Lords of the White Castle (24 page)

Fulke stroked Blaze's white muzzle and held him steady while his youngest brother Alain threw the saddle across his back. The stallion's coat shone like dark blood in the spring sunshine now that the last of the thick winter hair had been teased out.

The broad tourney field on Winchester's outskirts was rilled with knights and combatants warming themselves and their mounts for the coming fray. All weapons were blunt today, the tourney being as much for show as to display serious prowess. The spectacle had been organised to celebrate King Richard's safe return from imprisonment in Germany. Yesterday there had been a grand crown-wearing ceremony attended by all the nobles in the land. Oaths of fealty had been renewed, pardons granted to those whose loyalty had wavered, and generous rewards given to men who had held firm. Even Prince John, the most serious instigator of the troubles, had been let off lightly, if humiliatingly. Richard had forgiven him, declaring that, owing to his youth and inexperience, John had been gulled by the wilier Philip of France. And John could do no more than bow his head and swallow his bile, for Richard was still without an heir of his loins and all was still to play for. 'Think you'll carry off the prize?' Alain demanded. His voice grated in the space between boy and man.

'Not with William Marshal in the field,' Fulke said with a glance in the direction of the new Earl of Pembroke who was putting a powerful bay destrier through its paces at the quintain rings. Marshal was several inches taller than Fulke, a couple of stones heavier and had half a lifetime's experience under his belt. Fulke had occasionally jousted against him and knew him for a formidable opponent.

Alain checked that the girths were secure and Fulke swung into the saddle. Leaning to take the blunted lance from Alain and the kite shield from his companion Audulf de Bracy, Fulke rode out to join the rest of his troop who were already warming up on the field. His brother William came cantering to greet him; his lance aimed at the centre of Fulke's shield. Fulke brought his own lance down and across and dug in his heels. Their meeting was a polite rap of metal on wood, nothing to endanger or unseat, but still a slightly flamboyant show for the audience assembling in the stepped lodges to view the sport.

'I'm going to enjoy today,' William announced. He had yet to don his helm and he turned in the saddle to view the crowd gathering in the lodges. 'There'll be some rich ransoms on offer and an admiring audience. Look at that one in the green dress. Do you think she'll give me her favour to wear?'

Looking amused, Fulke shook his head. 'That's Eustace de Vesci's wife,' he warned. 'Her husband would carve out your liver.'

William shrugged. 'Well, that one over there with the red veil.'

Fulke laughed at his brother's audacity. He did not know the young woman in the red veil but she would be some rich baron's wife or daughter. Only the most privileged were permitted a seat in the central lodge near the royal panoply.

Then he saw Maude Walter taking her place upon the benches with her maid. Her gown was a deep ocean-green. A paler green veil threaded with gold famed her face but left her throat exposed and showed the heavy gleam of her braids.

William uttered a soft growl of appreciation. 'No, I think I'll have her,' he said.

Fulke's amusement evaporated. 'She's married to Theobald Walter.'

William's jaw dropped. 'That's Maude le Vavasour?' he demanded. 'The brat who was in Mama's tent at Richard's coronation?'

'The very same.'

His brother gave a low whistle. 'Still,' he rallied, 'I do not suppose that an apple pip much resembles an apple. Jesu, she's a beauty.'

Fulke rubbed his hand over his face. In the ten months since his visit to Lancaster, he had tried to put Maude Walter from his mind. She was very young, she was someone else's wife and it was no more than the hammer of lust because he knew nothing of her personality. Most of the time he succeeded. There were matters of greater importance to occupy him and he was no slave to appetites of the flesh. But seeing her again made him realise that the hunger had not goneaway.

'You were her husband's squire,' William said. 'Go over and ask if you can carry her favour on your lance.'

'That would not be wise.' Remembering the incident at Lancaster when she had caught Hanild emerging from his chamber, Fulke intended to keep his distance.

'Why? Surely Theobald Walter won't carve out your liver?'

'You know what a hive of gossip the court is. Folk would read all the wrong reasons into such a request.'

William shook his head sadly. 'You're becoming an old man, brother. It's harmless and the wives expect it—gives their lives a little savour.'

'Not that particular wife,' Fulke said grimly.

Even as they were speaking, Theobald Walter himself rode up to them. His horse was barded in the red and gold colours of the King and he wore a surcoat bearing the same to show that he was Richard's man.

'Well met,' he greeted them cheerfully. 'I trust you have paid your fees?' There was a lightness in his bearing and a gleam in his eye. Part of the change was due to having a young wife to keep him lively, but the main difference was because he had succeeded in keeping his lands despite his divided loyalties. Unlike John, Richard did not harbour grudges. He had pardoned all those who had held castles for John and had even bestowed increased privileges on some. Thus, Theobald (not without a little influence from his brother Hubert who was both the Justiciar and Archbishop of Canterbury) had been confirmed in all his lands. He had also been granted the office of gathering licence fees from all tourneys held in England, including this one.

'Yes, we've paid,' Fulke said, 'although we hope to reimburse ourselves handsomely.'

'I have no doubt you will, and you have an appreciative audience.' Smiling, he gestured to the lodges, his voice warm with affection. 'It's the first time that Maude has ever attended a tourney and she's as excited as a dog with two tails, bless her.' He looked at the brothers. '
As
an official, I'm not fighting today. Fulke, as a boon, I ask you to bear Maude's favour in the tourney.
I
know you are skilled and that you will do her proud.'

Fulke started to shake his head, but before he could refuse, Theobald raised his hand and interrupted.

'I am aware of the awkwardness caused between you by what happened at Lancaster, but it is time it was put aside. It was nothing, a storm in a pitkin.'

Conscious of William's avid curiosity, Fulke cleared his throat. 'Some might misconstrue the sight of me wearing her colours,' he said.

Theobald looked amused. 'If I am present when she bestows her favour, then no one can see mischief in the motive. Besides, the sooner she gives it, the less she will be importuned by other men of considerably less honour.'

Fulke gave an uncomfortable shrug. 'I do not think that your lady believes my own honour to be much above the gutter.'

'I have reassured her on those grounds. What happened at Lancaster was unfortunate, but not your customary behaviour.'

Cornered, Fulke could only incline his head and yield with grace.

'What did happen at Lancaster?' William demanded as he, Fulke and Theobald trotted towards the lodges.

'Nothing that need concern you,' Fulke said irritably.

'Oh come on, tell me. I'm always dragged over the coals for
my
sins.' William rode closer.

'If you must know,' Fulke said tersely, 'I bedded one of John's whores under the bride's roof. Satisfied?'

'Astonished,' William said.

They arrived at the lodges and faced the growing audience. Theobald beckoned and, with a quickening of pink in her cheeks, Maude rose from her seat and came down to the men, her maid discreetly following a few paces behind.

'My lord?' The way she looked at Theobald revealed to Fulke that there was a genuine and strong affection between them.

'You remember Fulke FitzWarin?' Theobald said. 'And this is his brother, William.'

Her colour heightened, making her eyes the translucent green of sea shallows. 'Of course I remember.' Her tone was neutral but left him in no doubt of her opinion. To William she murmured a polite greeting as he bowed over his saddle in return.

'Fulke has won much renown on the tourney field,' Theobald said to her. 'I have asked him to bear your favour in battle today, and he has agreed.'

The flush faded from her cheeks. 'My favour?' she repeated in a brittle voice.

Fulke could see that she too was cornered. Theobald plainly intended his wife and his former squire, now his friend, to be on good terms with each other, whatever their personal notions on the matter.

'Come now, wife,' he said, an edge to his voice. 'Smile for me and give him a ribbon.'

She bit her lip. In his mind's eye, Fulke saw her standing her ground, his brother's ball clutched fiercely to her chest as she refused to yield because it wasn't fair.

'She doesn't have to,' he said. 'I won't be offended.'

'No… no, I want to.' She fumbled at her braid and unwound one of the green silk bindings. The way she looked at her husband told Fulke that she was only complying because Theobald had asked it of her.

Fulke dipped his lance and, in silence, she wound the green ribbon around the shaft. Trapped in the silk, two filaments of silver-blonde hair glittered in the sunlight.

'Be lucky, ride well,' she said flatly.

'For your honour, Lady Walter,' Fulke replied in a similar tone and, saluting her with a dip of the lance, reined about and rode away.

'Christ's body!' William exclaimed, cantering at his side, 'the air between you and her just then would make hell seem cold by comparison!'

'Let it be, Will,' Fulke snapped.

'She doesn't like you much, does she?'

Fulke rounded on his brother with a snarl. 'I said let it be!' He spurred Blaze to a burst of speed that left William grinning, but baffled, in his dust.

In the lodges, Maude reseated herself on the bench and pressed her palms to her burning cheeks. The moment had been awful. She had wanted to run and hide, or alternatively to slap the look of stony courtesy from FitzWarin's face. He had no more desired to carry her favour than she had desired to give it.

She was determined to ignore his presence on the field but as the moments passed her concentration slipped and curiosity overrode her intention. She found herself following Fulke FitzWarin's progress. He was polished in the saddle and each move seemed smooth and effortless, although she knew from observing Theobald that such skill came not only from talent but also from long hours of practice. She had seen Fulke's athletic body in repose, had seen him half-clad in the company of a notorious whore. Now she watched him play at war and felt an unsettling flutter in her mid-section. There was beauty in the coordination of hand and arm and eye, the flash of blade, the masculine grace and power. Shivering, she watched the lance strike and unhorse with unerring accuracy, the silk pennon flying and her green ribbon shimmering on the haft. She saw the way he manipulated each encounter, forcing his opponent to fight on the terms he dictated. Time and again he brought her favour to glory and her grudging admiration grew until her heart swelled with treacherous pride and she leaned forward on the bench, willing him on.

'Enjoying the sport, Lady Walter?'

She looked up at the sound of the cultured, masculine voice. Again, her stomach jolted, but far less pleasantly. 'Sire,' she murmured and rose to sweep a curtsey at the feet of Prince John.

Stooping, he raised her to her feet, retaining her hand in his. In the months since her marriage, she had grown a little more and stood almost on a level with him, for he was not a tall man. He had fine eyes and his dark beard suited him, making him look saturnine and worldly wise rather than merely petulant. But his grip was a little too firm and predatory and she could still remember that wedding-day kiss with revolting clarity. 'Yes, sire,' she replied, scarcely moving her lips, and gave an experimental tug.

Smiling, and thoroughly aware of her discomfort, he held on to her. 'I've never seen much point in the joust myself,' he said. 'But Richard's always been one for bread and circuses.' His glance darted to the awning where his brother was seated in full royal splendour, eagerly watching the sport. 'I prefer gentler pursuits myself He rubbed his thumbnail lightly along the inside of her wrist and Maude gave an involuntary shiver.

A crack of lances made him turn in time to see Fulke FitzWarin tip his opponent cleanly out of the saddle. John's jaw tightened beneath his beard. The fallen man was Girard de Malfee, one of his own retainers. Maude used the distraction to snatch her hand out of John's. He looked at her and smiled. 'The thing to remember when hunting a bird in the bushes is to bide your time,' he said. 'Sooner or later it will fly to your hand.' A gleam in his eyes, he inclined his head to her and then, mercifully, he was gone.

Maude glared after him. 'Hell will freeze over first,' she spat. Trembling with shock and a growing rage, she sat down on the bench.

'My lady?' Barbette touched her shoulder in concern. 'Shall I fetch Lord Theobald?'

'No,' Maude said swiftly. 'It was nothing.' Theobald was beholden to Prince John for his lands and she did not want to start a quarrel.

'You are sure, my lady?'

She nodded at her maid. 'The Prince was merely teasing me because I am a new wife.' Everyone knew about John's predilection for seducing the wives and daughters of his barons. Maude swore grimly to herself that she was not about to join their ranks.

She gazed blankly at the tourney field until her focus was sharply restored by the sight of Fulke FitzWarin and his troop engaging in a mock battle with the Earl of Pembroke and his household knights directly in front of her.

William Marshal was no easy conquest as Girard de Malfee had been. Indeed, the sides seemed evenly matched, Marshal's greater experience and slight edge of expertise offset by Fulke's youth and the swiftness of his reactions. If he made a mistake, his correction was so quick that Marshal had no opportunity to take advantage. But neither was he able to win past Marshal's impenetrable guard. Finally they declared a draw and rode off to seek different adversaries before they exhausted each other to the benefit of neither. Maude stared, her knuckles clenched tightly in her lap. As Fulke and the Marshal disengaged, she let out her breath and felt the chill of drying sweat on her body.