by Alex Myers
On one evening, which followed a day of wind-driven sleet that kept even Silence inside, the two of them sat to the side of the hall. Silence dandled the boy on his knee. He could feel Queen Eufeme watching him; now and then he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. She sat near the hearth as Winchester’s bard harped out ‘Roland’s Song’, a plate of hazelnuts in her lap. Now and then he heard a snap as her servant cracked the shell, and then the queen would work her long fingers to dig out the meat. Lady Elizabeth was showing him a panel she had lately embroidered, with Evan’s lion, its tongue a bloody red. ‘It will go on a jacket for this one.’ She chucked her son’s chin and her eyes lit up as the boy smiled at her.
Silence was surprised to feel a thickness in his throat, a sudden tingle in his eyes. She was beautiful. And kind. And so good to her son. ‘My lady.’ His voice came out strangled and he cleared his throat. ‘My lady. Would you consent to come to Tintagel with me, when I return …’
Elizabeth startled a bit and widened her eyes at Silence, then softened and gave him her warmest smile. ‘You are young, my lord, if you’ll pardon my saying it. And I am nearly old enough to be your mother.’
He opened his mouth to protest, but she proceeded. ‘The king will bring every young woman in England before you. And you should take your time to choose. Find your perfect match.’ She stood, lifted the boy from Silence’s lap, and went over to join the group by the hearth. Silence stayed where he was for a moment, letting her words echo in his head. What she wished for him was beautiful and impossible. There was no perfect match for him. If men and women were meant to fit together, to each complete the other’s half … why, what could he ever hope to find that would fill his missing pieces? A boy raised as a girl? Impossible. He would always be in-between; he would always be alone.
Snow piled up, winds swept down the hills and through the chinks in Winchester’s stones, making the squires huddle in their blankets and the women cough at the smoke, and everyone cursed winter, which only made it last longer. Silence found work to be done outside the great hall. He spent long hours making the dogs run, keeping them sleek and ready, and helped the grooms clear the yard so that they could exercise the horses. Other knights could sit by the hearth, playing chess or carving wood, but Silence could find no peace; as soon as he settled Eufeme would draw near, challenging him to a match of backgammon or some such game – and he knew what she’d demand as a prize if he lost.
His meetings with the steward of Winchester continued and turned from maps to the minutiae of how he would arrange matters at Tintagel, with a special focus on taxes and the division of the king’s share. At another time, he would have found this drudgery, and simply appointed a steward of his own to manage affairs, so that he could spar. But the steward provided lengthy boring company during the many twilit hours Silence had to pass in the great hall – guaranteeing him a lack of other companionship. Every day, it grew closer to spring, when he could return to Cornwall. When he could ride to Ringmar and find Griselle – he wondered if word of his miraculous return had reached her. When he could take his father’s seat at the high table of Tintagel, and be all alone … for all his years …
Then came a day of pure sunlight, followed by another, and great drops of water and chunks of ice rained from the high roofs, and King Evan declared the weather perfect for a boar hunt. They prised sacking and boards away from windows, threw open doors. Boar spears were taken down from the walls and squires set about sharpening them, while knights went to the stables to ready their mounts. That evening the great hall squeaked and groaned as harnesses were mended and leather jackets greased to suppleness. Alfred regaled one of his paramours with a story of the last boar hunt he had been on, while Silence spoke with another of Alfred’s ladies, trying to explain the difference between a boarhound and a foxhound. The lady, he felt, was much more attentive to Alfred’s conversation (truly, the dogs are as different as a sword and a spear), but under no circumstance was he going to quit her company; he could feel the queen lurking.
The courtyard jangled well before dawn, and in his chamber, Silence shivered as he dressed – Alfred lay in bed, mumbling that he would get up soon. Silence pulled on his heavy cloak, thinking as he did so of Griselle urging him always to wear warmer clothes … ah, Griselle, he’d visit her as soon as spring’s mud allowed passage, and give her proper thanks. Warm bread and mulled wine awaited him in the great hall, and through the windows the day promised to be bright.
‘Earl Silence.’ Someone tugged at his sleeve. ‘If you please?’
Silence looked down at the servant, a boy wearing a plain brown tunic. ‘What is it?’
‘My mistress, the queen. She is unwell and asks you to come to her chamber and play for her.’
Silence pulled his sleeve free. ‘Beg my pardon from her. But the king asks me to hunt. Though I serve the queen, I must serve the king first.’ He turned away before the servant could say more.
They rode that day – oh, how they rode. Like the world belonged to none but them. The ladies on their palfreys, joining them at first and then falling behind and turning to their own amusements. The hounds pushing ahead, the huntsmen directing the course, the king and his knights, jolly and joking as they rode in pursuit.
The boarhounds were released, but the quarry, after mauling one hound, escaped through a thick gorse stand where none could pursue.
‘It’s as if that boar’s hide is made of iron,’ Silence said, watching as a dog-man pulled an over-eager hound from the thicket; the hound whimpered, and deep scratches ran along its muzzle.
‘Did your father ever tell you about the stag of Gran de Vil?’ King Evan asked. ‘That truly had an armoured flank. We were out hunting … this was years ago, when my lovely queen had just given birth to our first child. Ah, but we were all young then.’ They turned their horses around and began the journey back towards Winchester. ‘Your father never disparaged the bow. Many nobles do, but not he.’
‘There are times that being able to shoot an arrow has saved my life,’ Silence said.
‘Spoken like Cador. You will honour his memory, I have no doubt. Well. Your father let fly a dozen arrows at this stag. Each one flew straight and true, and each one bounced right off that stag’s hide. Didn’t even leave a scratch.’
‘Did you ever catch it?’
‘We did. Your father tried a javelin and do you know, that bounced off as well, but the beast tripped over it, and stumbled, and that was all we needed.’ The king made a violent sweep with his arm, his face illumined by remembered joy, and Silence could almost see him young again, the grey gone from his hair, the heaviness of his limbs melted away. ‘Two strokes of my sword. We carried him back to Winchester, and I presented Eufeme with the pelt. To this day, it remains in our solar, and many an evening in winter, I find her bundled in it before the fire.’
Silence smiled at the cosy scene the king described, trying to reconcile it with the version of Eufeme that he knew, but that seemed impossible.
When they returned to Winchester that evening, King Evan declared that they would resume the hunt the next day. ‘And tomorrow we will succeed!’ he bellowed, as if they waged a mighty war.
The hall rang merrily that evening, men renewed by a day in the sunlight and regaling each other with stories of hunts past. Silence boasted along with the rest of them, telling of the wolf he had killed as a boy; the others insisted that he was stretching the truth. ‘No, no,’ Alfred said. ‘Don’t you know that Earl Silence always tells the truth? He’s the only minstrel who does!’
‘Must be why he doesn’t court any maidens,’ one knight said. ‘Can’t court if you can’t lie!’
And so on, teasing him lightly, drinking their wine, until a squire approached. Fearing that it was once again a summons from the queen, Silence made ready his reply, but the squire said, ‘M’lord, the king calls for you.’
He rose immediately and followed the boy to the head table. Silence bowed and the king stood, leading
them a few steps away from the others. ‘You have heard my queen is ill?’
‘Yes, Majesty.’
‘And she asked for you to play for her?’
‘Yes, Your Highness.’
‘And you said no?’
‘You had asked me on the hunt, and I replied that your command supersedes her request.’
‘Well, one cannot question your loyalty.’ The king settled his hand on Silence’s shoulder, and though the touch was light, Silence felt the full weight of the king’s presence. ‘But if my queen lies ill tomorrow, as I fear she will, I insist that you stay behind and play to her. Betimes, she is taken with a headache and nothing but music can soothe her.’ He shook his head. ‘When she was young, Queen Eufeme could dance all day and half the night. But now, her headaches come more frequently.’
‘Very well.’ Silence bowed low. ‘I will do as you command.’
He made his way back to the table of knights, all his merriment gone. He could not help but think of the tale of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and how the master of that keep used his wife to test Gawain’s faithfulness. And Gawain, stalwart and noble, had failed that test … was King Evan concocting a similar situation? He had mentioned Silence’s loyalty. Silence took a swallow of wine, then pushed the cup away: he needed a clear mind.
He withdrew to his chamber early, but tossed and turned long into the night. Alfred, with whom he was sharing a bed as usual, met each toss and turn with a grunt until finally he rolled over and poked Silence in the ribs. ‘And what is troubling the great earl now?’ he asked.
‘Idiots waking me from sleep,’ Silence mumbled.
‘You weren’t sleeping. Now tell me or I’ll smother you with this pillow.’
‘Good strategy. Once I’m dead I’ll be forced to tell you everything.’
‘Maybe I care less about hearing what’s bothering you than about getting some sleep,’ Alfred said and pushed a drowsy hand into Silence’s face.
Silence batted his hand away and propped himself on an elbow. ‘This past morning, the queen lay ill and asked me to play for her. I declined. This evening, the king ordered that if the queen is ill tomorrow, I should play for her rather than hunt.’
‘Oh, you are in a stew pot,’ Alfred said.
‘What should I do?’
‘Feign sickness yourself. Oh, right, you’re unable to lie. I could break one of your fingers …’ Alfred reached out and seized Silence’s fingers; his hands engulfed Silence’s easily.
‘That’s scarcely honourable.’ Silence tugged his hand away.
‘Well, then, run away.’
‘I’ve tried that already.’
‘You’ll have to face her. Be on guard. At least the king has sanctioned your visit.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The king’s servant found Silence as he broke his fast in the great hall and reported that the queen still ailed. This left Silence no choice but to wave the hunters off, then follow the servant to the solar, where the queen lay on her bed. He saw the chair by the fire, the tawny pelt of a stag thrown over it, and thought of the king’s tale – how Silence wished he were out hunting at this moment. The bed itself had a rich silken covering, embroidered with climbing roses. Queen Eufeme, her dark hair braided and wrapped around her head, lay back against a pillow.
Silence bowed low, keeping his eyes on the floor, and asked what she wished to hear.
‘Your voice.’
He sang and played until the sun stretched long and thin across the chamber floor and the queen said, ‘You sound like an angel. You have sung for so long, you must be parched. Come here. There’s a pitcher of wine and a cup.’ She gestured to a stand beside the bed. Silence poured wine and lifted the cup. But before he could retreat to his stool, the queen grabbed his wrist, her long fingers tightening. ‘Why do you flee my presence? Why do you refuse my requests?’
‘My lady,’ Silence said, awkwardly bowing with one hand clutching the cup of wine and the other arm firmly imprisoned. ‘I mean you no slight. But I serve King Evan and would do nothing improper.’
‘Improper! Is a touch improper?’ She sat up in bed and ran her fingers across Silence’s cheek, along his neck. ‘It is just a touch.’ She smiled, and Silence squirmed, trying to set down the cup of wine so he could free himself from her grasp. But he couldn’t reach the table, and it would have been rude to drop the cup and spill the wine all over the floor, which, he noted as he considered this option, was covered in a delicate carpet.
‘My lady,’ he begged.
‘Is a kiss improper?’ she interrupted and rose from her bed, stepping so close her body pressed against his, and kissed him on the lips. ‘Between friends? Is it?’
‘Between friends, a kiss is not improper,’ he stuttered. His lips tingled and, to his horror, the buzzing sensation spread throughout his limbs, his stomach. He did not want to be drawn to this woman, to any woman, yet his body responded despite him, itching, burning.
‘And we are friends, are we not?’
‘But in private,’ he pressed on, ‘a kiss could be misconstrued. Most terribly.’
‘It seems to me a kiss is best shared in private, where none need know about it.’ And she kissed him again before taking her hand from his cheek and untying the ribbon at the top of her robe, letting loose the lacing of her bodice. The gown fell away, baring her chest, her two breasts, pale and full like moons.
Silence found he could not speak, could barely croak. ‘My lady, this is most improper.’
She began to work at the string on his jacket, and his heart leapt beneath her fingers. This was wonderful – utterly terrible. And he had to stop it. As soon as she had loosened his jacket, he dropped the wine cup – rude as it was to make a mess in the queen’s chamber, there would soon be a worse mess if he let her continue. He twisted free from her grasp. ‘Let me call the servant to clean this.’ He leapt across the chamber to the door. ‘Some wine to be cleaned up,’ Silence called, his voice shaking. He took his stool again; the queen had lain back in bed by the time the servant appeared.
He played and she lay there while the servant blotted the ruined carpet. Silence prayed it would take a long while to remove the stain, but, alas, the servant was most efficient, leaving Silence and the queen alone again. He faltered through a few songs, keeping his selections decidedly martial and strident – ‘Three Noble Knights’, ‘The Good Sons of Gloucester’ – or religious – ‘Child of God’, ‘The Blessed Tree’. Every time he dared to look at the queen (which he felt he had to, otherwise she might creep close and catch him unawares), he found her staring at him, her bodice still unlaced (she had drawn the covers to her chin when the servant was in the chamber), her eyes hungry, one of her hands resting lewdly on her stomach. It was a pose meant to tantalize; her dark hair fanned across the pillow, her red lips slightly parted. The skin on her breasts – dear lord, he could see both her breasts – so pale as to be luminous.
‘You are noble, Silence,’ she said when he had plucked the final notes to ‘Virgin Mother Most Holy’. ‘Noble and handsome. Why don’t you come and kiss me?’
‘My lady …’
‘Am I so ugly? So hideous?’ She sat up a bit so that her bodice fell off her shoulders, further revealing her bosom, her stomach, the graceful arch of her collarbone …
How impossible she was making it! ‘My lady, of course not. I have travelled far in my young life, and never have I seen beauty such as yours.’
‘Then kiss me.’
He stepped close and kissed her lightly on her cheek. Had she not been the queen, had he not been as he was – as Nature made him – he would gladly have pressed his lips to hers, drawn her into his lap …
‘Is that a kiss?’ she scoffed. ‘For a sister, or a mother, mayhap.’
‘My lady, I serve your husband the king, and he is like a father to us all …’
She fell back on her pillows and studied him through slitted eyes. Her dark hair flowed in loose waves over the bedsheets; her skin had th
e faint glow and polish of ivory; her lips were so red they seemed bloody. Her breasts – not that he dared to look at them – were full and round, with nipples red as her lips.
‘You refuse me,’ she said, her words slow and lingering. ‘It isn’t wise to refuse me. Think on this.’ The last word lingered, sibilant as a snake.
Silence bowed low, gathered his harp and fled the chamber.
At dinner in the great hall, the queen’s seat remained empty, and the king talked animatedly with his lords and counsellors at the high table.
‘I don’t see any bite marks …’ Alfred said as he plopped onto the bench next to Silence.
‘Hush,’ Silence replied.
‘Oh, come. Who’s listening?’ He gestured around the hall where knights and squires laughed raucously, tearing into loaves of bread. Alfred dragged a platter of mutton in gravy close. ‘Three horses got stuck in the mud today. We spent half the morning picking our way around the bog only to end up in the middle of it.’
‘What a shame,’ Silence said.
‘Not at all. Means we’ll go out hunting tomorrow. Will you join us?’
Silence, in as quiet a tone as he could manage, recounted the day’s events. ‘Do you think King Evan put her up to it?’
Alfred finished chewing his mutton. ‘Why? Everyone in Winchester knows you’re most honest.’
‘Doesn’t that make me a challenge for the king to test? Could he have some special purpose that he needs to be assured of my loyalty before he sends me forth?’
‘Mmmm.’ Alfred lowered his voice further. ‘I think that is beyond the scope of King Evan’s cunning. He seems most sincerely and singularly focused on this boar. Besides, the simple answer is the best … the queen would like to take you to her bed.’
