Once a Knight

by Christina Dodd

  From a distance, he was everything an eleven-year-old boy could desire in a hero. He was tall and broad, seated on a milk-white charger who I knew to be King Louis. As he got closer, my awe grew greater, for clearly he cared nothing about anyone’s opinion. He slumped in the saddle. Dark stubble covered his cheeks, and beneath that, dirt stained them. His bottom lip stuck out much like mine when my lady commanded me to take a bath, and when Sir Walter stepped onto the middle of the drawbridge, my hero’s attitude didn’t change.

  I relished the coming confrontation.

  Looking now at Sir Walter’s furious expression, Alisoun wondered if she should have warned him of her intentions. But when she left, she hadn’t known if he would be there when she got back, or if she would succeed in finding and hiring Sir David. And if she’d told him, he might have left before she did, and she had needed him to protect the castle during the time she was gone.

  Ah, well, now she would pay for her silence. “Sir Walter,” she greeted him. “Is all well within the castle?”

  “Assuredly,” he snapped, his gaze brooding on David. “I always fulfill my duties.”

  David didn’t seem to notice the animosity which clouded the atmosphere. He still sulked, and his destrier—an animal with a mind, if she’d ever seen one—adopted a like attitude. Louis’s head drooped, his back swayed, and he clomped onto the drawbridge like a farm horse far gone with age.

  What Alisoun wanted to know, of course, was whether any other incidents had occurred, but Sir Walter knew what she wished and refused to acknowledge it. She didn’t dare ask. How could she, without alerting David to the circumstances? Her experience with Sir Walter had taught her that men viewed the harassment done to her as justice for a feckless act, and she didn’t dare tell David for fear he would turn and leave—and she needed him. Another glance at Sir Walter confirmed it. She needed David now.

  David didn’t respond when Alisoun introduced him, but Sir Walter stood stiffer, straighter, reaching for a height he didn’t have. “Sir David. Your reputation has preceded you.”

  “It always does. Are you going to stand in the middle of the drawbridge forever, or are you going to move aside for your lady?”

  Alisoun sucked in her breath. So David did comprehend the unspoken challenge. Did he not care? Did he dismiss Sir Walter as insignificant? Or did he have a plan?

  She looked at the morose man and disconsolate horse again. He couldn’t have a plan.

  Louis moved forward, apparently on his own initiative. Sir Walter came face-to-face with the massive horse. Louis kept moving. Sir Walter stepped aside. It was all very quick, very smooth, very deliberate. She followed in Louis’s wake, allowing David to push objections aside and draw her along behind him.

  Inside the massive outer bailey, shouts of relief and satisfaction greeted her. Children came running, muddy from the fishpond. Women rose, stiff from weeding the garden, and waved. The milkmaids came to the door of the dairy and her falconer lifted his newest bird to show her. Ah, it was good to be home. Good to know her people rejoiced in her safe return.

  Before her, the inner walls rose higher. With a confident swagger, David rode toward the gatehouse. Mingled with the calling of her name, Alisoun heard masculine hails of “David! Sir David of Radcliffe!”

  He raised a negligent hand toward the men-at-arms who clustered together on the wall walk. They scattered when Sir Walter shouted, but David didn’t flinch. He fell back until Alisoun reached him and they could ride, together, into the inner bailey. Sir Walter hurried to catch them. He had been the castle’s warden and Alisoun’s right hand; his position had just been changed, and without a word being uttered.

  Alisoun wondered if becoming a legend wasn’t partly due to an ability to read a situation and assess it immediately.

  The four stories of the keep rose sharply in the center of the inner bailey. No windows or doors sliced through the thick stone on the first level, but serving women hung from the tiny window slots above. They clustered on the wooden stairs that led to the second level entrance. Edlyn stood alone on the landing, hands clasped at her waist, waiting calmly to greet her mistress.

  Pleased with her ward’s dignity, Alisoun sent a special smile of approval toward the girl, and Edlyn beamed. The cook stepped out of the kitchen shed with fork in hand and brandished a plucked goose. Alisoun nodded, and Easter grinned broadly. Easter knew what Alisoun liked. The baker opened the great oven and in a rush of fragrant steam, removed a loaf with his wooden paddle. Kneeling, he offered it, and even from the distance Alisoun could smell the scent of cinnamon she loved. She started toward him, ready to accept the loaf, and behind her she heard the muttered exclamation. “Mercy o’ me, but you’re rich.”

  She wanted to ignore him. She meant to ignore him. Instead she turned around gracefully. “You’re not the first man to notice that,” she said in a low voice with only a hint of an edge.

  “I imagine not.” David fingered his reins and watched his hands. “At Radcliffe, the only time we kill a goose is if someone’s ill—or if the goose is.”

  She wanted to laugh, but she wasn’t sure he jested. The mighty Sir David seemed abashed and in awe. Looking around once more, she saw her home through his eyes. The castle walls contained all the necessities of life. The well sat in the middle of the inner bailey. The storerooms beneath the castle contained supplies enough to repel a siege for six months. She’d grown up with the wealth, but she’d been taught to be kind to those less fortunate. Was Sir David less fortunate? He might not have her resources, but he was a man.

  Men were the kings; they held all the land. Men were the fathers; they forced their daughters to do as they were told. Men were the husbands; they beat their wives with rods.

  Yet David was one of the small landowners whom the drought had hurt. He looked at her and saw a way to repair his fortunes, and what harm could he do? She understood him completely. She knew he’d charmed her because of her money, and it wasn’t as if she were unpracticed in repelling likely suitors. As kindly as she knew how, she said, “After your bath, you can eat the whole goose if you wish.”

  He looked up at her. He had brown eyes, she realized with a start. Brown eyes, the color of old oak, brown hair so dark that the strands of gray gleamed like pewter, and a tanned face that had witnessed too many battles, too much hunger, too little kindness. For just one moment, he looked at her as if she were the hapless goose, ready for the plucking.

  Maybe she shouldn’t put him in charge of her castle.

  Had she said it aloud? She didn’t think so, but he must have read her thoughts, for he said, “Nay, my lady, it’s too late for second thoughts now.” Then his expression changed, becoming mischievous and a bit rueful. “I’ll hold you to that promise and eat the whole goose.”

  She’d been so sure of him, but that one glimpse of his soul left her cold and quaking. Perhaps it would behoove her to remember that he had started with nothing but a knighthood and now possessed both legend and property. That should satisfy any man. She risked another glance at him.

  He didn’t look satisfied.

  But she had a duty. Her role of hostess required the rituals of hospitality. Her people expected it of her. Alisoun expected it of herself, and she had no tangible reason to deny him. She accepted the loaf of bread, wrapped in a cloth, and thanked the baker.

  After all, David wanted to gobble up her poultry, not her lands. She broke the loaf open, and he watched with an avid kind of wonder as the soft bread steamed. She took a bite. He observed every movement of her mouth with his own slightly open. Self-conscious, she chewed quickly, then licked a crumb off her lip. She heard his intake of breath. He must be very hungry.

  Quickly, she passed it to him. “Share this loaf in welcome,” she recited. “Bless my house with your presence forevermore.”

  “As you command, my lady.” David turned the loaf until he reached the place she had eaten. Then he tore the loaf with his teeth like a ravenous wolf with tender flesh.

&nbs
p; Did he mean something by his gesture? Or had the fears of the past moons prodded her imagination to new heights of absurdity?

  David passed the loaf on to Sir Walter as if unaware of her emotions.

  Sir Walter also broke and ate the bread, although from the expression on his face, it might have been baked with bitter horse chestnut. She lost sight of the loaf after that, knowing it would be passed as far as possible and tiny bites taken from it as part of the welcome ceremony.

  The keg of ale took longer to arrive, hauled from the keep’s cellar on the shoulders of one of her largest men. Again she was given the first cup. “It’s my latest,” her alewife told her. “And a fine flavor it is.”

  Alisoun drained it to the bottom. “One of your best,” she assured Mabel.

  The gray-haired woman winked at her, then refilled the cup and passed it to David. The wink she gave him was considerably more salacious, and he winked back with a smile that would melt iron. The gathering group of servants watched, fascinated, while he drank, observing each bob of his Adam’s apple with deference. Alisoun didn’t know whether to be amused or exasperated, but Sir Walter knew just what he thought. Taking his own cup from his belt, he filled it with ale and broke the chain rather than drink after David. It was a gesture noted by all, but nullified by the fight which broke out among the men. They all wanted to drink from the same cup as David.

  It seemed to Alisoun a good moment to slip away. Dismounting, she found herself face-to-face with Sir Walter. Seldom was she without the skills to diffuse a situation, but today she was speechless. She waited for him to speak. He glared. She turned away toward the keep. He caught her arm.

  “Why did you bring him here?” His hands rose toward her shoulders as if he wanted to grasp them and shake her. “What have I done to earn your contempt?”

  She kept her fingers relaxed at her side and her face expressionless. “I have great respect for you. Together, we have kept the peace and dispensed justice in George’s Cross for years.”

  “I always said so. I always said so.” He took deep breaths, his nostrils flaring with each inhalation. “You’re the lady. You make judgments and I dispense the justice and direct the punishments. You pay me to be the one the peasants hate.”

  He spoke nothing less than the truth. Castle folk knew who directed his actions, but his mediation gave them an outlet for their ire other than their beloved lady.

  He went on. “If the folk have been complaining, I can change my ways. Be less strict with their transgressions.”

  She knew that in her absence, Sir Walter ran the castle with a stern hand. The exuberant welcome which always greeted her return from her travels told her that. Now she wondered if he disapproved of her tact, discretion, and mercy. His obvious hostility made her wonder a lot of things. “No one has complained about you.”

  “Then why—”

  “Hey!” David appeared beside them, relaxed from his intake of ale and grinning like a dolt. “My lady, you promised me a bath.”

  Sir Walter began to growl deep in his chest, like a dog who smells a challenge.

  “So I did.” Alisoun faced Sir Walter. “If you would excuse me?”

  “I will not!” He lunged for her arm again and struck David in the back.

  Somehow, David had slipped between them, and he seemed unaware of the blow. With his hand on Lady Alisoun’s shoulder, he guided her toward the keep. “Your hospitality is faultless, my lady. Even bathing should be a pleasure under your auspices.”

  “My lady!” Sir Walter called. “I need to speak to you.”

  “Come along then,” David called. “She has a bath to give first.” He looked up at the sky and held out his hand. “And I believe we should find shelter, for it’s beginning to rain.” He could scarcely contain his laughter at the huff of indignation Sir Walter released. David had seen this type of man before. A knight who had held his position for too long, coming to think his place was secure regardless of his actions. It surprised David that Lady Alisoun had allowed it to happen, but undoubtedly the situation had developed gradually, without her realization. At least now she had taken steps to rectify it, and he thought he understood a little better why she’d hired him.

  If someone had been shooting arrows, perhaps Sir Walter was the culprit. He glanced back at the puffed-up little grouse of a man. In sooth, Sir Walter didn’t act like a probable suspect. David glanced down at Lady Alisoun. And she didn’t act like a woman likely to be so wrong in her judgment of her chief knight.

  The maids on the stairs greeted their mistress with curtsies and words of welcome. The respect shown her almost amounted to reverence, and she hadn’t earned that by being a fool.

  The noble girl at the top of the stairs curtsied, too, then flung herself into Alisoun’s arms as if she couldn’t bear another moment of separation. Alisoun petted her head—for one moment, only, but it was a definite stroke of affection—then pushed her away. “Stand straight, Lady Edlyn, and let me introduce you to Sir David of Radcliffe.”

  David braced himself for another siege of unwanted adulation, but no recognition lit Edlyn’s face at his name. He grinned at his own conceit, and realized that she was too young to recall his mercenary exploits.

  She said, “Greetings, good lord, and welcome to George’s Cross.”

  Her pretty manners seemed to satisfy Alisoun, for she patted Edlyn once more, briefly. “Where’s Philippa?” she asked.

  “Feeding the baby,” Edlyn answered.

  Turning to him, Alisoun said, “Philippa is my personal maid.”

  The explanation startled him briefly. Why would she think he cared? Then they stepped inside, moving from warmth to cool and light to dark, and he no longer wondered about anything except the sheer mammoth size of the keep. Stairways spiraled up, rising into the dark. A puff of fresh air told him the stairs extended above three floors to the roof where men-at-arms patrolled. Stairways spiraled down. The scent of damp barrels and bitter herbs rose to tell him of storerooms and wine cellars. A short, crooked passage wound toward the great hall. And once there…“A great hall, indeed,” David murmured, trying to look everywhere at once.

  The upright posts reached from the floor to the angle of the ceiling, then mighty oak beams, carved in fanciful decoration, carried the arch up and over. High, narrow windows let in slivers of light from the setting sun, but already torches smoked in the wall sconces. Chairs and benches clustered around not one, but two gigantic hearths, one on each end of the hall. Their roaring blazes warmed the cold stones, but the whitewashed walls remained white. Where was the smoke going? Stepping up onto the dais, he wandered closer and realized that a stone hood captured the smoke and siphoned it into a channel which took it outside. “Incredible,” he muttered, touching the hood with one finger.

  Alisoun caught his eye. She watched him without expression, but somehow he thought she read his admiration and amazement.

  Well, why shouldn’t she? He didn’t conceal himself as if he were a miser and each emotion a nugget of gold.

  “My lady Alisoun!”

  Alisoun swung around, locating the source of the warm voice on the opposite side of the fireplace. “Philippa, I’m back.” She walked to the bench tucked into a warm corner where a plump, smiling maid sat nursing a baby.

  David stepped to the front of the fireplace and held out his hands as if to warm himself.

  “You’re not hurt?” the maid asked.

  Alisoun shrugged off her cloak. “I am as you see me—well and still single.” Leaning over, she embraced the woman. “Although that’s a tale for your ears.”

  “Careful!” Philippa tugged Alisoun onto the bench beside her. “You’ll crush Hazel.”

  Alisoun peeked at the baby, who, old enough to play games, peeked back. Then she pulled away from the nipple and gave a milky grin.

  Straining, David stared. Not even Alisoun’s impassiveness was proof against a baby’s smile.

  “Sir David.” Taken by surprise, he found himself jerked around
to face an irate Sir Walter. “I want to speak to you.”

  With a fast, efficient twist of the wrist, David freed himself. “By all means.” He turned his back. “Later.” After he’d seen this one thing, watched this one trial by baby.

  Alisoun didn’t smile back at the child. She looked vaguely bewildered, unsure for the first time since he’d met her. Tilting her head, she stared into Hazel’s big eyes. “What does she want?”

  Philippa laughed, indulgent. “She’s a baby. She doesn’t want anything.” Hoisting Hazel into a sitting position on her lap, she elbowed Alisoun. “Smile back at her.”

  “Sir David.” Sir Walter stepped between him and the women, and his voice trembled with rage.

  Stupid, David thought, craning his neck to see over him. If they were to be enemies, Sir Walter would do well to disguise his anger with a little more—Look at her! His breath caught. Alisoun was smiling!

  Pish! Hazel knew how to do it better than Alisoun. Alisoun’s lips twitched; if she’d been the baby, he’d have wondered if she had colic.

  Then, as if she feared detection, she glanced guiltily toward him. Lowering his gaze to Sir Walter, he tried to look as if they were having a discussion. “We’ll work together,” he said.

  “You don’t understand,” Sir Walter said. “I don’t work with anyone. I’m the chief knight and steward here.”

  David nodded in conciliation and without conviction. “Aye, aye, that’s easy to see.” Cautiously, he glanced over Sir Walter’s shoulder. Alisoun had turned back to Philippa. David edged closer. Sir Walter tried to hold his ground; he gave way when David pushed.

  Philippa’s hands moved over little Hazel knowingly, straightening her clothes, testing her for wetness. “Wants to eat when she wants to eat, and is done when she’s done,” she grumbled.

  Sir Walter said, “We must talk—away from the women.”