Epic Historial Collection (54 page)

Stephen released Percy's hands, and Percy stood up.

Stephen turned to the rest of them. “All other farmlands belonging to the former earl, I give”—he paused for a moment, looking from Philip to Waleran and back again—“I give to the
priory
of Kingsbridge, for the building of the new cathedral.”

Philip suppressed a whoop of joy—he had won! He could not stop himself from beaming with pleasure at the king. He looked at Waleran. Waleran was shocked to the core. He was making no pretense of equanimity: his mouth was open, his eyes were wide, and he was staring at the king with frank incredulity. His gaze swiveled to Philip. Waleran knew he had failed, somehow, and that Philip was the beneficiary of his failure; but he could not imagine how it had happened.

King Stephen said: “Kingsbridge Priory shall also have the right to take stone from the earl's quarry and timber from his forest, without limit, for the building of the new cathedral.”

Philip's throat went dry. That was not the deal! The quarry and the forest were supposed to
belong
to the priory, and Percy was only to have hunting rights. Regan
had
altered the terms after all. Now Percy was to own the property and the priory merely had the right to take timber and stone. Philip had only a few seconds to decide whether to repudiate the whole deal. The king was saying: “In the event of a disagreement, the sheriff of Shiring shall adjudicate, but the parties have the right to appeal to me as a last resort.” Philip was thinking: Regan has behaved outrageously, but what difference does it make? The deal still gives me most of what I wanted. Then the king said: “I believe this arrangement had already been approved by both sides here.” And there was no time left.

Percy said: “Yes, lord king.”

Waleran opened his mouth to deny that he had approved the compromise, but Philip got in first. “Yes, lord king,” he said.

Bishop Henry and Bishop Waleran both turned their heads to Philip and stared at him. Their expressions showed utter astonishment as they realized that Philip, the youthful prior who did not even know enough to wear a clean habit to the king's court, had negotiated a deal with the king behind their backs. After a moment, Henry's face relaxed into amusement, like one who is beaten at nine-men's morris by a nimble-witted child; but Waleran's gaze became malevolent. Philip felt he could read Waleran's mind. Waleran was realizing that he had made the cardinal error of underestimating his opponent, and he was humiliated. For Philip, this moment made up for everything: the treachery, the humiliation, the slights. Philip lifted his chin, risking committing the sin of pride, and gave Waleran a look that said: You'll have to try harder than that to outwit Philip of Gwynedd.

The king said: “Let the former earl, Bartholomew, be told of my decision.”

Bartholomew was in a dungeon somewhere nearby, Philip presumed. He remembered those children, living with their servant in the ruined castle, and he felt a pang of guilt as he wondered what would happen to them now.

The king dismissed everyone except Bishop Henry. Philip crossed the room floating on air. He reached the top of the staircase at the same time as Waleran, and stopped to let Waleran go first. Waleran shot him a look of poisonous fury. When he spoke his voice was like bile, and despite Philip's elation, Waleran's words chilled him to the bone. The mask of hatred opened its mouth, and Waleran hissed: “I swear by all that's holy, you'll never build your church.” Then he pulled his black robes around his shoulders and went down the stairs.

Philip realized he had made an enemy for life.

III

William Hamleigh could hardly contain his excitement when Earlscastle came into sight.

It was the afternoon of the day after the king had made his decision. William and Walter had ridden for most of two days but William did not feel tired. He felt as if his heart was swelling up in his chest and blocking his throat. He was about to see Aliena again.

He had once hoped to marry her because she was the daughter of an earl, and she had rejected him, three times. He winced as he remembered her scorn. She had made him feel like a nobody, a peasant; she had acted as if the Hamleighs were a family of no account. But the tables had turned. It was her family that was of no account, now. He was the son of an earl, and she was nothing. She had no title, no position, no land, no wealth. He was going to take possession of the castle, and he was going to throw her out, and then she would have no home either. It was almost too good to be true.

He slowed his horse as they approached the castle. He did not want Aliena to have any warning of his arrival: he wanted her to have a sudden, horrible, devastating shock.

Earl Percy and Countess Regan had returned to their old manor house at Hamleigh, to arrange for the treasure, the best horses, and the household servants to be moved to the castle. William's job was to hire some local people to clean up the castle, light fires, and make the place habitable.

Low iron-gray clouds boiled across the sky, so close they seemed almost to touch the battlements. There would be rain tonight. That made it even better. He would be throwing Aliena out into a storm.

He and Walter dismounted and walked their horses over the wooden drawbridge. Last time I was here I captured the place, William thought proudly. The grass was already growing in the lower compound. They tied up their horses and left them to graze. William gave his war-horse a handful of grain. They stowed their saddles in the stone chapel, as there was no stable. The horses snorted and stamped, but a wind was blowing up, and the sounds were lost. William and Walter crossed the second bridge to the upper compound.

There was no sign of life. William suddenly thought that Aliena might have gone. What a disappointment that would be! He and Walter would have to spend a dreary, hungry night in a cold and dirty castle. They went up the outside steps to the hall door. “Quietly,” William said to Walter. “If they're here, I want to give them a shock.”

He pushed open the door. The great hall was empty and dark, and smelled as if it had not been used for months: as he had expected, they had been living on the top floor. William trod softly as he walked across the hall to the stairs. Dry reeds rustled under his feet. Walter followed close behind.

They climbed the stairs. They could hear nothing: the thick stone walls of the keep muffled all sound. Halfway up, William stopped, turned to Walter, put his finger to his lips, and pointed. There was a light shining under the door at the top of the stairs. Someone was here.

They went on up the stairs and paused outside the door. From inside came the sound of a girlish laugh. William smiled happily. He found the handle, turned it gently, then kicked the door open. The laugh turned into a scream of fright.

The scene in the room made a pretty picture. Aliena and her younger brother, Richard, were sitting at a small table, close to the fire, playing a board game of some kind, and Matthew the steward was standing behind her, looking over her shoulder. Aliena's face was rose-colored in the glow of the fire, and her dark curls glinted with auburn lights. She wore a pale linen tunic. She was looking up at William with her red lips in a big O of surprise. William watched her, enjoying her fright, saying nothing. After a moment she recovered, stood up, and said: “What do you want?”

William had rehearsed this scene many times in his imagination. He walked slowly into the room and stood by the fire, warming his hands; then he said: “I live here. What do
you
want?”

Aliena looked from him to Walter. She was scared and confused, but nevertheless her tone was challenging. “This castle belongs to the earl of Shiring. State your business and then clear out.”

William smiled triumphantly. “The earl of Shiring is my father,” he said. The steward grunted, as if he had been afraid of this. Aliena looked bewildered. William went on: “The king made my father earl yesterday, at Winchester. The castle now belongs to us. I'm the master here until my father arrives.” He snapped his fingers at the steward. “And I'm hungry, so bring me bread and meat and wine.”

The steward hesitated. He threw a worried look at Aliena. He was afraid to leave her. But he had no choice. He went to the door.

Aliena took a step toward the door, as if to follow him.

“Stay here,” William ordered her.

Walter stood between her and the door, barring her way.

“You have no right to command me!” Aliena said, with a touch of her old imperiousness.

Matthew spoke in a scared tone. “Stay, my lady. Don't anger them. I'll be quick.”

Aliena frowned at him, but she stayed where she was. Matthew went out.

William sat in Aliena's chair. She moved to her brother's side. William studied them. There was a similarity between them, but all the strength was in the girl's face. Richard was a tall, awkward adolescent, with no beard yet. William liked the sensation of having them in his power. He said: “How old are you, Richard?”

“Fourteen years,” the boy said sullenly.

“Ever killed a man?”

“No,” he answered, then with a little attempt at bravado he added: “Not yet.”

You'll suffer too, you pompous little prick, William thought. He turned his attention to Aliena. “How old are you?”

At first she looked as if she would not speak to him, but then she appeared to change her mind, perhaps remembering that Matthew had said
Don't anger them
. “Seventeen,” she said.

“My, my, the whole family can count,” William said. “Are you a virgin, Aliena?”

“Of course!” she blazed.

Suddenly William reached forward and grabbed her breast. It filled his big hand. He squeezed: it felt firm but yielding. She jerked back, and it slipped from his grasp.

Richard stepped forward, too late, and knocked William's arm aside. Nothing could have pleased William more. He came out of his chair fast and hit Richard in the face with a swinging punch. As he had suspected, Richard was soft: he cried out and his hands flew to his face.

“Leave him alone!” Aliena cried.

William looked at her with surprise. She seemed more concerned about her brother than about herself. That might be worth remembering.

Matthew came back in carrying a wooden platter with a loaf of bread, a side of ham and a jug of wine on it. He paled when he saw Richard holding his hands to his face. He put the platter down on the table and went to the boy. Taking Richard's hands away gently, he looked at the boy's face. It was already red and puffy around the eye. “I
told
you not to anger them,” he muttered, but he seemed relieved that it was no worse. William was disappointed: he had hoped Matthew would fly into a rage. The steward threatened to be a killjoy.

The sight of the food made William's mouth water. He pulled his chair up to the table, took out his eating knife, and cut a thick slice of ham. Walter sat opposite him. Through a mouthful of bread and ham, William said to Aliena: “Bring some cups and pour the wine.” Matthew moved to do it. William said: “Not you—her.” Aliena hesitated. Matthew looked at her anxiously and nodded. She came across to the table and picked up the jug.

As she leaned over, William reached down, slipped his hand under the hem of her tunic, and rapidly ran his fingers up her leg. His fingertips felt slender calves with soft hair, then the muscles behind her knee, and then the soft skin of the inside of her thigh; then she jerked away, spun around, and swung the heavy wine jug at his head.

William warded off the blow with his left hand and slapped her face with his right. He put all his force into the slap. His hand stung in a very satisfying way. Aliena screamed. Out of the corner of his eye William saw Richard move. He had been hoping for that. He pushed Aliena aside forcefully, and she fell to the floor with a thud. Richard came at William like a deer charging the hunter. William dodged Richard's first wild blow, then punched him in the stomach. As the boy doubled over, William hit him several times in rapid succession about the eyes and nose. It was not as exciting as hitting Aliena, but it was gratifying enough, and within moments Richard's face was covered with blood.

Suddenly Walter gave a warning cry and sprang to his feet, looking past William's shoulder. William spun round to see Matthew coming at him with a knife held high ready to stab. William was taken by surprise—he had not expected bravery from the effeminate steward. Walter could not reach him in time to prevent the stroke. All William could do was to hold up both arms to protect himself, and for a terrible moment he thought he was going to be killed in his moment of triumph. A stronger attacker would have knocked William's arms aside, but Matthew was a slight figure softened by indoor living, and the knife did not quite reach William's neck. He felt a sudden surge of relief, but he was not yet safe. Matthew lifted his arm for another blow. William took a step back and reached for his sword. Then Walter came around the table with a long pointed dagger in his hand and stabbed Matthew in the back.

An expression of terror came over Matthew's face. William saw the point of Walter's dagger emerge from Matthew's chest, tearing a slit in his tunic. Matthew's own knife fell from his hand and bounced on the floorboards. He tried to draw breath in a gasp, but a gurgling noise came from his throat and he seemed unable to breathe. He sagged; blood came from his mouth; his eyes closed; and he fell. Walter withdrew the long dagger as the body sank to the floor. For a moment blood spurted from the wound, but almost immediately the flow slowed to a trickle.