Longsword (28 page)

Then Sir Bertrand bellowed and charged at Gervase, forcing his opponent for once to give ground, back and back, with a fury of blows raining on him until Gervase, giving way a little too quickly, caught his spurred heel on some slight unevenness in the ground, and half-tripped, and half-fell. As he fell he rolled, but not quickly enough to avoid a blow on the back of his left shoulder which tore the silken surcoat apart.

“Christ have mercy!” gasped Beata, clinging to her father's arm.

“I cannot stop them,” Lord Henry told her.

“No,” said Beata. “I know … only … oh, Father! Pray for him!”

Sir Bertrand, staggering a little, lifted his sword two-handed to deliver the coup de grace. But even as his sword descended Gervase was twisting out and away, so that coming up within Sir Bertrand's arm, Gervase threw him off balance. The burly knight staggered, arms flailing, sword flashing.

Now Gervase pounced on Sir Bertrand, delivering blows here and there, up and to the left … down and to the right, changing hands with such bewildering irregularity … so flashing the blade, so rapid the blows that it seemed there was an arc of steel before Sir Bertrand's eyes.

Sir Bertrand was driven against the barrier and checked, and in that moment of hesitation the point of Gervase's sword was ripping up and into the rim of his helm, and his cap of steel went spinning off into the air, to fall with a rolling, echoing clang some distance away. The sword dropped from Sir Bertrand's hand.

The knight in Mailing colours took his own sword in both hands and raised it high, his arms above his head, the point reaching for Sir Bertrand's unguarded eyes.

“Kill!” said Lord Henry.

A terrible hush lay on the people who watched. The knight in Malling colours brought his arms back, further. …

“No” Beata spoke calmly and clearly. “Thou shalt not kill.”

The man could not have heard her; he was too far away for that. But he lowered his sword till the point was resting on Sir Bertrand's mailed breast, and leant on it, keeping his opponent pressed against the barrier.

And the crowd stamped and shouted till it seemed the timbers of the building must surely fail, and fall.

Beata was on her feet. By her side Lord Henry sat smiling, with a tinge of colour in his sunken cheeks. Beyond them Elaine, with tears on her face, laughed and clapped her hands. Beata ran round her chair and caught her sister up in her arms.

The cheers died away at last, for it seemed the two knights were having some converse. No-one was near enough to hear what they said. People shushed one another, and nudged and pointed to where Lord Henry was leaning forward, calling for the victor. Then Sir Bertrand, released from his durance, picked up his sword and handed it to the man who had defeated him … and walked away down the length of the hall leaving his destrier for the victor.

Gervase did not remove his helmet, even now. He walked slowly to the centre of the stand, and bent his knee to listen to Lord Henry's congratulations. Then Elaine loosed the garland from her hair, and threw it down to him. He caught it on the tip of Sir Bertrand's sword, and bowed his thanks. And Beata, laughing, put her own garland to her lips before throwing that down, too … and this made everyone shout and yell and scream with laughter all over again. Now Gervase had two wreaths, one on either sword. He bowed again, and stepped back.

Berit had brought up the destrier, and gave Gervase a leg up into the saddle. He rode off with the two swords over his arm.

“Who would have thought the lad had it in him?” said Lord Henry. “Well, he is my heir, now. I shall have to acknowledge him … have him recognised as my son.” Suddenly he was an old man.

Beata stopped smiling. She caught Telfer's eye, and then saw that Varons was also looking at her, and both were worried. In their eyes she saw that they too knew it had not been Jaclin who had fought Sir Bertrand. She looked at Elaine, and Elaine was saying something about going to see how Crispin was. So Elaine had not guessed.

“Why, Father,” said Beata. “Jaclin deserves your love, it is true … but as to being your heir. …”

“Do not be greedy, girl,” replied Lord Henry. “The church is satisfied with the dowry I have arranged to give with you, so do not hanker for Crispin's portion as well.”

“It is not that, but. …”

Telfer said, “My lord is ill?” He came forward to give Lord Henry his arm. Beata looked into her father's face, and was silent. This was no time to deal an old man further blows.

“The masque must be cancelled,” said Lord Henry. “When we are returned to the hall … I am a little tired, I find. I will go and rest a while. Telfer: make the announcement about my son's death. See to everything … he must lie in state in the chapel until such time as. …”

“May I suggest that this is no time for weddings, my lord?” Telfer's eyes were going from Beata to Elaine and back to Sir Henry.

“We will postpone Elaine's wedding for a couple of days … understandable, in view of family grief.” He groped for Beata's arm. “Our guests shall still have their feast tonight, eh? And we shall show them all what we think of young Jaclin … hiding his light under a bushel … such skill … and the only one of you who could stand up to Sir Bertrand, with the exception of Crispin. Crispin. …” His smile was back on his face as he began to pass by his guests, bowing here and there, but leaning heavily on Beata's arm. “Crispin would have enjoyed the jousting today, wouldn't he …?”

Beata saw her father to his chamber, told her nurse to fetch same salves from the infirmary, and fled downstairs and up again, bursting into Jaclin's room before Varons could prevent her.

“Fool!” she said, forestalling his protest. “Did you think I would not know him?”

Gervase was being helped off with his chainmail and shirt, revealing a bad graze on the back of his left shoulder, and sundry other bruises.

“Show me your hands!” commanded Beata. He held them out, palms up, and she bit her lip. Although he had worn gloves the cuts and grazes inflicted by the bars of the cage had been re-opened in the fight. She swooped on the bowl and towel that Berit was holding, giving the sleeping figure of Jaclin a cursory glance as she set to work on Gervase's hurts.

“Is he sick, or drunk?”

“Drunk,” said Varons. “Lady, it is not seemly that you be here. …”

“Enough!” said Beata, setting her teeth as she worked on Gervase's hands. “Have I not nursed him before, and no harm befell either of us?”

“I would not agree … as to there being no harm done,” said Gervases, smiling and wincing. “Yet you need have no fear, Varons.”

“No, indeed!” she said. “What is more, Varons, my father wants you in his chamber, to make arrangements for my brother's lying in state in the chapel. The masque is cancelled; there will be no dancing tonight. We shall have to devise some other entertainment for the company.”

“I can devise an entertainment, if Varons will assist me,” said Gervase. “Berit, too … if you have no other pressing duties. First you must see to your master, that goes without saying. But if you will come to me after, in the infirmary. …”

“I would take service with you, if I may,” Berit suggested.

“Why, Berit!” said Gervase. “I had not thought … it might be, I suppose, if. … No! You do not know what. …”

“Yes, my lord; I do. I know all about it. I caught some of Rocca's whispers a while ago, and then I asked a pedlar who passes through Ware twice a year, and a servant of the wool merchant who buys fleeces from here and from Ware … and I soon learned the rest. My lord, you should have killed Sir Bertrand when you had the chance. …”

“I nearly did,” said Gervase. “Tell me, what was it that you learned from your friends?”

“That you came across your aunt and her cousin in bed one day when your uncle was out hunting, and that they drove you out so that you should not denounce them. The other tale was even better … that your aunt climbed into your bed one night, instead of her husband's, and that you threw her out … and therefore she plotted revenge. …”

“Christ have mercy!” gasped Gervase, growing red in the face.

Varons slapped his thigh. “What, was there some truth in the rumours?”

Beata started to giggle. Berit grinned. “You know, my lord, I didn't believe those stories at first, you were so peaky and quiet … but now I'm not so sure!”

“Neither am I,” said Beata, openly laughing. Then she sobered, seeing that Gervase was really embarrassed. “However it was, Gervase … whether it was simple jealousy on her part, or whatever … it is clear that no-one believes you stole that ring. Will you not make a push to recover your inheritance, perhaps by petitioning the King?”

“There might be a way,” replied Gervase. “Varons. …”

“I must go,” said Varons. “But I will return.”

Beata spoke urgently. “Quick, before you go! My father must be told it was not Jaclin who performed so well in the lists. I began to tell him, but he checked me, thinking I was jealous of Jaclin. Now Crispin is dead, my father thinks to set Jaclin in Crispin's place as his heir.”

“That is his right, surely,” said Varons, with a troubled look at the supine figure of Jaclin. “Yet Jaclin will be a difficult master to serve.”

“You accept it?” Beata took the salves from her nurse, who now came panting in. “You would let my father continue to believe that it was Jaclin who performed such feats of arms?”

“Lady, I dare not tell him how we have disobeyed his orders … or not at present, anyway.” He bowed and went out.

“You must have fresh clothes,” said Beata, bandaging Gervase's hands.

“I will fetch him whatever he needs from my Lord Crispin's wardrobe,” said Berit. “Fear not, he shall have everything he requires.”

“Not everything,” said Beata, low down. She helped Gervase on with a clean shirt, and then stood back, lacing her hands before her. “Gervase, when you were down there, I prayed to God that you might be saved, and praying, I offered the only thing I had to give – that I would go into the convent willingly.”

He gave her his twisted smile. “You will be abbess yet.”

“My lady.” The nurse pulled at her arm. “Your father has sent pages out to seek you. The abbot wishes to rehearse for your robing on the morrow.”

“It is not to be postponed, then?” Her voice was high and thin. “I had hoped for a few days more, in view of Crispin's … ah well, now I know how hard it is going to be.” She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, raising them to her forehead, shaking her head. “I can do it,” she declared, opening her eyes, and lowering her hands. “I will do it.”

“With God's help,” said Gervase, still smiling that twisted smile.

“Surely I need some help,” she agreed.

“My lady …!” Again the nurse twitched at her arm.

With a cry Beata leaped forward to be caught up in Gervase's arms. She clung to him, arms round his neck, lifting her face, lip to lip, cheek to cheek, murmuring endearments, her hands in his hair, at the back of his neck, his arms closing around her as if they could never be torn apart … both with their eyes closed, breath coming sharply, and as sharply released. One last kiss, slowly, with gentleness. …

She smiled. She blinked. Her eyes were shining, but she shed no tears. She took a step back … or perhaps it was he that set her from him. He did not smile, but he showed no sign of distress either. Only the watchful care of his eyes belied assumed indifference.

“Surely God will not grudge me one kiss,” she said. And then turned and left him.

The afternoon was drawing into dusk when Jaclin woke. He was alone and he felt extremely ill. Presently he was able to pull on some clothes and stagger out. A man-at-arms jumped to attention and saluted the Malling “champion”. He had been set there by Varons hours ago to prevent anyone going into Jaclin's room, for it had been decided to keep up the deception as long as possible.

“What's o'clock?” Jaclin screwed up his eyes. “What's that bell tolling?”

“My Lord Crispin died this morning.”

Like everyone else in the castle, Jaclin thought first of what this might mean to him personally, and then, because he was not bad at heart, he thought of Lord Henry.

“My Lord Henry ordered that you be taken to him when you woke, to receive his congratulations on defeating Sir Bertrand. …”

Jaclin rubbed the back of his neck and frowned. He was trying to remember what it was he had been engaged in before he fell asleep. He was uneasily conscious that he had been about to do something important, but the fog in his brain was so dense that for the life of him he could not recall whether he had actually … he shook his head, and groaned. That wine …!

He stumbled down the stairs after the man-at-arms. The company were sitting down to meat, but tonight no dancers disported themselves in the body of the hall, nor jesters made merry. Tonight the musicians played doleful airs in minor keys, the drink flowed less freely, and even the conversation was muted. The abbot sat in Crispin's place, and at the end of the high table a cluster of black-clad nuns ate their meal in silence.

Jaclin would have made his way round the side of the hall to the dais, going behind the tables at which the castle retainers and guests' servants sat, but the man-at-arms led him across the hall to stand before the high table. There Lord Henry sat, clad in black, and on either side of him were his daughters, wearing black mantles over their golden gowns, and with filmy black veils attached to the gold fillets around their heads. Joan was not there, but Sir Bertrand was – shifting now and then to ease his bruises – and beyond Sir Bertrand sat Lady Escot, all solicitude for his hurts.

“Welcome!” Thrice Lord Henry clapped his hands, and there was silence as Jaclin collected his wits and bowed. “Welcome, Champion of Malling!”