’ she said awkwardly. ‘And we can finish our talk.’
He could not prevent the rush of emotion showing in his face. Even though she said ‘finish’, she had not slammed the door in his face. ‘I would be honoured,’ he said, a tawny glow in his eyes.
Stinking to high heaven, the dog returned triumphant with the ball, bits of sticky dung and wet straw adhering to the leather. At the same time, Hilda waddled from the opposite direction, prepared to take Florian back indoors. The child clung to Alexander’s tunic and thrust out his lower lip to do battle – with a tantrum if necessary.
‘I’m sorry, my lady,’ Hilda puffed, her vast bosom heaving. ‘He gave me the slip.’
Monday held up her hand. ‘It’s all right, let him stay.’
The terrier bounced up to the nurse, his tail awag and his paws covered in dark-brown socks of muck. Hilda screeched and scooped herself backwards in a futile attempt to avoid the dog.
Alexander’s mouth twitched. ‘Until tomorrow,’ he said, inclining his head to Monday. ‘I’ll send word by my squire if I am unable to come.’ He took Florian by the hand. ‘Are you going to see me on my way?’
The little boy nodded. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Nowhere at the moment.’
‘Haven’t you got a home?’
‘Not like yours, no.’
‘You can live with us if you want.’
Alexander bit the inside of his mouth. ‘I think your mother would have something to say about that.’
‘She’d let you.’
They had reached the street. Turning, Alexander gave Florian back into Monday’s care. Her face was almost as red as the garnets inlaying the silver brooch at her throat.
‘I think, on balance, he reminds me of Hervi,’ Alexander said wryly.
Soft spring rain pattered against the closed shutters as it had been doing all day. The streets of Rouen were sticky with mud and mire, although conditions were not as bad as the soups of winter. The smell of fresh growth, the promise of warmer seasons perfumed the wet air in recompense.
Within the house the scents were of smoke and cooking, of wine and garlic, fresh bread and simmering pottage. Monday had deliberated long about what to serve Alexander when he arrived to dine. Her first impulse had been to produce a formal feast such as the royal court was accustomed to eating on important days. Gildings, disguises, rich sauces and expensive spices; perhaps even gritty sweet loaf-sugar that came from exotic eastern lands and cost the earth. That impulse had fortunately been short-lived. A courtly feast would make no impression on Alexander, who was already aware of the source of her wealth and lived in a great household himself. Besides, she seldom dined ostentatiously, even when John came visiting. It would be out of character to do so now.
