Where to seek the prize
In lands where Nile and Ganges flow;
There my fame will rise.”
“You should have included the Euphrates. Also, there’s some question about the extent of Aristotle’s influence on Alexander’s strategy, but you’re permitted poetic license.”
I waited to be sure he was finished, then continued, as he hummed in a deep mellow baritone and conducted with his hand.
“For God has made me Persia’s foe,
For God is filled with wrath
That Pagans in His cities go
Along Our Lord’s sweet path.
“Yet God withholds the Persian crown
From my deserving head,
To wait a Christian king renowned
When I’m long dead.
“Now is King Richard here,
The proper king at last!
King Richard is without peer
And Persia’s thralldom past!”
I stood waiting for his comment, but for a long moment he just twirled his goblet and stared at me with glowing lambent eyes.
“A pleasing prophecy,” he said at last. “God make it true.” Then almost as an afterthought, “And nicely rendered. Very nicely. Well now, Ambroise tells me that you’re an educated lad as well as being musical. You read and write Latin?”
“Yes, Your Highness, and French and English as well.”
His high arched brows shot up. “Trained by Zizka?”
“Partly.”
“He’s outdone himself, I must say. Unusual to find a Parisian boy of the streets with such erudition.”
I recognized my cue as surely as if Zizka had given it.
“Except—except—I’m not a Parisian boy of the streets.”
“Really?”
He reached toward me with a huge hand and what breath I still had stopped. But he merely placed a forefinger on my cheek and traced my chin, so I forced myself to continue.
“No, I’m not from Paris at all. And I studied law and languages on the Petit Pont, not from Zizka.”
“Ah, a student.” He smiled knowingly. “But you’re too young. How old are you?”
“Nine,” I said promptly, then tried to take it back for I was soothly twelve, a fact he would soon know. “Nine,” I repeated weakly, then frowned in vexation at myself. I seemed not to control my own resolve.
“Very young indeed,” he mused. “Let’s see if you’re old enough to serve us another glass of wine.” He handed me his goblet.
I was old enough forsooth but not too steady as I poured. Again I faced him.
“And I’m not from Paris, Your Highness. I’m from—England.”
Something squeezed my heart hard: again I stood on a hill looking back on my flaming castle in the moonlight. A dormer window behind me blew shut, then banged open, and I felt a fresh breeze at my back. It seemed to whisper, whisper …
“Good.” He laughed. “For I’ll tell you a secret, just between us two. I hate the French! And naturally I love the English, for they are my subjects.”
Is that why you’re discarding the French princess, I thought wildly, and putting her in prison for no reason? I pushed the thought away and listened to the wind’s sough, the words buried in its sigh.
“So you are a student of the English nation and you are learning the jongleur’s trade. I—”
“No!” I interrupted. Then, seeing the shadow across his face, “I’m sorry, Your Highness, please continue.”
“I will, but tell me first how I’ve erred.”
He was leaning on his elbow now, perfect teeth glinting, his finger again reaching. I breathed deeply and prepared to be Alix.
“I’m Alexander of Wanthwaite, baron in your own country.”
Appalled, my mouth hung open like a fish’s. Baron? Baron? What was wrong with me? Again the shutter banged, the room darkened as several candles blew out. The wind said Why not? How will he ever know the difference? Aye, my anguished mind replied, but how then can I get my castle? For the whole purpose was to throw myself on his mercy so that he could find a husband to recover my estate. You’ll find a way, and he’ll be gone on the Crusade, the wind counseled.
The king’s finger had stopped midair. “Baron of Wanthwaite?” He frowned. “From the north, close to Scotland?” He sat on the edge of the bed.
“Aye, in Northumberland,” I said rapidly. “The largest landowner outside of the earl, and loyal to the English kings forever. Both my grandfather and father …” and I rushed on about the siege of sixty-five, the taking of King William at Alnwick when my father had been there. From a packet at my waist, I took out the commendation from King Henry.
The king studied it. “Why have you kept this a secret? Zizka and Ambroise don’t know, do they?”
“No, Your Majesty, but ’twas necessary because our castle was sacked and I fled for my life.”
“Sacked? In England? I thought the Scots were tamed.”
By now the wind behind me was a howl which entered the back of my head and came out of my mouth. I hardly knew what I said, but I spoke firmly and boldly.
“Aye, so they are. ’Twas our own earl who turned on us, greedy to control all of Northumberland. Osbert, Earl of Northumberland, sent his army disguised as monks; once inside our gates, they stripped to Scottish plaids and proceeded to kill every living creature. Then the knights were sent forth again on the pretext of searching for the Scottish marauders. ’Twas a heinous plan, brutally executed.”
“Preposterous! Northumberland has ever been a chivalrous lord. And you, young lord, are a talented storyteller. In short, you lie.”
I looked up at his enormous height, twice as tall as I at least, thought of Princess Alais, and said coldly, “I never lie. Osbert, Lord of Northumberland, and his foster son Roland de Roncechaux followed me to London and would surely have killed me to prevent my reaching you, except for the efforts of a friendly Scot I met on the road.”
“But Northumberland, Northumberland, he …” and he sank back onto the bed. “Why didn’t you go at once to the Assize?”
I trowe I know not whence my words came, from my father or from the months of study with Malcolm. “As you know, Northumberland is virtually a country to itself, a palatinate, and the king’s men ne’er come so far north. Therefore Lord Osbert is the judge of the Northumberland Assize Court. How could I complain to the perpetrator of the crime?”
“But Northumberland …” He shook his head. “When did this happen?”
“The twenty-second of May, 1189,” I answered easily enow.
“Ah, that explains …” And he actually smiled.
I was horrified. “Why do you ask, My Liege? I mean, ’tis my greatest dread that mayhap Northumberland or Roncechaux may have reached you first. During your coronation? I know they were in London.”
He seemed to think. “Osbert, you say? What sort of man is he? Describe him.”
My voice lost its assurance as I tried to recall all the diabolic things my father had told me. Deo gratias the king couldn’t make me this monster’s wife.
“Get me another cup while I think,” he ordered. Then, when I handed it to him: “No, my little lord, I assure you I ne’er met your Osbert. No claim has been registered with us. However, I also assure you that if it had, I would not hesitate to seize the castle and punish the criminals, so you have nothing to fear.”
For the first time I tasted my own wine, then went on to my second stage.
“Therefore, Your Highness, I’ve come this far to ask you for a writ of ownership, stamped by your seal, which I can then take to your justicier in London. Certes Northumberland would have to honor such a direct order.”
He studied his wine, licked his upper lip, then smiled radiantly. “Nothing easier. A fait accompli. As of this moment, your estate is restored and all privileges thereof, teste me ipso. This has indeed been a refreshing interview, a rare opportunity to please.”
Tears had welled in my eyes and I forgot the king. I felt I’d
been carrying a huge rock for a long distance and now I’d dropped it at the crest of a hill, watched it roll away from me forever. The concomitant lightness made me airy as a bubble. I was floating in ether, delirious.
I remembered protocol and dropped to my knees. “Thank you, how can I ever thank you?”
“However, as I assume you have no guardian to help you till you are of age, the actual possession of Wanthwaite must await more propitious times.”
I looked up. “I need no guardian, My Lord. I can …”
“Lead your knights to keep the peace? Husband your lands and adjudicate your villains? At nine years old?” He laughed in kindly fashion. “I fear your knowledge of language and music would not take you far. You needs must become a squire, earn your spurs, and in general be trained for your position. Did your father tell you how to achieve the proper skills?”
My father had treated me as a boy in many ways, but I’d learned from Enoch’s questions how little I really knew. I gazed upward and waited.
“No, I thought not. Of course you would have been only seven or eight at the time, too young, I fear. No, child, look not so woebegone. What is a king for if not to protect his wards? As it happens, it fits well with my plans.”
Belatedly I recalled that he had called this meeting, not I.
“How so, Your Highness?”
“Well, you know surely that Zizka was answering a summons from Ambroise when you were sought. A talented young jongleur who was also literate. Could you not guess why?”
I shook my head. “It didn’t occur …”
“No, perhaps not, for ’tis an honor rarely offered to street gamins, which we thought you were. You were going to apprentice with Ambroise in his great epic poem, become a scribe and troubadour together.”
“A great honor,” I agreed humbly.
“Yes. Ars longa, vita brevis. And you may still dally a bit, for such skills are most refining in-preux chevaliers.”
Like the Rules of Love, I thought, hardly following what he said. I was determined to get my writ, and then let Richard speak of learning verse if he wist.
“But now that I know those arts which you must learn, I think that working in my own household would be appropriate.”
And Fortune’s Wheel inched in my favor at last! If I could learn how to manage Wanthwaite alone! And from the king!
“I can take a personal interest in your welfare.” Once again his powerful hand fell on my curls, stroking.
Better and better. A terrible enemy, this king, but perhaps a fierce monarch would be best for retrieving my home from the equally fierce Northumberland.
“Therefore I will make you my personal page until you reach your majority.”
I knew not what “majority” signified, but I kenned well what an honor had been bestowed and what it could mean to my future. Part of the royal household!
“Oh thank you, Your Majesty, I don’t know how to show my gratitude. How may I serve? What should I do?”
He smiled at my delight. “Well, first you must prepare yourself. Get properly outfitted, then a horse.”
A horse? To be a page? Mayhap I didn’t ken the assignment after all.
“What should I do with a horse?”
“God’s feet, child, you will ride your horse unless you want to walk.”
“Ride it where?” I asked, cautiously this time.
He laughed aloud. “Where do you think, boy? I’m taking you with us to Jerusalem!”
“Jerusalem!” I howled with the wind and would have fallen in a heap if the king hadn’t swept me up in his arms.
“I thought you would be pleased.” He pressed my head into his muscular shoulder where I whiffed deeply of sweet woodruff. “’Tis the most glorious quest of all time, better than the search for the Grail, for it affects all living Christians.”
I shuddered and he held me tighter, one hand under my hips, one on my back as if I were a babe. Then he gently leaned me away from him, but our faces were still close.
“Sealed with a kiss,” he said, and his features approached, the eyes like blue pearls, his breath smelling of wine and fresh mint. “I look forward to hearing the details of your romantic odyssey in our leisure.”
His lips pressed mine in the courteous kiss of peace but they were surprisingly warm and tender so that my mindless liver leaped in pleasure.
“You have little time to prepare. Go to Sir Roger tomorrow and he will assign you your vestments, then to my page Sir Gilbert for further instructions.”
Somehow I went through a ritual of thanks which must have satisfied, for as I bowed my way out, he stood with a secret smile, pleased as a graymalkin watching a fallen bird.
I SHOUTED OUT MY TALE OF WOE to Enoch in competition with the rain which beat our leather tent like a drum. His black hump didn’t move, his mouth was dumb.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” I beseeched, hoping for some miracle to reprieve me from my fate.
“Jerusalem,” he said in disbelief. “Bairn, I canna say nothing. I’m dungin as a serpent without his stang. Jerusalem!”
I huddled miserably in the dank air which had suddenly turned cool.
“Do I have to go, think you? Suppose I told him I was sick?”
He didn’t reply.
Suppose I told him I was a girl, was what I was really thinking and another sort of shudder shook me. Laudatur, Maria that I’d heard about Alais and her prison, also that Zizka had warned me unequivocally about the king’s attitudes, for I saw clearly that I couldn’t admit that I’d lied and still hope mercy from Richard. Furthermore, ’twas no doubt easier to survive or escape the Crusade than it would be to escape a bad marriage. Ee’n so, how could a female child travel with such an army?
“Puts my teeth on-char,” Enoch said morosely. “Jerusalem, a pot of hell fer a wee bairn.” Then he requested that I repeat the interview again which I did, word for word.
“Air ye certain ye’ve told all?”
“Aye, every word.”
“Then I con assume that ye didna mention that we war brothers.”
“I said we traveled together.”
“That we war brothers!” he roared. “That we share Wanthwaite!”
“There wasn’t time,” I whimpered.
He grabbed my shoulders. “Aye, there war time to sing about Alexander, but none to protect our estate. Ye canna fool me for all ye tried to make a beard. The king may think ye’re a sweet pigs-eye but I know ye for a scorpion. Only this time ye’ve stung yerself with yer own tail. Jerusalem! Tell me, who owns Wanthwaite?”
“I do. I’m the heir,” I said more bravely than I felt.
“Wrang. Try again: Who owns Wanthwaite?”
“You want me to say that we own it together but I won’t. Never! Never!”
“Niver?” His laugh was a hollow bray. “I dinna want nothing but the truth. And ye canna tell me because ye don’t know.”
There was something beyond threat in his statement that made me pause.
“All right, you tell me. Who owns Wanthwaite?”
“King Richard the Ferst of England, that’s who. I mun learn ye the law, I see. Yif ye present yerself as sole heir, the estate goes to the king automatically.”
I yelled before I thought. “Aye, if I were a female!”
“Sex makes no difference when ye’re only nine years old. Ye’re under age and Wanthwaite is therefore Richard’s fief. He can do as he likes with it. Mayhap he’ll give it to ye; most likely yell fall in the field or from his grace long before that. Kings air known to turn surly when heirs come of age.”
“But my father said…. My father thought …”
“That King Henry were alive and would recall ye. Mayhap. I believe most men found it otherwise with Henry, but it doesna signify that Richard will do likewise in any case. Yif I were presented as yer brother with just claims, then a writ could be used. Aye, Alex, yer greed hae doon ye in.”
And he released me.
The truth of his accusation cut
deep, for I now remembered King Richard saying, “I don’t suppose you have a guardian.” If I’d claimed that Enoch was my blood brother, I would at least have gotten half a loaf instead of no loaf at all. And I’d forgotten that I was a child as well as a female. Since boys don’t have to be assigned wives when they’re so young, and in any case wives could hardly abuse them, to pass as a boy had seemed such a triumph.
But what guarantee was there that Enoch would share? Hadn’t he already claimed my title? No doubt I would dwindle to a landless younger brother in his hands and be no better off than I was now. If he permitted me to live at all.
With these heavy thoughts, I slept fitfully.
After Haute Tierce the next morning Enoch went to keep his own appointment with the king, his face the most serious I’d e’er seen it. No sooner had he gone than Zizka called me to the main tent. Grimly I went to confront him for his perfidy. The hot words died on my tongue, however, when I saw that Ambroise and Zizka stood together. Zizka appeared piqued, Ambroise amused.
“Well, Lord Alex, you certainly fooled us all!” said Richard’s troubadour. “What a clever boy you are truly, what a loss to the troubadour world. However, I’m hoping that I may have the pleasure of coaching you a little in the craft, for certes the arts of music and poetry befit your station. Knew you that King Richard was a master in the new harmonics? Aye, he can sing the Gregorian chants as well, but then can counterpoint to make an organist envy. Furthermore, he composes poetry in both French and Provençal.”
“I ken that he’s a talented lord,” I said, glaring at Zizka. “I had no idea that I would be so honored as to accompany him on his Crusade.”
Zizka glared back, his spade jaw waggling furiously. “Nor would you have if I’d known from the first that you were a lord. You deceived me!”
Ambroise glanced sharply at Zizka, then me.
“But surely you’re pleased to be going,” he protested. “Rarely does King Richard take young boys into his care, though I believe King Henry raised several. The old king was fond of children.”
Knowing that this exchange might be reported to the king, I forced myself to pretend eagerness until Ambroise seemed convinced. He then patted my shoulder and went to make his own preparations for the long ride ahead.
Alix of Wanthwaite 01 - Shield of Three Lions Page 19
