“But you are so beautiful,” he burst out.
“Why, thank you, Geoffrey,” Alinor replied. She was considerably startled. The exclamation was no compliment. There had been a ring of fear in the boy’s voice. “I assure you Lord Ian will not be ensorcelled and lose his reason. He has known me for a very long time, longer than your whole life. He is quite accustomed to my appearance.”
For the first time Geoffrey’s eyes came up and stared defiantly into hers. Their color was lighter and brighter, a golden brown. “Do you know I am a bastard, madam?”
Alinor laughed aloud. “Yes, indeed. What of that? So was my great-grandfather and my great-great-grandfather, too. My grandfather was not, but that was only because the priest hurried the service in accordance with my great-grandmother’s need. I understand that it was a very near thing.”
“You think it is funny?” Geoffrey’s eyes were darker again and the corners showed the sheen of tears.
“I think it is of no importance,” Alinor said seriously, contrite at her carelessness. The young were so easily hurt. “A man is what he makes of himself. He can be a filthy thing, although born of high estate, or he can be like my Simon, born to little but greater than the kings he served.” Alinor bit her lip. How quickly Simon’s name came to her. To Geoffrey she should have spoken of Ian or of his father. “Perhaps,” she continued, “your mother and father should have been wiser, but sometimes it is very hard to be wise. Geoffrey, my love, you will hear no word of blame from me, even of your parents, and for you, my child, you are innocent of any wrong. Did you think I would care what you were born?”
“But you are so beautiful!”
The reiteration, coupled with what Ian had told Alinor, suddenly clarified at least part of Geoffrey’s trouble. Queen Isabella was one of the most beautiful women alive. Alinor slipped off the stool onto her knees and drew Geoffrey into her arms.
“Child, child,” she murmured, “not every beautiful woman is cruel—at least not to children.” She uttered a shaken laugh. “You have a few years before you need to worry about the other form of cruelty, I think.” She released him, leaned back onto her heels, and took his hand into hers. “You must not blame the lovely ladies overmuch. You must try to remember that they are poor, weak things and their beauty is the only power they have. Thus they have no choice but to use it—sometimes unwisely.”
“A—a queen has power,” Geoffrey faltered.
“Not as much as appears, and Queen Isabella has many private sorrows that—that make her impatient and—and jealous where, really, she should not be. Never mind her anymore, Geoffrey. You now belong to Lord Ian and, a little, only as much as you yourself desire, to me. Lord Ian will not allow anyone, even the queen, to harm you. And if you will permit it, I, too, will love you. There is no need to answer that. Just keep it in your mind. Now, since you are not ill, perhaps you would run some errands for me?”
“At once, madam.”
“Good.” Alinor thought the best thing for him was to be kept well occupied until calm was restored to him. “I want my chief huntsman and my head falconer. They are somewhere around the castle grounds, but I do not know where. Do not worry if it takes you time to find them. Just tell them to be sure to dine in hall today. Oh, yes, the chief groom also, but I am not sure he is in the keep. Do not ride out after him if he is not in the grounds.”
“I am not likely to fall off my horse, madam,” Geoffrey said indignantly, and then drew in his breath sharply as he realized he had been insolent.
Alinor laughed. “Of course not, but Lord Ian would be justly angered if, after leaving you with me because he feared you were not well, I allowed you to go careening off all over the countryside and paid no attention to you.”
She wondered whether she should make some reference to Joanna. That she had found one seat of trouble did not mean that another did not exist. Better not. Better let the children meet in hall before dinner under her eye and see what there was to see. Alinor rose easily to her feet, and Geoffrey jumped up and started out. Alinor had to call him back to take his cloak, noting that he would need more gentling. He had stiffened apprehensively when she called out peremptorily. Nonetheless, she had made a beginning. The order to take his cloak had won a shy smile. Now, another trial, a harder one. Alinor straightened the pallet automatically, glanced around the chamber. It might not be so easy to deal with Joanna.
She found her daughter with Father Francis reading a simple saint’s tale with little enthusiasm. Ian might be right about Joanna’s desire to be good, Alinor thought, but if so, that desire certainly did not take the form of ardent religion—which was just as well. She called her daughter away and started up toward the women’s quarters, ignoring Joanna’s heavy sighs. Joanna was even less enthusiastic about sewing, weaving, and spinning than about saints’ tales. There is more of me in her than that red hair and blue eyes show, Alinor reminded herself.
But Alinor had no intention of setting her daughter to some distasteful task that would leave her mind free to brood on this day. For the next week or two, Joanna would be occupied only with those aspects of the coming wedding that would excite and interest her. The whole affair, Alinor hoped, would take on an aura of pleasure while Joanna grew accustomed to the idea. Before Alinor could start her campaign with an order to turn out the chests of fine brocades and velvets to choose suitable cloth for the dresses to be worn, Joanna spoke.
“Why is it so important to be chaste, Mother?”
“Oh, heavens, today is my day for being proved by hard questions,” Alinor exclaimed. She gestured her daughter to a seat. “What put this into your head?”
“Saint Agatha,” Joanna said succinctly.
“Oh.” Alinor wondered why she was always cursed with chaplains who were as good and kind and virtuous as they were unworldly, unwise and unpractical. One could not explain to Father Francis that this was the wrong time to give a nine-year-old stories to read about martyrdom to preserve purity. First of all, it was unlikely that Father Francis’ mind had grasped the fact that Alinor was planning to marry again three months after her husband’s death. Even if it had, he would see no connection. Chastity was, of course, the holiest state, but as Paul said, “It is better to marry than to burn.” Marriage, for those who were not strong enough for total continence, was not an unchaste state.
“Well,” Alinor temporized, “Saint Agatha had dedicated her body to God. She wished to keep it unspotted for Him.”
“But would it not be better to use it to some good purpose, such as converting the man who desired her, than to die?”
Alinor struggled with herself and, as usual, lost. She chuckled. “My love, I am afraid I think as you do, but that is because I am a coarse and worldly creature. For the holy, purity is more important than life. The question is not likely to arise for you. The future Lady of Roselynde will not need to take the veil. You will need to marry and breed up heirs.”
“Were you chaste, Mother?”
“Yes, Joanna. I knew no man until I married your father, and I never touched another man in all the years that we were man and wife—touched in the way of love, I mean.” Alinor said nothing of how willing she had been to take Simon, in or out of wedlock. Alinor did not lie to her children, but it was not a lie to omit a fact she considered beyond the comprehension of a nine-year-old girl.
“Why? Because it was a sin to be unchaste?”
“No, I fear not,” Alinor replied, still honestly, although her voice was not quite as steady as it had been. “I fear I did not think much of sin when I was a girl. Before I met your father I had never seen a man I valued high enough to give my body or my heart—which was more important. After I married I was chaste because I loved your father and it would have hurt him if I gave to another what he believed belonged to him.”
“You do not love Papa anymore?” Joanna whispered.
Although Alinor had known that had to be the next question, she winced. To be prepared for pain does not really diminish the p
ang. She drew a deep breath, and then another.
“Of course I love your father, Joanna. I will always love him, always and always.” She stopped and fought the tears, but she lost that battle, too. They welled slowly over her lower lids and down her cheeks.
“Do you think Papa will not care any longer that you give to Ian what used to be his?”
Alinor brushed away the tears. Joanna had not seemed to notice them, but that was not surprising. She had seen her mother’s face wet so often in the past year and a half that it was a usual thing to her.
“That is certainly true,” Alinor replied. “Papa still loves us all, but he has no more use for my body, Joanna, and he was never the kind to hoard for himself what he did not want just so that someone else should not have it. Papa will not care about that. He will only care if we forget him, and I will never forget him and never stop loving him.”
That seemed to satisfy Joanna, and she wriggled toward the front of the chair as if she was about to slide off. Then she suddenly frowned. Obviously, a new problem had occurred to her.
“But what about Ian? If you love Papa and then you marry Ian—will you be unchaste after you are married to Ian because you do not love him and do not care if you hurt him?”
“Who said I did not love Ian, Joanna?” Alinor asked gravely. “You know it is very possible to love more than one person at a time. I love you. Does that mean I may not love Adam, who is also my child? Why should I not also love Ian, even if I continue to love Papa? And if I love Ian, then I would never do anything to hurt him. I assure you, I will be as chaste a wife to Ian as I was to your father.”
This time Joanna got as far as the floor before she found another question. “Is Geoffrey sick, Mama?”
Alinor did not sigh with relief, but she sent up a prayer of thanksgiving. So far she and Ian both seemed to have traveled the right path toward peace of mind for the child. “No,” she began, and then a notion came to her that might accomplish several good purposes. She pulled Joanna close so that she could speak softly enough that the maids would not hear.
“You asked me why it was needful to be chaste. Geoffrey is a good reason. His mama was not chaste and was not married to his papa—I do not know why, so do not ask me that. Of course, that is not Geoffrey’s fault at all, but many people who are cruel and stupid, taunt him with that and call him ‘bastard’, as if he was to blame for his birth. Geoffrey was not sick. He was afraid that once he was part of our household and no longer a guest, you and Adam and I would be unkind to him. If you are not chaste, you may have a child and that child would suffer for what you had done. That is certainly wrong.”
“Why do not his mama and papa protect him?” Joanna asked, dismissing the subject of chastity for one far more interesting to her.
“His mama is dead. His papa loves him very much, but he cannot protect Geoffrey against the whole world. He cannot keep Geoffrey with him always. You know that Adam will go away to be fostered in a few years. Ian and I will do our best to find people who will love him and be kind to him, but mistakes can be made. Someone was unkind to Geoffrey before he came into Ian’s care. He is wounded in a way you cannot see. Thus, just as you would not touch Ian’s back, you must not use certain words to Geoffrey. You must not call him whoreson or bastard, even in anger.” Alinor smiled. “Call him louse, or feeble-minded worm, or gaping oaf if you will, but not those others.”
“Gentlewomen do not use such language,” Joanna said sententiously.
“Well, I never said you were a gentlewoman—only that I was trying to make you into one,” her mother replied tartly. “And if the argument I overheard you having with Adam, right here in this room last week is any proof, I am not succeeding,” Alinor teased. She laughed as she saw Joanna beginning to marshal arguments as to why brothers, especially younger brothers, were exceptions to the rule that a gentlewoman use gentle language. “Never mind that now,” her mother cut her off. “We have idled away time enough.”
Even being lectured was better than spinning. “But mother—” Joanna began.
“We must be all new dressed for the wedding,” Alinor interrupted temptingly, “and the clothes must be very grand to do us honor before our guests. What would best become you, do you think? Shall we look through the cloth?”
Some time before Alinor had sought out Geoffrey, Ian watched Owain slip his shield strap over Adam. The child braced himself sturdily under the weight. He had a good seat in the saddle, too, even though he had to turn his body to allow the shield to clear the horse’s side. Then Owain mounted to Adam’s left and Beorn brought his horse to Ian’s right.
“In the open,” Ian said to Adam, “this is how we ride. You must not ride ahead or behind, so that I can take my shield when I desire it. Listen hard, Adam. You are being asked to do a duty beyond your years and experience because Geoffrey is not well today and my back is sore. You must obey orders quickly and exactly. If you do not, you will be a danger to us all, and I will not dare take you out again for a long time. Further, you must not speak to me unless you believe you see a danger I do not perceive. You may speak to Owain, but if he tells you to hold your tongue, do so at once.”
“Yes, lord,” Adam replied, in so fine an imitation of Owain and Geoffrey that Ian was forced to bite his lips to keep from laughing.
The reply was an excellent prognostication, however. In watching his squires and thinking back on his own experiences with Simon, Ian had come to understand how men were made. Adam was pretending to be Geoffrey—or any boy old enough to hold the position of squire. And when Adam was a squire, the thoughts continued as Ian touched his horse into movement and rode across the drawbridge, he would pretend to be the knight—as Owain was now pretending. Owain was speaking very kindly to Adam and answering his questions as he imagined he would answer such questions when he was Lord Owain and squires rode in his tail. Ian smiled and sighed at the same time. Pretending and pretending, we pretend ourselves into men, he thought. Somewhere inside him there was still a small, frightened boy, but the covering of pretend-man was so thick by now that the frightened child had no outlet, except once in a long while to cry out to God.
“Eorling, beoth hell hym to taken?” Once over the drawbridge, Beorn had moved up on Ian’s right. His eyes flicked to Adam. It was clear he trusted less in the good behavior of his young master than Ian did, or perhaps it was Ian’s ability to control his charge that was in doubt in Beorn’s mind.
“Alle heil,” Ian reassured him and then switched to French, because he wanted Adam to understand what was said. “We will not go far today. I only mean to ask some questions. I want to discover, if I can, whether it is one band or more, how many men, and from what direction or directions they come.”
In accordance with this purpose, the troop set off eastward along the coastline. At each fishing village Ian asked his questions. It was soon clear that the raiders did not come from the sea but were based inland. They turned north along the border of the demesne lands. Here and there a robbery was reported, but these were obviously single attacks by one or two individuals. Beorn mentioned that one thief, at least, had already been captured and hanged.
At the northern border, they turned west. Almost at once they found trouble. A farm had been stripped of its cattle, the bailiff badly beaten, his wife raped, two female serfs carried off. One young male serf, limping and with a bloody weal across his scalp, had seen the reavers. More men than his fingers and toes, he reported, and they had come from the west. Ian promised help and some recompense for their losses. He would return the next day, or the day after, he said, to arrange some kind of warning system and some suggestions for preliminary defense measures.
They continued west, passing some untouched farms. Two had not been troubled, but one of those bred pigs. Few robbers, no matter how daring, would try to drive a herd of pigs without the aid of the herdsman. And should they harm the herdsman, those vicious and highly intelligent animals would soon make pig food of both men and horses. A few pigs m
ight die, but no man who stayed to fight them would live. Ian spoke to the bailiff and requested information from the herdsman. Let him pen the pigs for a day or two, Ian said, he would be by tomorrow or the next day for his answers. Another untouched farm, however, reported that tribute had been paid. The description of the taker made Ian raise his brows. Two men only, dressed like gentlemen, and speaking the gentle tongue.
“I think,” Ian said to Beorn, “that these are clever villains not in any way connected to the reavers but using the fear of them to their own purpose. The reavers take money if they find it, but they are more interested in food and women.”
If they came again, Ian instructed the bailiff to take them prisoner. The Lady of Roselynde would go bail if there were any losses incurred because of that, he promised. The bailiff looked doubtful. Ian said sharply that he was betrothed to the lady. Beorn confirmed his claim. The bailiff grew warm, invited them in to drink a measure and break a crust. Ian refused with thanks. They still had far to go, and the lady expected them to dinner. That stilled all argument and healed all hurt. Ian was amused by the bailiff’s obvious conviction that a male master was an immediate necessity in Roselynde and equally that the male master would defer in all things, save battle, to the Lady of Roselynde.
As they neared the westernmost border of the demesne, more and more troubles were reported. One farm where stiff resistance under a determined bailiff had been made had retained its cattle, but most of the outbuildings had been burned. Northwest was the direction the reavers had come, this bailiff reported. In the next place, right on the edge of the demesne lands—a looted village—the headman also said the robbers had come from the northwest. Ian sucked his teeth with annoyance.
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