Roselynde (29 page)

By the third week in September, however, that excitement was over
at Court. There were still riots, but the sheriffs and justiciars were supposed
to be quelling those. As news drifted back from Richard's progress, a new
uneasiness was spreading about Richard's method of governing. The King was
selling
official positions. It was not that the Court had any quarrel with the
actual appointments Richard had made at the Great Council that had been
convened at Pipewell Abbey. There were, of course, individual dissatisfactions
and hard feelings but, in general, the Earl of Essex and the Bishop of Durham
were felt to be wise and careful choices as chief justiciars. The fact that
William Marshal and four of the justices of the King's court had been appointed
to advise and assist the justiciars was also reassuring.

There was far more grumbling about the choice of William
Longchamp, the Bishop of Ely, as Chancellor. Longchamp was a little, ugly,
deformed man, which was offensive in itself in someone who did not have high
birth to obscure bis physical failings. He was also a stranger to the English
and to English ways. Still, there were no open protests. The King, after all,
was a stranger to the English barons himself and, reasonably enough, would wish
to have a longtime servant known to be faithful in a position of authority. If
Longchamp let himself be guided by Essex, Durham, and William Marshal, all
would go very well. Without words, it was also understood that the Queen would
oversee all.

Alinor had early news of the appointments and the baron's
reactions from Isobel of Clare, who received more informative confidences from
her husband than Alinor had expected. When William and Isobel returned to the
Court in October, however, a less favorable light was shed on the King's doings.
Richard would not leave the old order unchanged or change what was abusive and
oppressive and leave what was good. The appointments, it turned out, had been
sold for gold.

Of course it was customary that the King should receive a gift
commensurate with the value of the position he bestowed. No one would complain
of that; it was custom. A King chose his man and appointed him. If the gift was
not adequate, the King could say so. Richard had been cruder than that,
however. He had asked outright what each office was worth to each man and,
except in the case of Longchamp, had appointed the highest bidder.

Such action alone would have been disturbing, but worse followed.
The King made it plain that he intended to change every officer in the realm,
from the highest to the lowest, and that—in clear words—the governance of
England was for sale.

At first Alinor had shrugged. She did not think the men Richard
would appoint would be more corrupt than the officials Henry had used at the
end of his reign. What thought she gave to the subject was mostly in ways to
protect herself and her dependents. It was not until Isobel confided that
William was offering fifty marks for appointment as Sheriff of Gloucestershire
that Alinor conceived the notion of turning Richard's greed to her own profit.
Perhaps she could buy the office of Sheriff of Sussex for Simon. Sussex was a
rich shire and would cost high, but her grandfather had been a frugal lord and
Alinor, except for the charges for the men-at-arms and the upkeep of the vassals
who defended her, was no spendthrift, either. There was considerable gold in
the strongboxes of Roselynde. Better to pay it to the King for a purpose than
to have it taken away by the exactions of the official he would appoint.

Alinor's problem, until Simon's letters came, had been how to go
about making the offer. She could not herself approach the King and say she
wished to purchase the office. Women, except in temporary emergencies, could
not be sheriffs. She was afraid to write to Simon and tell him to make an offer
to the King. For one thing, if the letter took long to reach him, the
appointment might be promised elsewhere by the time his request came. For
another, Simon might get up on a high horse because he felt it was not honest
to bargain for an office like a merchant. Isobel had mentioned that William was
much troubled about the arrangement and that she had needed to point out to him
that, however ill the means, at least he would be an honest sheriff and thus
benefit not only themselves but the whole shire.

Worst of all, however, Alinor was sure Simon would refuse to take
the money from her to pay the King; she was equally sure he had nothing
approaching the necessary sum of his own. Nor would he be willing to borrow.
Scrupulous as he was, he would reap far less profit from the office than most
other men. For her own sake Alinor was more interested in preventing the
appointment of a rapacious sheriff who could levy fines on her men and on
herself than in what Simon could squeeze out of the shire.

The only path Alinor could see was through the Queen, but she had
hesitated to talk about Simon without some good reason. She had not forgotten
how oddly the Queen had looked at her; how she had said, "Sir Simon has
become very great with you." Now, however, the letter was an excuse and it
had come at an excellent time, too. Since the King was in London, the Queen was
less occupied with business. Moreover, Richard intended to stay in London more
than a week so that now, at the beginning of his time in the city, the Queen
was not taken up with last-minute conferences.

"I have letters from Sir Simon," Alinor said, curtsying
gracefully.

"From Wales?"

"Yes, Madam."

"Simon sent a messenger to you from Wales?" the Queen
asked sharply.

It had been very wise, Alinor thought, not to raise the subject of
Simon without a good cause. She did not mind the Queen's question. She was
prepared for that. "No, Madam. I sent the messenger to Beorn, my
master-at-arms, who is serving with Sir Simon. Since the man had to return, I
suppose it seemed reasonable to use him."

"Why did you send a message to your master-at-arms?"

"Because I wish to know what my men are doing and how they
are used," Alinor said firmly.

The Queen stared at her, then smiled and nodded. "I would
have done the same. Where is the letter?"

Alinor handed it to her and watched her break the seal. In a very
short time, the Queen raised her eyes. "You received a letter, too?"

"Yes, Madam."

"Give it here."

Alinor handed it over, watched while the Queen perused it, and
received it back.

"I wonder," Queen Alinor said bemusedly, "why he
bothered to write. Usually Simon's letters are excellent. I feel that if I see
the word 'well' again, I will be ill."

Laughter gurgled out of Alinor. "It is not all his fault,
Your Grace. Indeed, he had little enough to say beyond that they were wet and
hungry, and it was pointless to say that in a letter."

"And how do you know they were wet and hungry?" the
Queen asked with a glint of mischief in her eyes.

"Your Grace, my grandfather was no great letter writer. When
he was from home, my grandmother bound over a trusty man to remember where they
went, what they did, and suchlike. Recalling this, I bade Beorn to send me news
of what befell."

"You are very attentive to the well-doing of your
men-at-arms," the Queen remarked drily.

"And to Sir Simon's well-doing also," Alinor said
boldly, although her heart did flip-flops. "I have a deep interest in his
well-doing, especially now."

"How now especially?"

"Because I see in Sir Simon the hope of safety and profit for
me and mine."

That startled the Queen. Her eyes opened. "Safety, yes. But
you see hope of profit? From Simon?"

"Well," Alinor temporized, "at least avoidance of
loss." She looked steadily into the Queen's eyes and said, "You know
Isobel of Clare and I are good friends. Her husband trusts her and speaks much
to her—and Isobel trusts me. Further than me, Madam, what William Marshal tells
his wife does not go. I hope it will do him no hurt to admit to you that Isobel
spoke to me about William's offer of fifty marks to be made Sheriff of
Gloucestershire."

"It is no special secret," the Queen said. "If he
wishes to speak of it, it is his affair entirely." She looked puzzled, not
seeing the connection between William's appointment as sheriff and Simon.

"I desire that Sir Simon be Sheriff of Sussex," Alinor
said quickly. "I will pay one hundred marks for the shire."

The Queen made no reply at first, merely stared attentively at the
girl. Then she said, "Where will you get the money?"

"There are sources enough. The dower jewels are mine. I am
heir, not a bride of the family. I can pledge them. I can borrow from my
vassals. For such a purpose I could easily obtain an aide from them. They would
pay gladly to have a just and honest sheriff." Alinor was not going to
admit that her strongboxes, untapped by Simon, would yield the sum without
help. In fact, she planned to ask an aide from her vassals. There was no
reason, as far as she could see, to strain herself to pay for what would
benefit her men as much as herself.

After due consideration, the Queen nodded briskly. She accepted
the fact that Alinor would be able to pay what she said. Then came the crux of
the matter.

"Why does not Simon ask for himself? How do you know he
desires this?"

"I never said he desired it. He knows nothing about it."

Now the Queen stared in blank amazement, and then burst out
laughing. "Alinor, he will slay you!"

"Perhaps," Alinor agreed, laughing also, "but I
care more for my lands and vassals than for a few bruises or for Sir Simon's
bad temper. He will not refuse the duty after the King sends him notice of the
appointment, and my lands and my vassals will be safe."

The Queen sobered and her eyes narrowed. "That is part of
your purpose," she agreed, "you do not lie. But sometimes you leave
out a little. Do you think to wean Simon from the royal service by these
duties?"

"Oh, no, Madam! Indeed I do not," Alinor exclaimed with
such sincerity that it could not be mistaken.

"Then he will be much away from his duties as sheriff and
your benefit—"

"Will be all the greater. Pardon me for interrupting you,
Your Grace, but you know Simon. If I have paid for the appointment, do you
believe he will contest with me if I suggest who should be his deputy?"

The Queen's lips twitched. So ho! The clever little witch. She
would use Simon's name to get a bargain from Richard and some hireling of hers
would reap profits that need not be accounted for. She was so clever, she
deserved to get what she wanted. "No, he will not contest with you—at least
not if the man be suitable," she warned.

"Sir Andre will suit Sir Simon very well—and me, even
better."

Very well pleased that Simon should gain so rich a prize without
cost to Richard or herself, the Queen smiled. "Very well. I will make your
offer to Richard, and I will add my word to it also. I think you may count the
matter settled."

Suddenly she smiled again. "I wish I knew whether I did Simon
a good turn or an ill when I made him your warden— I wish I knew."

On the following morning, some hours before the Queen summoned
Alinor to confirm the appointment and set a date for the money to be paid,
Simon was making what arrangements he could to protect both his men and his
mission in the event of his death.

"But my lord," Ian protested, his eyes stricken.

"Did you not understand what I have told you?" Simon
asked severely. "Llewelyn is Owain Gwynedd's
grandson,
the eldest
son of his eldest son. God has been good to us. We have the means to bring
peace—or, at least, as near peace as there ever is—to North Wales."

"But after the battle—"

"If we win, it would be safer to go after the battle,"
Simon said bleakly, "but that is becoming ever and ever a bigger if. To
you I will say that I have my doubts. And, if we do not win and you are not
long gone with our prisoner, we will lose him also. No, Ian. When we take the
trail to the camp, you and the twenty I have chosen must ride as swiftly as
possible eastward. Try for Chester. Shrewsbury would also be safe, but if you
miss it and stray too far south, the boy will fall into Rhys ap Gruffyd's
hands, and that will be ill for all of us."

"And from Chester?"

"Send to the King and to Lord John and tell them who we
have."

"Then I may return to you, my lord?"

This was the hardest part of all. "I think not, Ian,"
Simon said. He was very fond of the young man and this, although Ian did not
see it, was a great opportunity for him. It was also an honorable escape from
the differing dangers emanating from Alinor and King Richard.

"Lord," Ian said softly, fighting back tears, "how
have I offended you?"

Neither of the causes Simon had for desiring separation ever
entered Ian's mind. He was aware of the vice of homosexuality but he did not
connect it with the King, who had available any woman he could desire, and his
worship of Alinor was so pure—almost impersonal—that it never occurred to him
that Simon, if he noticed, would think it dangerous. In fact, if Simon had not
had a far less innocent desire for Alinor, he would have understood that what
Ian felt, at this time, would do no harm.