Roselynde (24 page)

"No, of course not," Alinor agreed readily, stealthily
compressing Simon's arm against her body with her elbow. Had it not been for
that pressure, Simon would long since have released her guiltily, betraying
what both felt. Alinor laughed again. "But it is hard to remember that. I
assure you, Sire, he is as old-fashioned and as carping on the subject of
propriety as ever my grandfather was. Except," she offered, with an
earnest air of attempting to be fair, "about clothes. Sir Simon does not
concern himself with my dress but leaves direction of that to the Queen. You
may ask Her Grace if—"

"Alinor," Simon interrupted.

The King looked at Simon's disapproving frown. In the courtly love
ethos, lovers did not frown at their fair ladies. He remembered, too, the
untender roar of "What have you done?" as he saw Alinor step forward
and Simon's arm drop readily.

"I am talking too much," Alinor said, and dropped a
curtsy. "I beg pardon for the trouble I have caused, Your Grace. I hope
you will forgive me and show me your favor. I will do my best to trouble no one
any more."

Unfortunately Alinor's best was not good enough. No more physical
conflicts marred the celebrations of the next few days, but word of the
stalemate between Bigod and de Bohun got about. More contenders, especially
those whose estates were well outside of the spheres of influence of the two
premier rivals, appeared and made application for Alinor's hand. One could not
blame them. Marriage was in the air. All the female wards of the King—many whom
Henry had kept in wardship past the proper marriageable age—were being given
husbands.

Perhaps had any of the applicants offered a sufficiently large
bribe, the King would have shrugged off the possible repercussions from the
disappointed parties and accepted that proposal for Alinor. However, Simon had made
clear to Richard how great would be his profit from keeping Alinor single, and
he was stonily silent on the subject of Alinor's revenues to everyone else.
Even wealthy families were reluctant to pledge too much. All knew that Richard
had been somewhat disappointed when he opened his father's treasure vaults. All
knew they would be asked to contribute heavily to the Crusade. If the lady did
not have as much as rumor credited her with—and rumor was always overgenerous—a
family could be ruined by bidding too high for an heiress.

It was necessary within a week for the Court to move on. The great
concourse of people who had come to greet the King stripped the land about
Winchester of its stores of grain and vegetables, of all game, and of cattle,
sheep, pigs, and even goats. The garderobes were filled with waste, the rushes
in the halls trodden to dust and filled with half-gnawed bones, old crusts, and
swarms of flies. It was impossible to empty the sewage or clean the castle
while it remained full of people, not to mention the problem of feeding them.
Thus, pots, pans, dishes, and goblets were packed; beds were taken to pieces
and loaded on wains with their mattresses and bedding; chairs, tables,
trestles, stools, and cushions were fitted neatly with the skill of long
practice into the carts that would carry them.

Winchester Keep was left bare of all but filth and those serfs who
were tied to the demesne and whose duty it was to care for the castle. They
would now empty the sewage, sweep out the rushes with the garbage and pests
that infested them, clean the ashes from the fireplaces, polish the grates and
cooking spits, and in general make everything fresh and new for when the Court
should return.

Ordinarily a household could stay for several months at a keep.
Sometimes if the family were small and not rich, it would remain permanently in
residence, except for a few weeks in the spring and fall so that the place
could be thoroughly cleaned. However, all great households moved regularly. It
was far more economical to move the people to the source of supply than to
transport tons of grain and vegetables and herds of food animals—which would
become lean and hard on the trail—to the people. Moreover, it gave the
possessors of the often far-flung estates an opportunity to examine their
property, hunt in fresh territory, and, if they were good and conscientious
lords, to listen to complaints and do justice.

The Court moved more often than any other household. It was larger
and exhausted the supplies and sanitary facilities more quickly. It was the
King's duty also to show himself all over the kingdom. Besides, it was a method
of reducing expenditure. When the Court "visited" some nobleman's
keep, it was the nobleman's supplies and game that were exhausted. Since the
estates of the nobility were not, in general, as lavish as the royal demesnes,
only brief stays were possible if the host was not to be utterly ruined.
However, it was most desirable that no feelings of resentment should mar the
very beginning of a reign. Thus, Richard bore the cost of feeding and housing
the concourse of gentry without complaint.

The Court moved on to Salisbury where Alinor saw Isobel of Clare
married, and wept at the wedding. It was a safe enough outlet for her own
frustration. The two girls had become good friends, considering the short time
they had together, but Alinor did not weep for the loss of Isobel. She knew
they would meet again in a few weeks because Richard was to be crowned on
September 3 and Isobel and William would surely be in London for that. She wept
because she had racked her brains as the days passed and the King announced
more betrothals, but she could think of no way to come closer to her objective.
Every sign hinted that Simon would be torn from her the moment she showed a
preference for him.

John was married a week later at Marlborough. Alinor did not weep
at that wedding. In fact, it gave her a sense of satisfaction. Those two
deserved each other. She would have felt a malicious glee had not the
concentration of so much power in the hands of John—who might be influenced by
Isobel against her—seemed dangerous. Nonetheless, she danced merrily enough,
having passed from Simon to the Earl of Huntingdon's son to young Waleran of
Leicester after which she did her duty with Bigod and de Bohun. She had come
back to Simon with glowing cheeks and laughing eyes, so lovely that something
fluttered inside his body and made him feel oddly light and happy.

They had no more than danced the first measure when a page plucked
Simon's sleeve and told him the King wished to speak to him.

"I will come, too," Alinor said, having noted several
earnest suitors waiting. "I can go aside and wait in a quiet place if Lord
Richard wishes to speak privately to you, but I will not stay here and be
hounded by those idiots and be embroiled in another fracas."

Simon's glance followed Alinor's and he sighed. If one partner did
not hand her on to another, there might be trouble—and once was enough. Simon
looked for the Queen. He could safely leave Alinor with her, but the Queen was
no longer in her accustomed place in the Hall, either. Simon scanned the
dancers and standers. There were other significant absences; his brow creased
in a frown. Was that coincidence or was the summons more than an invitation to
talk? If the matter was serious, the Queen would dismiss Alinor. "Very
well, come," he agreed.

They had already stepped out of the set. The protests of their
fellow dancers had been swallowed when the page mentioned Lord Richard. Now
they followed the boy, Simon's look of concern growing deeper as they were led
quite out of the Great Hall and across the bailey to the Manor House where the
King lodged. In the Small Hall they found a conclave of the royal family, the
chief barons, and the lords of the Welsh Marches.

Painfully aware of having intruded where she did not belong,
Alinor stopped in the doorway. Simon hurried forward and spoke to the King, who
laughed, and then to the Queen who shook her head but turned and beckoned to
Alinor to come forward.

"I beg your pardons, Sire, Madam," Alinor said
curtsying, "but—"

"Yes, yes, we cannot continually be having brawls on the
dancing floor," Lord Richard teased.

"Your presence was well thought of," Queen Alinor
remarked, "and, as it happens, it is no secret matter anyway, since a levy
may be made of your vassals as well as others, you would have known tomorrow.
Stand here, child."

Alinor's lips formed the word "levy," but she took her
place behind the Queen without uttering a sound. A levy on her vassals meant
war. What war?

The question was speedily answered. Simon was obviously the last
of the gentlemen summoned to arrive at the meeting, and Richard announced that
Mortimer had brought him the news of a Welsh rising. "They dare!" he
exclaimed, but there was no explosive quality to the remark. Richard was angry
but quite controlled. "Do they think I am a novice at crushing
rebellion?"

John laughed aloud, and Alinor saw the faces of the barons
stiffen. Hugh Mortimer and William Braose glanced at John, at each other, and then
at the Queen.

"Nonsense," Queen Alinor said sharply, and, as Richard
swung toward her, his eyes mirroring his shock, she added, "Nay, my lord,
I do not question your ability—no one could. It is the word rebellion that is
nonsense. The Welsh are not rebelling. They are behaving normally."

The Welsh Marcher lords nodded agreement to this.

"And for that reason, should my brother ignore the
insult?" John sneered.

"No, of course not," Simon suggested smoothly, "but
to talk of 'war' or 'crushing a rebellion' is to raise a petty insult to the
level of a real threat. When the Welsh kick like infants, they should be
spanked like infants."

"I do not care to swallow even petty insults," Richard
snapped.

"Naturally not," the Queen agreed. Alinor thought she
had seen a faint tremor in the old lady's hands when John seemed to be inciting
his brother to go to war. However both hands and voice were perfectly steady
when she spoke. "I think," she continued, "that Simon is right.
The insult must be avenged, but the vengeance must be taken with
contempt."

That obviously appealed to Richard. He looked inquiring.

Simon's eyes had met the Queen's briefly. Alinor felt that some
message had passed between them, but she did not think anyone else had noticed.
She recognized that she was most keenly aware of every look and gesture Simon
made.

"The first thing," Simon suggested, "is that Your
Grace must make it plain that you have more important things to do than be
impressed by their tantrums."

Richard's face set in disapproval. "That is just a polite way
of saying I should do nothing."

"In a way, yes. That is, I do not believe that you, in your
own person, should dignify the punitive expedition that must be sent out."

"Not lead his own forces in war?" John laughed.
"That will give a fine first impression to the barons."

"Pardon, my lord," Mortimer put in, "this is no
war. And all of us are sufficiently acquainted with Lord Richard's courage and
prowess not to need demonstrations of them. Indeed, Your Grace," he said
turning to the King, "a moderate force, added to my own men and those
William will provide, would be sufficient to run that rabble back into the
hills. To send more would waste men and money and give significance to what is
nothing."

"Moreover, it would mean setting back the date of your
coronation," Queen Alinor reminded her son. "Think what the Welsh
would make of that, and how they would boast that they stopped the coronation
of the King."

That was a telling remark. Richard frowned thoughtfully. What came
across to Alinor was that it was the satisfaction of the Welsh to which he
objected, not the delay of his coronation.

"Hugh is quite correct," William Braose said.
"There is no need for a great army, and the land will not support one. I
remember when—"

"Pardon, my lord," the Queen interrupted. "I agree,
and I wish to remind you, Richard, that if you victual an army there will
scarce be broken meats left for the coronation feast, whenever you have it.
That would give a most unhappy impression of poverty."

"Your Grace, I have been thirty-five years in your father's
service," Simon added, "and I have dealt with the Welsh more than
once. It is their desire to draw attention to themselves. If you gratify that
desire, you will never have done with them."

It was fortunate that Richard was really not concentrating on the
advice itself but on the value of the advisors. He trusted his mother
implicitly—except in one thing. If she could, without precipitating political
disaster, prevent him from going to war, she would. Simon was another Richard
trusted. Despite his mother's fears, he had long since come to value the
restrictive hand that had rested so irritatingly on him when he was younger.
The only trouble was that there was also an exception to the trust that could
be placed in Simon. Whatever the Queen desired, Simon would try to accomplish,
right or wrong. As for John—Richard shied away from the thought of his brother.
He did not trust him at all, yet he was aware that John had a sly intelligence
that often saw more than he did. If John's interests were not involved, his
suggestions on political matters were often acute. The difficulty there was in
determining when John thought he had something to gain.

The two lords of the Welsh Marches were another problem. It seemed
odd to Richard that they were not demanding that the King bring an army and
solve their problem for them. Ordinarily barons were not so generous with their
own men and money. Probably the answer was that these men were like kings in
their own domains. They might prefer to expend their goods than to have the
King lead an army that could exert his influence over them as well as over the
Welsh. Yes, Richard thought, they had asked for men, but men over whom they
would rule so that the Welsh would see that Mortimer and Braose wielded the
power. Yet his mother was right about the coronation—and that was only five
days away.