The Prince and the Pilgrim (28 page)

“Messenger? What messenger?” asked Alice, sharply.

“You didn’t know? Of course, you were out early,” said the abbot. “Well, a man rode in this morning from Castle Rose. He was closeted with your father for half an hour or so before service. I myself had already gone across to the chapel, so did not see him. But I have been wondering if perhaps he brought some news to distress your father. Brother Luke thinks that might have helped cause this seizure.”

Alice could almost feel the blood leaving her cheeks. Bad news from Castle Rose? Fire? A death? “I must see him. Please, straight away? He is still here?”

“Yes.” They were downstairs now, at the door of the abbot’s rooms. A lay-brother, busy there about some cleaning task, was sent hurrying off. “I believe he went to get something to eat. Lady Alice, would you like me to be with you when you see him?”

“Thank you. But … It’s all right. I’m quite all right. You’re very kind, but I mustn’t keep you from your –” She hesitated. The word “duties”
was
not somehow quite right for the lord abbot.

“From my breakfast?” said the abbot, smiling. “And you should eat, too, my dear child. I’ll have them bring something for you to the parlour. Take him in there, and have your talk in private. Ah, here’s your man.”

She had half expected Jeshua, but it was Adam, one of the menservants. His news, briefly told, was not grave, but it was easy to guess that it might have helped to strike down an elderly and worried man.

Count Madoc, instead of waiting, as he had been asked to do, for the duke’s return, was already at Castle Rose. He had been in residence there already for almost a month, and had brought a troop with him; men-at-arms, said Adam, under a captain, and things were sadly at odds in the servants’ quarters and the stables, and indeed, outside in parts of the estate where the count had been riding out among the duke’s people. Of course they all knew that Count Madoc, being handfast to the Lady Alice, would soon be master of Castle Rose, but even so –

“He is not handfast to me,” said Alice; it might even be said that she snapped it. “There hasn’t yet been any talk of settlement. How could there be, till the duke gets home? Count Madoc is ahead of things, but I suppose it’s understandable. Well, what’s the trouble? Beltrane sent you with some complaint?” Beltrane was the head steward.

“Beltrane is ill, my lady. He’s ailed for some
time
, and when the new man Jeshua came he was glad and thankful to pass things over to him. A very capable fellow, the Jew, and nice to get on with, and seemingly knows how to manage things, coming from a great household –”

“Yes, yes. So what’s gone wrong?”

“Well, Beltrane bade us all look to Jeshua for orders, while he had to keep his bed, and we would do so willingly, but until my lord your father gets home the Jew has no authority –”

“Who says so? My father gave him letters when he left us at Glannaventa to ride to Castle Rose. You all knew he came from the duke, and if Beltrane appointed him head steward he has all the authority he needs. Does someone query it?”

“My lady, Count Madoc does. He has spoken of dismissing him. And some others of us as well.”

“Indeed? Count Madoc to dismiss my father’s men?”

“He made that threat, my lady. And his men are taking much upon themselves about the estate. There are … there are complaints, my lady.”

“Such as?”

For the first time the man looked away. He mumbled something, his eye on his dusty boots.

Alice, taking breath to speak sharply, let it go again, and said quietly: “Adam, I am not a child. And with my father ailing, I am mistress of Castle Rose. Complaints? Do you mean from the women?”

“Well, there’ve been incidents. Bet’s man got into a fight, but that’s happened before. And yes, there’ve been others. But it’s not just that. The count’s men, there’s some heavy drinkers there,
and
trouble from time to time. But nothing serious yet, my lady, nothing to knock my lord over the way it did. It was only – we all thought you’d have been home a week or more past, but with you coming here to St Martin’s first, Beltrane thought it would be best if my lord would give him a letter, a paper of some sort, showing that Jeshua and the others of us had his word to keep things right for him till he got home. That’s really all the message I brought, and how was anyone to know it would overset my lord the way it did?”

Alice turned away and went quickly over towards the window. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides, her pulse racing, quick with anger. She knew perfectly what had shocked her father into this collapse. Madoc, over-ready in his arrogance to claim Alice, and with her the rich inheritance that he was eager for, had presumed a claim before it was even discussed, and was sure enough of her, and of himself, to let his men, by all accounts, use her home like an outland camp.

Well, he had overreached himself. In its way, the news was good. There would be no need, now, to persuade the duke to call off any discussion of that marriage. Nor, surely, to sanction a different one? No need even to wait for a winter wedding to free her father for the holy life he longed for. It should be mercifully easy to set his mind at rest.

She turned back to face the man, who saw with surprise that she was smiling. “Well, Adam, it’s obvious that we must stay here longer, until my
father
is well enough for the journey home. But I’ll do what I can. I’ll give you letters for Beltrane and for Jeshua. They will give Jeshua the authority to act in my and my father’s name until Beltrane’s well again. I doubt if Count Madoc will ignore the duke’s seal.” She smiled again, and Adam had the swift impression that the sun had suddenly come out through cloud. “They tell me you rode all night.”

“I had to set out late, madam, when the castle was abed, and I came without stopping, except to breathe my horse.”

“You’ve eaten, I believe?”

“Yes.”

“Then after you’ve rested, come back to me for the letters, and tell the stable-man to saddle one of our horses for you. And Adam –”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Tell them at home not to worry too much, but just to put up with a difficult visit as best they can. And tell them that my father is recovered now, and resting, and should soon be well. Whatever it was in your news that distressed him, it will be put right the moment we get home. In fact, it’s been put right already.”

For the next three days Alice was constantly with her father. She sent to tell Alexander what had happened, and that his meeting with the duke must wait till the latter was fully recovered. The message came back that the prince had no plan to leave the monastery until such time as he might
meet
and talk with the duke, and meantime if there was any service, anything at all he could do, he was her most devoted servant.

The messenger – it was Berin, the duke’s page – was sent running back with Alice’s thanks, no more, but with a postscript added by Berin (now deeply interested) that he was sure his mistress meant to attend some of the chapel services, to add her prayers for her father’s recovery to the fervent representations made by the monks and nuns.

So Alexander went devotedly, morning and evening, to chapel, and spent his days riding out to exercise his horse, and on the third evening was rewarded by the sight of the Lady Alice at vespers, and a smile and brief word as she hurried back afterwards to the sickroom. She looked tired, he thought, and a little pale, but her lovely serenity was unchanged. Her father was better, she told him, gaining strength almost hourly; he was fast recovering the use of his limbs, and his speech, though still slow, was clear. If Prince Alexander still wished to have speech with him –?

He did.

Well, then, very soon, she thought. In two or three days’ time. Would he still be here?

He would.

Alexander went cheerfully back to the stableyard, where he spent most of his time these days in the excellent company of his horse and the lay-brother who worked as groom. It was only when the latter, hissing over the work-mules, asked him if he had been into the chapel sanctuary where Chlodovald’s grail was now splendidly housed in
its
own carved and canopied apse, that he realised he had forgotten completely about that grail, and indeed about any other.

Except what had become his own heart’s dear desire.

Two days later one of Ansirus’ servants came to find Alexander as he sat at breakfast, to tell him of the duke’s wish to see him, and to escort him to his master’s bedside.

Alexander, following the man up the great stairs of the abbot’s house, felt a tightening of the nerves that surprised him. Apart from his dealings with Queen Morgan, his young self-confidence had rarely been shaken, but this interview – he found himself totally unsure of what to say or how to say it, knowing only that it must somehow be said. His dealings with Queen Morgan; there lay the rub. What Alice might have told her father already of that story, and what the duke might have made of it, Alexander did not care to guess. But he was Alice’s father, and the truth would have to be told.

He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and went past the bowing servant into the bedchamber.

The duke was still in bed, propped on high pillows. The chamber was big and sunny, overlooking the river meadows and the mill. Its furnishings were as good as any in a lord’s house – which in fact it was, the abbot being cousin to a
minor
king somewhere in Wales. There was fine horn in the window-frame, and the hangings were beautifully woven and worked. Only the cushioned prie-dieu in the corner, with the crucifix hanging above it, showed that this was a room in a religious house.

Alexander made his bow and spoke his formal greetings, and the old man smiled and motioned him to a chair set between the bed and the window.

“The son of Baudouin of Cornwall, my daughter tells me? I remember him. I never met him, but he was always well spoken of. A father to be proud of. And I understand that your mother lives still?”

So Alexander repeated his story of his father’s murder and their flight from King March’s court and how his mother had sworn that one day he should avenge his father.

“And that was what you set out to do?”

“Not quite, sir. I would have gone, of course, but she wouldn’t have it. It was not that her love and grief for my father had grown less, but that – she said – things had changed in Britain since that day. There were other ways to bring King March down to shame and perhaps death. She wouldn’t let me go into Cornwall, but told me to ride to Camelot and submit the matter to the High King’s law.”

“Which explains why you are travelling north through Rheged?” said the duke, then smiled. “No, boy, I know why you are here. I have heard of your sojourn at the Dark Tower – what you told her of it – from my daughter. Don’t think I
can
throw any stone of blame! Once – a very long time ago – I was young myself, and did some foolish and sinful things which I would hardly care to be reminded of now … But even through evil, I believe God can move us in the way we should go.”

He paused, and his head went back on the pillows, as if in weariness, but when Alexander got up, ready to go, or to call in the nun who sat outside, he lifted a hand to stop him.

“No. It’s all right. I’m not tired, only slow. Slow of voice, as you can hear, and even slower of thought. They tell me it will pass with time, but I am afraid that time is a luxury I do not have.”

At that Alexander began some sort of protest, but the duke, smiling, shook his head. “Thank you, but I wasn’t talking about death. I intend to do a great deal before that day! I am talking of now, today, what is needful to be done now, while I, alas, am not capable of doing it.” He drew a long breath, and then, as if it had given him strength, he nodded, with something of vigour and decision. “Yes, there is a lot I have to say to you, Prince Alexander, and a lot to ask of you. But first, will you pour some wine? It’s on that table yonder, and yes, I am allowed to have it, or I assure you that my gentle daughter would have locked it away … Thank you. Take some for yourself, won’t you? And now sit down again, if you will, and tell me the tale that you told my daughter. Perhaps you can tell me more than you would have told to her? But I must hear it, all of it. It concerns me more nearly than you think.”