Roselynde (22 page)

"I have not been here. I know none of these people except
William Marshal and you say he is at the limit of his obedience. I can do
nothing but accept what you tell me is wise."

The light voice was not so pretty now. It was sulky.

"My love, Richard my heart, I tried to do as you
wished."

"If you had ordered it, they would have obeyed."

"Yes, and they would have hated me. Worse, they would have
hated you. Nor would that hate have diminished. When William saw the Countess
of Pembroke unhappy, that hate would have grown in him like a canker. The whole
Court, moreover, believes she is promised to him. If you broke that promise,
would they trust any other you made?"

"Pish tush! Who cares what the barons of a Godforsaken corner
of nowhere think. And as for William—William is not greedy. He would have been
content with this other girl's lands, and some title could have been found for
him."

"Do not be so quick to pish tush the barons of England. Their
blood may flow slower than that of Poitevins, but it flows very strong. I never
said or thought that William was greedy. I tell you it would be Isobel's
wretchedness that would drive him mad. That would be true even if he came to
love Alinor, which I doubt could be. William has no sense of humor. He could
not deal with a masterful wife. I tell you, William feels responsible for
Isobel—and he loves her, Richard."

There was an odd silence. Alinor wished she could see the
speakers, but she dared not move. In a moment she heard the King's quick
footsteps somewhat muffled by the carpet. The Queen must be sitting in her
armed chair before the fire. Was Lord Richard leaving? The steps grew louder
again. He was pacing the floor.

"Then he must have her, I suppose."

There was a rich distaste in the tenor of the voice. Distaste? For
William Marshal? William had fought for the old King, of course, but Richard
had taken no offense at that. Indeed, Alinor knew he had richly rewarded many
Norman barons who had clung faithfully to his father. Also, everyone said Lord
Richard and William were fond of each other and, had William not been sworn to
the old King, would have been natural companions.

"Oh, do not look so put about, Mother." The musical lilt
was back in the King's voice. "I will find something else for
Baldwin."

"I suppose so," the Queen replied.

Alinor was startled at the dry reproof in her voice. Natu- rally
if a promised reward was not given, another must be found to replace it. How
could the Queen disapprove of that?

"But there is a more important matter to be settled,"
Queen Alinor continued.

"John is to have Gloucester. I do not see what there is to be
said about that," Richard said hastily.

"Much might be said," the Queen sighed, "but I
agree that there is nothing else to be done. That is not what I meant. What is
to be done about Alais? Will you take her to wife?"

"What?" Richard roared. "My father's
leavings?"

"Richard," the Queen exclaimed, "you know that is
not true!"

"How do I know it? It is whispered all over Europe, and
spoken aloud here in England."

"Yes," the Queen said bitterly, "because Harry did
not wish you to marry her and have anything that was truly your own. Do not you
be a fool, Richard. Your father may have been a lecherous old goat, but he was
never, never the kind of fool that would let a woman interfere with his
political purposes. There were women enough to come running at the crook of his
finger—women many times more beautiful than the Capetian."

"He hated me enough to take her, then push her on me and
laugh that I had been cuckolded even before marriage."

There was another silence. Then the Queen said slowly, "I do
not believe he ever hated you. It was a kind of fear, mixed up with the desire
to keep you in his power, like a child. He could not let his children go. But I
will swear to you Alais is a clean maid."

"Well, what if she is?" Richard replied, the sulky note
clearer and more dangerous. "I cannot marry her anyway. The rumors were
enough to make me the laughingstock of the world if I took her now. And,"
he added hastily, "you need not read me a long lecture on political
necessity. I will find a way to keep Alais's dowered lands, Gisors and the
Vexin, do not fear for that."

"Light of my eyes!" The Queen's voice broke and then
continued wavering. "I do not doubt your strength and skill to keep
anything you desire. But neither strength nor skill can keep you safe from what
I fear. You do not know the heat that can strike a man dead in the saddle
without a wound on him, and the strange diseases that waste men to bones, or
eat them up with sores, or make them vomit their lives away."

"I have taken God's Cross and do God's work. He will protect
me. Do you doubt the Divine Power, Madam?"

He believes it, Alinor thought. He believes it the way Brother
Philip believes. Yet I know that if it were not for me, Brother Philip would be
dead many times over. Perhaps, as Brother Philip says, I was God's instrument
to keep him alive, but I believe also what my grandfather said: "God helps
those who, with righteousness, help themselves." The dictum of the Church
that Alinor found hardest to accept was the one that insisted the meek would
inherit the earth. Whenever she was reminded of it, a little rebellious
thought—let them
inherit
it, I will keep what is mine now—flicked across
her mind.

"I do not doubt the Divine Power," the Queen said
heavily, "but neither do I doubt that we are not meant to understand the
ways of the Lord God. We are given understanding of our own needs and powers
and we are given free will so that we may use that understanding. To leave in
the hands of God what is within our own power to do for ourselves is as sinful
as refusing to accept the will of God when it is made manifest to us. You do
not say, 'The Saracens have taken Jerusalem, it is the will of God,' you—"

"The Pope had bidden us all take up arms against this
blasphemy!"

"Indeed, indeed. I am not urging you to abandon God's
City."

She would, Alinor thought cynically, if she thought it would do
any good. For all the Queen cares God's City could rot in the hands of the
Saracens forever, or crumple to dust, or take wing and fly to heaven. In fact,
if it were within her power she would destroy it herself to keep King Richard
here.

"I am only telling you it is equally your duty to arrange all
matters here so that if God's mysterious will does not send you back to
us—" The Queen's voice broke again. She sobbed once and then said huskily
but firmly, "You must marry and you must breed up an heir to your
throne."

"Oh, Mother, there is time enough for that," Richard
said lightly.

"There is no time," the Queen rejoined passionately.
"Do you think you will set your seed into a maiden the first time of your
going in unto her? Are you so certain a manchild will be vouchsafed you for
your firstborn? Richard, Richard, you must set aside these—" her voice
faltered again and then went on as if she were choking "—these appetites
of yours and take a
woman
to your bed. If it is not Alais, name another,
any other, that pleases you."

Alinor almost fell off her stool. So that was what Simon meant
when he said the King was not fond of women! That was why Baldwin, the King's
favorite, would be no good to any woman! Alinor's eyes ranged frantically round
the tiny alcove in which she sat for a place to hide. She had not feared being
discovered before. The Queen knew she could hold her tongue. But this! For
hearing this dark secret she would be imprisoned in the deepest dungeon of the
strongest keep the Queen could find—if she were not slain outright.

Terror made her deaf to the next exchange. When she could hear
again, the Queen was saying, "I could wish your eyes had fallen on
another, but if Berengaria of Navarre pleases you, I will take her to my heart,
joyfully."

"Yes, but that must wait until I think of some way to save
Gisors and Vexin."

"More excuses, Richard?"

"I have passed my word. I do not go back from that," the
King said angrily. There was a brief pause and then, as if he had thought over
what he said, he added, "Truly no excuse. Truly, she pleased me and, even
then, I thought of her. No, as soon as Philip is well out of France and cannot
try to take back by force what we hold of Alais's, I will take
Berengaria." He paused again. "Mother, we have been too long alone. I
had better go now."

Alinor broke into a cold sweat. When he left, the Queen might well
come back into the inner chamber. Helpless to do anything else, she moved her
stool up to her writing table, placed her arms upon the table and her head on
her arms, and pretended to sleep. It was a very lame pretense. Between
revulsion and terror she could control neither her muscles nor her breathing.
Gasping and shaking as she was, she could not have fooled far duller eyes than
the Queen's.

Minutes that seemed like leaden hours passed. Finally, Alinor
heard the tinkling of a silver bell. She swallowed and prayed. The Queen's
bedchamber was on the other side. If she had summoned her ladies to help her
change her robes or to undress her so that she might rest awhile on her bed,
all might yet be well. If she summoned a clerk or desired Alinor herself to
write for her— Alinor blanked the thought from her mind as if it might
communicate itself to the Queen. She is old, Alinor thought. She was late astir
last night and early awake this morning. She had ridden and greeted a son she
has not seen in some sixteen or seventeen years, and she has spoken to a King
on matters that might make a lion quail. Surely she is tired.

Then came salvation. "I will rest a while," the Queen
said to whoever had entered at her summons. "Deny me to anyone except the
King or my son John."

Footsteps, then silence, Alinor waited, then crept along the wall
to peer through the doorway. The chamber was empty. On tiptoe she leapt forward
toward the outer door. A step came from the bedchamber—and the door was too
far. Alinor stopped, turned about and began to walk softly toward the inner
chamber whence she had just come.

"Lady Alinor?" the old maidservant said.

Alinor stopped. "Yes?"

"Her Grace is resting. She will see no one now."

"Oh, no," Alinor said easily, much emboldened by the
fact that the first word she said had come out neither as a squeak nor a gasp
and because the maid obviously assumed she had come in from outside.
"There is no need to trouble Her Grace. I came for a good pen."

Suiting the action to the word, she got her pen and promptly
marched out. Alinor did not dare return to the chamber where she slept because
one or another of the ladies-in-waiting was sure to be there. Instead she fled
blindly down the privy stair and out into the small, walled garden where the
Queen often sat. That, too, would be infested, but mostly with the gentle
maidens, and they were so self-absorbed they would see little.

It was an unwise choice. Alinor had forgotten that she had been
permitted to ride in the cortege as the heiress of Roselynde, whereas the
maidens who were merely in training at Court had remained behind. She was
seized upon at once.

"You saw the King! What is he like? What did he say?

How did they greet each other?" Half a dozen were at her,
braying questions.

"The King?" Alinor's breath caught. "Oh, he
is—" Tears filled her eyes. "He is—beautiful!"

The girls stared at her, and she could not control her trembling.
One snickered, "Proud is as proud does." Another sneered, "It is
useless to set your eyes there."

"I know," Alinor sobbed, "I know." And tore
herself free and fled away.

A long burst of weeping relieved Alinor's tension. She began to
believe in her escape. There was always the small chance that the maidservant
would mention her to the Queen, but it was more likely she would not, as it was
common enough for Alinor to be in and out. Even if she did, the mention should
not arouse suspicion. She also became reconciled to the King's perversion. No
one could deal so closely with the men-at-arms, for whom there were never
enough women, and be ignorant of such relationships. The fights caused by
shifting affections had to be disciplined. Occasionally a young boy newly taken
into the troop had to be protected, or a particularly handsome young man who
was causing fighting among the men had to be dismissed and sent away.

Alinor knew it was a sin and disliked the practice, but she also
knew that while many men were crowded together with few women available to them
this would happen. One pretended it did not exist and left them to their
consciences, to the priests, and to God. What was horrible beyond measure was
to think that it could be a first choice, that a man who could have almost any
woman he desired would prefer that sin to the natural act sanctioned by God.
Even more horrible was the new idea that the practice was not confined to the
coarse, common men-at-arms—as some things when done by animals would not be
horrible but would be repulsive acts for men—but had reached the highest place of
all, the King.

The ebullient spirits of sixteen are not long repressed. As fear
receded, curiosity woke. One might not wonder about what the common folk did.
That was to bring oneself to their level. But if the King did it—one might
wonder—how? It was unfortunately not a curiosity that was likely to be
satisfied. One might demand an explanation from one of the men-at-arms, but
that would be demeaning. To ask anyone else would be unsafe—no, Simon would be
safe. Tears completely vanquished, Alinor burst out laughing. She could imagine
how Simon would look and what he would say if she asked such a question.