Roselynde (32 page)

William Marshal had been employed to deliver the insult, and his
reaction had been little less violent than Simon's. Alinor had heard the tale
direct from William. Once Isobel had carried him the news of Alinor's purchase
of the Sussex appointment for Simon, William had been very much Alinor's
friend.

"Simon did not believe me," he had said, his voice
shaking with indignation as he relived the incident. "Well, I did not
believe it myself when the King told me what I was to say. However pretty the
words, it was an insult that will make Rhys fight to the last drop of blood he
can command. Alinor, I went down on my knees to Richard, and it was not only
for Simon's labor. I am Sheriff of Gloucestershire. Isobel's property is spread
all over Wales. When I consider the burdens the King has laid upon me in the
governance of England, it must be plain I cannot spare the time continually to
be fighting in Wales."

"William, do not shout at Alinor," Isobel remonstrated.
"It is not her fault."

"I beg your pardon," William said, lowering his voice.

"Never mind that," Alinor exclaimed. "You can bring
the roof down for all I care if you will only tell me why! Why? Did the King do
it to shame Simon?"

"Oh, no. Of that I am sure enough. I am sure also that Simon
has his respect and gratitude for a work well done. Nor did he do it to hurt
me. He even looked troubled when I pointed out what this would mean in Pembroke
and Carmarthen and Glamorgan, where Isobel's lands mostly lie." William's
face grew congested with blood, although this time his voice remained low.

"He said that John was overlord of those lands and would keep
the peace. John!" he bellowed so suddenly that both Alinor and Isobel
jumped. "John could not, even if he would— and, I fear me greatly that he
would not even if he could."

"Hush, William!" Isobel cried. "They will hear you
in the Hall."

"I do not care if they hear me in heaven!" William exclaimed
passionately. "John's only interest in Wales was to draw the King there.
Now he will demand his rents and we, who must collect those rents from men who
will need to spend their substance in fighting, whose serfs are killed and
crops destroyed and who thus have no money with which to pay rents—we will be
caught between the upper and nether millstones. But the King cares nothing for
that. I suppose he hopes we will not pay our rents. All he cares is that John
should be busy—very busy."

"Does Simon believe this, too?" Alinor asked.

"He suggested as much to me. I was like a stunned ox. I could
not believe what I had to do even though I was there, doing it. When he said
it, however, everything fell into place." William's voice softened and he
looked oddly at Alinor. "Simon said something else, something I did not
understand. He said his first duty was to ride back with Rhys and then he would
go into Sussex—as it was God's will he should not return to Court but to set
his duty in distant places. It is not like Simon to speak of God's will in that
way."

Tears started into Alinor's eyes. "He is angry with me for
buying the office. I tried to explain that it was no condescending gift from
me, that I was not trying to pay in gold for his kindness. I know that what
Simon has done for me cannot be repaid in gold. He thinks I cheapen him and set
his honor at naught, trying to ensure further kindness with rich gifts."

Isobel comforted her with soft assurances that time would heal
Simon's rage and bring him to a better way of thinking, but William said
nothing, the puzzled frown remaining on his brow. Alinor guessed that William
did not think Simon was angry. Something deeper and more important was the seat
of his trouble.

That the trouble was indeed deep-seated and that time would not
affect it became apparent as fall deepened into winter. Simon pursued his
duties as sheriff and as warden of Alinor's lands, often taking Sir Andre with
him. It was a tacit admission that he would make Sir Andre his deputy as Alinor
had requested. However, his attitude toward her did not change. His rare
letters of business were as icily polite as his original thanks had been, and,
even when the Queen's progresses brought Alinor within an easy day's ride,
Simon did not come.

That, she admitted, might have been her own fault. Although she
notified him of her movements and wrote him all the news from Court, Alinor did
not urge Simon to join her. It seemed to her that if he spoke to her face the
words he wrote, she could not endure it. Perhaps face-to-face, when he saw her
unhappiness, he would warm to her, but perhaps he would not. Fearful of putting
the matter to the test, Alinor chose to wait, hoping that, as the hurt was
deeper, a longer time might be all that was needed to cure it.

Her one comfort had been to write to him, and there was much to
write about that was of great importance to them both without touching any
personal matter. Unfortunately the Earl of Essex died, and Richard had given
his post as joint chief justiciar to William Longchamp, who was already
Chancellor. The concentration of so much power in the hands of one who had only
contempt for the English barons and their English traditions had raised so
great an outcry that the Queen had tried to remonstrate. When she raised the matter,
Richard flew into a passion. That passion had outlasted their private interview
and overflowed into a public dinner. To the assembled court, Richard had said
openly that he was much of Longchamp's mind, and he pointed out how few and how
reluctantly the English barons had taken the Cross.

"Not to wrap up a stinking thing in white linen," Alinor
had written, "he impugned the courage of our people and said further that
he gave his authority into Longchamp's hands because he could not trust the
nobility of this land even to pay for the work of God to which they were so
obviously unwilling to set their hands. The Queen said no more, for to argue
and draw forth publicly more of such sentiments could only do more harm than
good. But I fear the Bishop of Durham will not be able to control
Longchamp."

The truth was worse than Alinor's fear. Hugh Puiset, Bishop of
Durham, was of an old, proud family. He would not recognize Longchamp's
precedence nor would he stoop to brangle with a cheap upstart, he said. He would
withdraw to the north, where the King had set his authority. Unfortunately, it
was not so simple as that. There were many matters on which the justiciars had
to act together. What pleased one displeased the other so that whatever needed
both seals went undone.

For a time the Queen attempted to mediate between them. At first
Alinor got an incident-by-incident description of the petty and gross insults
both men flung at each other because William Marshal had the thankless task of
the Queen's envoy. Soon, however, he had to beg to be excused from further
duty. He told the Queen, Alinor reported faithfully to Simon, that if he went
again to Longchamp he would kill him. He had come to the limit of his ability
to swallow open offense against himself and, worse, openly stated contempt for
the Queen.

That was the last Alinor had written, toward the end of January,
and now, in the first week of February, Simon was returning to Court. The note
in which he announced that decision and confirmed that Sir Andre would deputize
for him in Sussex had held no more information. Alinor had read and reread it,
but she could find nothing in the terse lines beyond the strict performance of
a duty, an accounting for a responsibility laid aside. That was what frightened
her most. Had whatever insult he imagined she had cast upon him magnified
instead of lessened with time? Was Simon coming to throw her "gift"
back in her teeth?

Alinor was so absorbed in her fears that the brief scrape of a
spur on stone as Simon stepped through the doorway and onto the carpet was all
the warning she had. She had hardly leapt to her feet, eyes wide, cheeks
flaming with excitement, when he was bending gracefully to kiss her hand. Her
eyes ate him in the moment his own were downcast, but there was nothing to see.
Simon looked exactly as she remembered, the gray velvet surcoat impeccable, his
hair neatly brushed back; he was still in mail but had doffed his helm and
pushed back his hood.

"You are welcome," Alinor faltered, and her eyes filled
with tears.

"What is it, Alinor?" Simon asked anxiously. "What
is wrong?" Then the soft anxiety of the first two questions hardened into
exasperation. "Are you in trouble again?"

Terrified of what she would see in them, Alinor had been avoiding
Simon's eyes. Now, however, she met his irritated glance openly. "No—well,
yes, but it is nothing new or worse than usual. Oh, Simon, have you been
summoned to Court?"

"Of course I have been summoned. What else could draw me from
the duty you laid upon me?"

His voice had changed again, smooth, hard, cold as ice.

Alinor's breath caught. "Do not be so angry with me, Simon.
Please. I meant no harm. I—"

"I am sure you did not. You meant only good and, in fact,
only goodwill come of what you have done. I will grow rich. You made a good
bargain for Sussex at one hundred marks. The people will have an honest
sheriff—I dare pride myself upon my honesty—and you and yours will be protected
against any unreasonable prosecution."

"Simon—" the name was a whispered plea, but he did not
seem to hear.

"I must go to the Queen."

Simon turned away, features frozen, body rigid. Could he have
misunderstood? Was it possible that Alinor
still
loved him? Was it
possible that Alinor's purchase of Sussex for him was not, on a large scale, of
course, the same dismissal of obligation that her gift of a fine horse and arms
sent to Ian had been? It was impossible to pursue the thought, to try to
determine what Alinor's distress had signified. Once he made his bow to the
Queen and was invited to sit opposite her beside the fire, it was necessary to
concentrate upon her. To answer absently even such polite questions as those
about his health was to call forth far keener questioning. Simon felt he needed
to understand what was happening before he answered any questions.

"And do you enjoy being a sheriff?" the Queen asked.

Simon opened his mouth to give a reply as casual as the question
and then shut it abruptly. When he opened his lips again, they were twisted
wryly, and one brow lifted cynically. "It is so like the duty I have
always done that it is neither pleasure or pain—as you well know, Madam, so why
do you ask?"

"But I did not know," the Queen said. "I knew you
served the late King, but I did not know how."

"Is that a reproach?" Simon asked stiffly.

"No, no." The Queen laughed; then added in a half
question, "You have grown very thin of the skin recently."

"Perhaps. I was not overpleased at how the Welsh business was
ended," Simon replied flatly.

"For you it was well ended." The Queen's response was
sharp. "The King gives full credit to you, whatever came later, for
avenging the insult done him." Then she leaned forward and put a hand on
Simon's arm. "I am sorry for the Welsh lords, but I could not press
Richard on the subject. I must tell you that we are like to have worse troubles
here in England if Puiset and Longchamp cannot be brought to some accord."

The frown that had gathered on Simon's forehead at the Queen's
reprimand grew blacker still, but it was no longer directed at the Queen
herself. "I know," he said briefly.

"William sent you word?" the Queen asked.

"No, Lady Alinor wrote, although she had the news from
William and some from you."

Suddenly the Queen smiled. "Good. Then I am sure you have the
full tale. Doubtless what William would have written was 'Trouble between the
justiciars.' And that would have been his whole news."

Simon could not help but smile. "He is not so bad as
that," he protested. "However, I am sure I know anything that is not
truly a secret."

"What can be a secret when both parties cry aloud the foulest
slanders—and sometimes truths, too, which is more unforgivable?" the Queen
asked bitterly. "Things here have come to such a pass that Richard has bid
me come to him in Normandy."

"I hope you will tell him to rid us of this plague."

Queen Alinor's face froze. "No, because it would do no good.
Richard trusts Longchamp, and indeed, the man is faithful to my son—"

"Such faithfulness may lose the King his realm!"

"It is useless to argue with Richard on this subject,"
the Queen snapped. "There are personal matters—"

She stopped abruptly and Simon looked away, his mouth setting
tight. He had been hearing really disgusting rumors— that William Longchamp was
pandering for the King, bringing him beautiful young boys that he had tried out
himself. This Simon did not believe. Whatever Richard was, he did not need and
would not employ such methods. However, doubtless the King would believe that
Longchamp was hated for his perverted ways more than for his political actions
and would stand by him and protect him so much the more for that reason.

Simon cleared his throat. "I am sure you have better advice
than I can give on these matters, Madam, so that you have not called me hither
for that purpose. How can I serve you?"

"First with advice, although as you say, not on this subject.
I will leave for Normandy next week and from there I expect to go south to see
my own lands. I will be gone a considerable time. What I wish to know is
whether I may safely leave Alinor here."