The Firedrake (6 page)

“Well, I don’t know if you’ll be able to talk to them for a while. Flemish isn’t exactly like German.”

“That man spoke some Flemish to me and I understood some of it.”

“You’ll learn.”

She leaned on the broom, like a warrior leaning on his lance. “I like it here.”

“We’ll be here a while.”

He asked for the lists of the knights’ fees owed lo Baldwin, and Guillaume gave them to him. Baldwin held a good six hundred fees, plus the services of lords in his domains who held other fees. There were horses to be bought, besides, to carry packs and haul siege engines, if William of Normandy should decide for them. Laeghaire put all these lists on the table in his room. The sun ran over the paper, and the paper, thin-shaved, curled up into the sunlight, so that the curled edge made a shadow over the top three lines of script.

Guillaume had left him six fresh quills with badly cut nibs. He sat down on the bench and took out his dagger and cut new ones. It was cold out. The sun was cold. Dust floated in the stream of sunlight. He put down the quills and leaned against the wall. This is stupid, he thought; he drew up his knees and leaned his forearms on them, and thought, Now I’ll have to think of a reason for thinking it. I don’t know what’s going on.

His hands hung from his wrists, limp fingers. The second knuckle on his right hand was much bigger than the second knuckle on his left hand. The tendon was broad and flat, like a worm.

Somebody knocked on the door. He put one foot down. “Come in.”

It was the Count. He advanced a little into the room and looked around. “So he gave you the lists.”

“Yes.”

“Well.” Baldwin moved straight to the bed and sat down on it. “I think it’s a great gift you can read. Do you speak French?”

“Only a little. I was once in Burgundy, but their language is a little different.”

“Speak some Burgundian.”

“What shall I say?”

“Say anything.”

Laeghaire recited the first two lines of a Burgundian song.

“A pity. You must learn good French. What did you say?”

Laeghaire told him.

“Oh. No, don’t start for those lists, you’ll hurt your eyes and not get anywhere. Tell me, where have you been, besides Flanders and Germany?”

“Burgundy, as I said, but only for a little while, I think about a year or a little more. When I left Ireland I went to England and was in the Houseguard of—Wessex.”

“What? Wessex? Under Earl Godwin?”

“Yes.”

“His son married my sister.” Baldwin tapped his teeth with his fingernails. “Complications arise.”

“Why, my lord?”

“Nothing. You’ll learn. And where after England?”

“A while in Wales, two or three years here—”

“Where?”

“In Bruges.”

“I never saw you.”

“I was in the princess’ guard.”

“And then?”

“After Burgundy, Thuringia, and then I left Thuringia, and now I’m here.”

“Of course, that’s how you knew Guillaume. Well, you’ve traveled far. I suppose you’ll want to go back to Ireland.”

“Sometime, maybe.”

“Have you kin?”

“My father and my brothers.”

“Are they still alive?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did you learn to read and write?”

“I was four years in a monastery.”

“You’re very precise with your times.”

“It’s my life, ray lord.”

“Your tongue will make trouble for you someday. Why did you leave the monastery?”

“My lord, why this inquisition?”

“I’m merely curious.”

“There is nothing in my life to be curious about.”

“For me, there is. I’ve rarely gone out of my own domains.”

“Everything is the same, everywhere.”

“Perhaps. Thank you for your answering.”

Laeghaire lifted his head and looked at Baldwin. He turned his head away.

“I’ll tell you about this situation—in Maine.”

“Good.”

“Anjou and Normandy have always fought over Maine. The father of this King used to think that if either of them ever won Maine, he’d be lost.”

“And you don’t believe it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re regent for the little King, aren’t you?”

“William will take Maine. But I know how his ambitions go, and to be King of France isn’t one of them. Besides, nobody can really hold Maine.”

“Oh.”

“The Count of Anjou’s dead, and the family is fighting over who will be the new Count. So William will take Maine. He had an agreement with the old Count of Maine, Herbert, that if Herbert died without an heir, William’s son Robert could be Count. Herbert died last spring.”

“Unexpectedly, of course.”

Baldwin frowned. “I know what you think.”

“Is it so?”

“I don’t know. I told you, my daughter’s husband is a rogue beyond all accounting.”

“A sweet rogue, too, incredibly pious, you said.”

“He needs Maine.”

Laeghaire put his shoulders against the wall and wiggled into a comfortable position. “I’m listening.”

“By God, I don’t have to excuse him to you or explain him to you. You are paid to act in my behalf, on my orders, and what he thinks or wants is nothing for you to consider.”

“My lord. Such an outburst.”

Baldwin stood up He went to the window and looked out. The sight of his pretty town, all peaceful beyond this castle wall, must have comforted him. Laeghaire watched him look at the bright roofs of the houses by the canals.

“He has had a hard life,” Baldwin said. “He is a rogue, and pious, and madly fond of fighting, but when he was young he spent most of his life running from his enemies. He’s always had to fight, if only for his own protection. That kind of life can turn a man into a wild dog.”

Baldwin turned suddenly. Laeghaire watched the shadow on the lists of knights’ fees.

“As you say, it doesn’t concern me.”

“I’m uncertain about Herbert. He was a young man. There’s a chance that William… did what you suspect. But that agreement was eight years old. And there are other parties in Maine. Geoffrey of Mayenne, for one. The strongest of them. He and that damned Walter of the Vexin are like hand and glove, and Walter’s always wanted to be Count of Maine, or Count of anyplace he could fight William from. Now he’s claimed the title and Mayenne is backing him. Walter married Herbert’s aunt. Walter hates William, and William hates Walter more than any man alive, and the chances are not good that Walter will be alive much longer.”

“God, I hate these politics. These damned feuds.”

“I thought you should know. Anyway, my daughter and William are coming here for Christmas. He’ll want to talk about it.”

“All right.”

“He’ll undoubtedly want to hunt. Do you hunt?”

“I have.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

Laeghaire shrugged.

“You’ll have to come with us sometime.”

Laeghaire shrugged again.

“Thank you,” Baldwin said. He went out the door.

All toward Christmas, the Count’s household prepared for the Duke’s visit. They had animals slaughtered and hung up in the kitchens, and every day the wagons of the merchants jammed the courtyard. Guillaume and the Flemish constable went out one day to look over the hunting.

Finally the Duke appeared, with his entourage and a small guard of knights. In wealthy Ghent, the little train of armored men made a bad showing. In the gray of the armor only the cart that bore the Duchess was colorful. The cart was covered with red and yellow cloth and bung with ribbons. Laeghaire watched from the wall. The guard was drawn up on the wall to meet their lord’s son-in-law. Laeghaire stood a little apart from them. He leaned his forearms on the wall and watched the train coming slowly to the gate. He heard a sound behind him and turned and saw Hilde scrambling up the ladder. She ran over and stood beside him, glowing.

“I have something to tell you later,” she said, and giggled.

The Count had gone out to greet the Duke of Normandy. They rode together in the vanguard. The Count wore a long fur cloak and a surcoat worked in brilliant colors. His little band of court officers was brightly dressed. The man who rode beside the Count looked strange among them. He wore a plain white surcoat and a wool cloak. His hair was bright red. His horse was a hand taller than the Count’s, and he himself was a big man, so that he loomed over the Count and all the court officers. His face was solemn and he carried his helmet in the crook of his arm. When they had come a little nearer, Laeghaire saw that his cloak had a hood on it lined with fur.

“Is that the Duke of Normandy?” Hilde asked.

“Yes.”

“Why isn’t he richly dressed?”

“Because he’s poor.”

“Johan von Mark dressed better than that. All fur and gold and little jewels in his baldric. I don’t like this one.”

“Why?”

“He frightens me. He looks—”

He waited for her to finish, but she didn’t. She clasped her arms together and leaned over the wall.

The train was almost to the archway. Laeghaire saw the great sword’s hilt thrusting up past the Duke’s thigh. He saw the heavy fist on the rein and the studs on the gloves. “He looks like a prophet.”

“What?”

“Like Jeremiah.”

“Oh, no. He would have a gentle face.”

The train went through the arch into the courtyard. Page boys ran out to hold the horses. The Norman knights rode big heavy-headed horses. They bore themselves arrogantly. They reminded him of Irish kernes: hard hands and the mouths taut under the helmets.

“They are cousins of mine,” he said.

“Oh? How do you know?”

“Distant cousins. They are descendants of Vikings, and so am I.”

The Count handed the Duchess of Normandy down from her cart. Hilde gasped. “She’s tiny. Look at her.”

“I’ve seen her before.”

He went to the ladder and climbed down. The Duke and the rest were walking toward the door. The Duke was drawing off his gloves, his head bent toward the Count. Laeghaire turned and helped Hilde down from the ladder. He let her and himself in through a little side door. She turned toward him.

“Shall I tell you my surprise now?”

“The surprise? Oh. Tell me.”

“No, I shan’t. You aren’t interested.”

He sighed. “Tell me. I’m desperately interested.”

“Laeghaire—”

He caught her by her long braid and pulled her to him. He kissed her. “I’m interested. Tell me.”

She put her hands on his chest. “I’m going to have a baby.”

He stepped back. “What?”

“Aren’t you happy?”

He took her back into his arms and kissed her again. “Yes. I’m happy. When?”

She sighed with her head against his chest. “I told Lisabet in the kitchen about some things, and that I was sick in the mornings—you didn’t know because you always get up and go down to feed your horses or something—and she said I was going to have a baby, but I don’t know when. She said maybe in the beginning of the summer but she couldn’t be sure. I want it to be a boy.”

“So do I. And I don’t go down to feed my horses, as you very well—”

“Ssssh. We have to have a name for him.”

“He hasn’t even been born yet. We can’t name him yet.”

“He’ll have black hair like yours and he’ll be big like you. So big I’ll walk around like this with him.”

She walked around like that, still within his arms.

“No you won’t.” He caught her back again.

“And he’ll have blue eyes.”

“No, black. I like your eyes.”

“Blue.”

“Black.”

She looked up at him. She smiled. “You are happy. I have to go back to the kitchen. Good-by.”

“Be careful.”

“I love you. Laeghaire.”

“That’s good.”

She turned and ran off, but she ran only a few steps, and began to walk, gingerly. He laughed at her. She turned her head and smiled at him.

At supper the Norman knights sat along one side of the great table, and the Flemish court officers on the other, with the Flemish guard. Duke William sat with his Duchess at one end, and the Count and Countess at the other. Hilde served the sauces, smiling at Laeghaire whenever she caught his eye. Lisabet, directing the service of the supper, snapped at her once, so that she came down chastised and pouting.

Laeghaire sat opposite a Norman knight who kept talking to the man on his left. From their glances and nods, Laeghaire knew they were talking about him. He threw a bone to the dogs and reached for another piece of meat. The Norman said, “You, sir. What office do you hold here?”