Roselynde (15 page)

It was true. Simon had seen it, too, but this was no new facet of
Henry Plantagenet's wild brood. William and he had spent their lives balancing
between the opposing demands of their lords, trying to remain loyal and keep
their own oaths and honors unspotted. The only thing new was William's
bitterness. Simon cleared his throat.

"You know, William, that I do not wish to pry into your
concerns, but—but I have seen that you are troubled. If there is
something—"

"Nothing. Do you think I would hesitate to ask you? No man
can help. The matter is in the hands of the King— Oh, hell and damnation take
policies and treaties." William bit his lip, took a deeper breath, and
rubbed his chest impatiently.

Simon waited. William looked at the blank wall with great
interest.

"You know," he said, elaborately casual, "that King
Henry was hard put to bind men fast in the last years. He doubted everyone,
even those he knew he should not doubt."

"I know," Simon said drily.

"Yes, well, you came to cuffs with him. I, thank God, had no
need to contest his will. Truly, he asked nothing of me that I was not honor
bound to give anyway. But when he offered me a prize, I did not scorn to take
it. Why should it go to another who might take it and use it ill or take it and
then turn on him? I, at least, would be faithful."

"Do not be such a fool as to excuse yourself. You have a
right to your reward."

"Yes, but— But it is a thing I desire greatly. He—he offered
me the hand and the lands of Isobel of Clare."

Simon was, for a moment, speechless. The situation was so close to
his own that his gut tightened. Then sense returned. There was no real
similarity. William, because his service had been different, had enormous
influence with the great barons in and around the heart of England. It was
reasonable that the King should try to fix William's loyalty with the offer of
a great heiress. Moreover, William was nearly ten years younger than Simon, and
Isobel of Clare was two or three years older than Alinor. Stop, Simon said to
himself. There is no likeness in your case and his.

"Just because you desire a thing, William," Simon said
quietly, "does not make it wrong. Then where is the trouble? I have heard
that Lord Richard specially honors those who were loyal to the old King.
Surely—"

"Oh, he
says
he will give her to me. I met him in the
road when I went to tell him his father was dead and he accused me of trying to
kill him. I laughed in his face and asked whether he thought I did not know the
difference between the horse and the rider."

"You laughed in his face?" Simon asked uneasily. If
Richard had taken that as an insult, William would be in trouble.

"My heart was sore. It is not easy to see a man you have long
served hounded to death. But I give Lord Richard credit. He did not take it
amiss. He agreed when I killed his horse in that charge I could as easily have
killed him. He said it was forgiven and that he honored me for my loyalty to
his father."

"So?"

"So I took the bull by the horns and spoke of the old King's
promise. It—it was not only greed, Simon. When King Henry promised Lady Isobel
to me, I made it my business to see and speak to her. She is a good, sweet
woman, gentle and pious. I would be a good husband to her. Her lands and her
person would be safe with me."

"William, William, with all the chances you have had, you
would be rich as Croesus if you suffered from greed. Do not be so tender of a
harsh word." Simon shook his head. "Certainly you will have none from
me," he added, looking aside to conceal his own bitterness. "But you
talk round in circles. Where is the trouble, I ask? Both kings have promised
her to you."

"Yes, but not a word more have I heard about it, and—and I
later heard, that before he spoke with me, Richard had promised her elsewhere—
To Baldwin of Bethune."

"But Baldwin—" Simon began, and stopped when William's
hand clamped on his arm like a vise.

"There is also this. Baldwin has a great name and great
estate of his own. How can I know but that Lady Isobel prefers him?"

"If so, it is purely a result of total ignorance," Simon
said, his lips twisting as if he had tasted something sour. "Whatever she
prefers, for
her
sake it is best you should have her."

"So I think also, but how can
I
tell her that."
William rolled a fist into his open palm. "And how do I know what she
hears from others? If she were brought to say she prefers Baldwin, it might be
cause enough to seek some other, perhaps lesser, prize for me." William
looked up from his hands, stared at his friend's face, and exclaimed,
"Good God, Simon, do not take it so to heart. I will not break my faith. I
know kings are constrained to act with what, in other men, might be thought to
be dishonor."

The expression of horror on Simon's face was not owing to any fear
that William might be driven to rebellion. Alinor! Alinor was the perfect
substitute for Isobel of Clare. Fool! he told himself. What better could befall
her than William? No woman could have a kinder, more honorable husband. That
was true, but at the same time it was also nonsense. William and Alinor would
drive each other insane. William was everything that was good, but he did not
laugh easily and he had never really liked the Queen.

"Insofar as finding one to speak well of you and—and express
doubts of Baldwin's fitness as a husband, perhaps I can help," Simon said
thoughtfully.

The trouble began to clear from his eyes. He had an idea that
might do good and could do no harm at all. If Alinor could persuade Isobel to
express a preference for William, that would be best for everyone. Isobel would
have a fine husband. William would have what he desired. And Alinor would
remain free. She was not rich enough or important enough for Baldwin. And if it
did not work— Simon swallowed. If it did not work, Alinor might have talked
herself into a willingness to accept William.

"You? How? You mean you will talk to Lady Isobel? Or to the
Queen? The Queen loves you well, Simon. She would not listen to me, but to
you—"

"I will certainly talk to the Queen—not that it will do much
good except to make it clear to her that you will not lightly dismiss such a
loss. And for me to try to convince Lady Isobel would be fruitless. Either she
would be affronted at a stranger who thrust himself into her private
affairs—"

"Not Isobel. She is gentle as a fawn."

"Then I would affright her. No, I have a far better
ambassador in mind." Simon waved the parchment he still held. "Alinor
can talk a mule into standing on its head—if she so desires."

"Your ward?" William asked. Simon nodded. "Then all
is easy," William said eagerly, "tell her what to say, and she will
tell Isobel."

Simon looked at his friend blankly. "Tell her what to say! I
hope, my friend, that you have not tried to employ any other woman as your
messenger." He studied William's face, which showed a slight heightening
of color, and sighed. "Who was it?"

"Isobel of Gloucester. They are the same age and have known
each other long. I—"

"Oh, God!" Simon exclaimed. "No wonder you had no
results. It is easy to see, William, that your service has been with men. The
bitch of Gloucester will do an ill turn instead of a good even if she loses by
it, such is her spite. Also, one does not
tell
a woman anything—at
least, not unless you really desire the opposite of what you have told
her." Simon grinned. "And more especially one does not
tell
Lady
Alinor. That is like to lead to the loss of one's ears. They would doubtless be
burned off by her reply."

It was now William's turn to look blank. "I had heard from
the Queen that you did not welcome this wardenship. If the woman is such a
termagant—"

"She is not a termagant," Simon replied shortly.
"She is young and very strong willed."

"Then a sharp lesson with the flat of your hand should be of
great benefit to her—and to you also."

Simon guffawed. "I have come near to it from pure bile, but
it would benefit no one. Alinor would more likely take her knife to me than
learn obedience. More important, her vassals would kill me. No, do not shake
your head, I mean it. We had words in her keep, and before I knew what was
happening, there were the two vassals that were in the keep and every
servingman in the hall."

"And where were your men?"

"I did not fear treachery, and there was none intended.
Besides there is no need for such lessoning. Lady Alinor is only high-spirited.
It is a game with her to make me angry and then to make me laugh. But she has
high good sense also. It needs only to explain the case to her. Belike she will
know better what to say to Lady Isobel than you or I."

It was easier said than done, however, to explain the case to
Alinor. Simon found that it was very difficult to speak to her for more than a
few minutes at a time. The weather had turned cold and wet, as it often did at
the end of July and the beginning of August, so no one rode out. They were not
dinner partners in the huge Great Hall of the White Tower. Alinor sat with the
King's wards at a special table near the dais where the Queen could keep an eye
on her charges. It was impossible to talk during the entertainments furnished
by minstrels and jugglers. Simon could manage to be close beside Alinor, but so
could a dozen others and Simon did not wish to spread the news of William's
problems among the castlefolk.

Even later in the evenings, when the minstrels played dancing
measures, Simon had no better success. He could and did dance with Alinor. They
both enjoyed it greatly, but the intricate steps, which separated them
completely and brought them together at arm's length, were not conducive to
private conversation. What was more, Simon never had a chance to lead Alinor
away from the dancing to cool herself or take refreshment. No sooner did one
dance end than half-a-dozen Court gallants were clustered like ants around a
honey trap, pleading to dance the next measure with her. Simon was nearly reduced
to cursing Alinor's excellent health and strong young body. She was never
tired.

It had been Simon's intention to bring up the subject of William
and Lady Isobel of Clare casually, as if seeing them in the same room had
reminded him, but after three days of fruitless pursuit he gave up. He sought
out Guillaume the page, who knew Alinor by sight and would not have to ask for
her, thereby bringing his message to everyone's attention, and sent him to
summon Alinor to the Queen's garden on a matter of business. Guillaume opened
his mouth as if to say something, then shut it. It was not his affair if Sir
Simon wished to drown. It was not yet raining, but the skies were ominous.

The weather was the least of Simon's discomforts. He was not at
all happy to have to broach the matter in this manner.

If Alinor was drawn from some delightful pastime, she might take
against the whole idea just to spite him. However, he dared delay no longer. He
had heard that Richard was on the move and might soon be in England. Besides,
Simon wondered if he were not doing a double disservice to Alinor's heart and
head. She was never spiteful, although she might be sharp-tongued, and if she
was bored with the "maiden" pastimes available she might welcome a
task as a washerwoman, just to have something real to do.

Simon was so near the truth that Alinor arrived swiftly on the
heels of his message. Simon was caught with his opening speech quite
unprepared. He had expected Alinor to resent his summons, and the mildest of
her ways of showing resentment was to delay. Instead she looked happy and quite
eager. She did not even make a caustic comment about the black clouds, which
were hanging lower and lower each second.

"I am come, my lord. I hope there is no trouble?"

"No. No—er—trouble. At least, not with your men or
lands."

Alinor cocked her head to the side in a birdlike look of enquiry.
That Simon had summoned her out into the garden in the teeth of a violent
thunderstorm signified a need for privacy. Simon had said business, yet there
was no business. Alinor had not missed his attempts to get her off by herself
completely, but she had mischievously not helped him out of curiosity as to
what he would do. It had surprised her a little that he had not lost his temper
and simply dragged her apart from the crowd by force.

"I—er—will you not be seated?" Simon gestured toward a
stone bench set in a sheltered corner. "I hope my message did not
interrupt some pleasantry."

The wind tore at Alinor's wimple and she clutched at the trailing
ends of her veil. "Simon," she said, half smiling, but doubtfully,
"what are you about? What is the cause of all this formal politeness when
we are fain to be blown away?"

Easily goaded, as usual, Simon opened his mouth to say indignantly
that he was always polite. He swallowed the ill-advised retort, under the
circumstances, and said desperately, "I want you to do a favor for
me."

"With all my heart," Alinor responded at once, all
amusement gone from her face. She seated herself and tucked her skirts and veil
firmly out of the way so that she could give him her full attention. That Simon
should ask for a favor disturbed her, and his uneasiness no longer seemed
funny. "Indeed," she assured him earnestly, "I will be happy to
serve you in any way I can."