Roselynde (35 page)

Other ladies were even less fortunate. The widows, at least, had
some claim on the income of the properties they had been ousted from. Having
been brought to the Queen's attention, they were somewhat protected by her
power; she saw to it that they were not left penniless. The others had never
been married. Minor heiresses, whose parents had not been fore-sighted or who had
judged wrong in their selection of guardians or who simply were not powerful
enough to protect their children. These girls had been disseisined by some
unscrupulous male relative. They had nothing; they were fortunate not to have
been murdered. Totally dependent upon the

Queen, they were kept out of pity or as weapons to be used at need
against their dishonest menfolk.

This situation, too, Alinor had become aware of only after her
arrival at Court. When she saw it, she thanked anew with gratitude for a grandfather
and grandmother who had wrought so well that strong men meekly bowed the knee
to her. In her own troubles, she had forgotten those of the women who were her
companions. She knew they resented her wealth and her way and her power, and
there was no way she could mend that; however, to be discourteous, to allow the
difference in their conditions to show so openly, was very wrong.

Just as Alinor was trying to shake off her morbid mood and make
conversation, a man-at-arms spurring a lathered horse came down the road. He
rode past impetuously, pulled up, and came back, dismounted. Then he approached
the group of women hesitantly, peering to see the faces under the close drawn
hoods. His face lit.

"Mistress!" He approached Alinor, knelt in the mud.
"Thank God I have found you." He opened the neck of his jerkin and
drew out a packet. "From Sir Andre."

Obviously they were letters. Alinor could feel the stiff parchment
through the wrappings. She was aware of the increased hostility of the women.
Her man had spoke English, and she had understood. Another cause for suspicion
and dislike. She gestured to the messenger to rise. Out of respect, he had
thrown off his hood so that Alinor could see his face. She knew the man.

"Does Sir Andre desire an answer, Adam?" Alinor asked.

"I do not know, mistress. Sir Andre did not say there would
be any answer. He bade me hurry and, if needful, follow you to Normandy, but he
did not say about an answer."

Pride glowed in him. His lady knew him. Many men served her, yet
she knew him. Alinor did not think about the effect "knowing" her man
would have. It was an art drilled into her from early childhood. When she
thought with gratitude of her grandparents, she thought about how they had
trained the men. She never realized how well she had been trained, molded into
a model feudal lord, for she was certainly not a model lady. The model ladies,
bereft of their property because they did not know how to hold it, were glaring
at her now. Usually their spite had little effect upon Alinor, but her spirit
was so weighted just at present that even so small a thing unbalanced her
judgment. She found a silver penny for her man.

"Very well, then, Adam, you may go."

A farewell, Alinor told herself, it must be a farewell.
Nonetheless a small nagging feeling of guilt was added to her misery. She knew
she should have read the message at once. It was no farewell. Surely it was
trouble, but Alinor simply did not want any more trouble. She thrust the packet
into her belt where it would be hidden by her cloak, just as Simon and the
remaining half of his troop came slogging back through the mud.

Simon's eye had become almost as quick as Ian's with regard to
Alinor. He did not miss the swift, almost surreptitious disposal of a packet
that could only be letters. To his mind it needed only that as a fitting
conclusion to the last few days, which seemed to have been compounded of every
horror that could overtake a man responsible for a traveling party. Why else
should a woman hide letters unless they were from a lover, and an unsuitable
lover at that. Simon turned on the leader of his half troop a face that made
the hardened and steady soldier become pale.

"Get the men and horses aboard that ship in all haste,"
he said softly.

The man wondered briefly if it was worth the chance to ride the
horses aboard. That would be the quickest, and most of the animals would behave
with a man in the saddle. However, there were a few young men in the troop who
were not yet capable of controlling their mounts in so frightening a situation.
Frankly, he thought, some of the men were as frightened as the horses. It would
not do. One more accident would turn his lord into a madman. He shuddered
himself as he dismounted and called orders to his men, remembering the
screaming, hysterical maidservants, the weeping and pleading menservants that
had to be driven or sometimes carried aboard. One man had wrestled himself free
and had fallen between the ship and the dock and been crushed. Several had
ended in the water, needing to be caught with grappling hooks and hauled aboard
with ropes. He glanced at the ladies whom Simon was approaching. Birth showed.
They
were not afraid.

The man-at-arms was quite wrong. The gentle ladies were merely
trained not to display their fear in inappropriate ways. They were just as
frightened as the meanest maidservant, and for the same reason. None of them,
except Alinor, had been aboard a ship before or away from a restricted number
of dwellings. In the normal course of events, the ladies of the Queen of England
would have made innumerable trips across the narrow sea. Sometimes the Queen
would have accompanied her husband to visit his domains in Normandy and Anjou;
sometimes she would have gone to her own provinces, like Provence. But the
situation had not been normal. Queen Alinor had been a prisoner. Although she
was allowed some freedoms, crossing the sea to her own domains was naturally
enough not one of them. Thus, her ladies had also been restricted in their
movements.

Now, as Simon approached, they vented their nervousness in excited
questions about the ship, about the sea, about sailing. Simon did not attempt
to free himself from several pairs of clinging hands, but his smile was a stiff
formality.

"You should ask Lady Alinor," he replied. "I have
crossed some four or five times, but I know little of the sea or of sailing. I
can assure you that the ship is sound and the sailors experienced. If such
things can make us safe, we will be. Well, Lady Alinor, what have you to say of
sailing?"

"That it is a greater joy in the hot days of summer than
now," Alinor got out, thanking God that her voice had not broken as she
feared it would.

"Have you been sailing often?" one of the youngest women
asked, her fear conquering her resentment of Alinor.

"Yes, quite often. It is very safe and pleasant especially on
a calm day, as it is now."

"But I have heard one dies of sickness."

Alinor shook her head. "No, one never dies of it." Her
lips curved into a smile. "Although I remember one time when we were
smitten by a sudden squall that I begged my vassal most earnestly to let me
die. In fact, if I remember right, I pleaded with him to throw me overboard so
that it might come about more speedily." Alinor laughed affectionately at
the memory. "It is nothing. A little discomfort. Besides many are not
taken with the sickness, especially on a day like today."

Alinor had no sooner stopped speaking than her maid Gertrude broke
away from the men-at-arms who were shepherding the servants aboard and flung
herself at Alinor's feet, weeping and pleading to be sent home.

"Get up," Alinor said to her, "and go quietly or
what will befall you will be worse than drowning."

Simon stiffened as he heard a whimper come from the group of
women. Whatever good had been done by Alinor's speech was being undone by her
servant. Hysteria was violently contagious. Before Simon could decide whether
it would be worse to have the whole group screaming and throwing fits or to
enrage Alinor by disciplining her servant, Alinor solved the problem herself.
She threw back her cloak and launched a blow with the back of her hand that
took Gertrude in the face. Alinor's ring tore the girl's cheek so that blood
streamed from it, and the force of the blow knocked her flat.

"Pick her up," she said to one of the men-at-arms, "and
cast her in, and not too gently. I have no time to whip her now, that will come
later, but I desire that she be well bruised. I would bid you cast her in the
sea, except that I have need of her." She raised her voice. "The next
man or maid of mine that makes one sound, one, will feel the lash. There is no
danger. The ship is sound. I am with you." She turned to the other women.
"Come, let us go aboard. If the maids see us, they will follow more
willingly."

"It would be most helpful, my ladies," Simon urged,
bowing and stepping back.

He could have knelt down and kissed the mud where Alinor walked,
he was so grateful to her. When it was necessary, hysterical maids could be
knocked down and carried but the Queen would be most annoyed if her ladies were
used in that fashion—even though she would no doubt have ordered it herself if
they behaved that way in her presence. Simon watched Alinor go aboard, her step
giving lithely to the movements of the plank. His spirit was washed over by an
unutterable weariness and bitterness.

He had been so happy for those few days. He had done his duty
against his will, advising the Queen to take Alinor when he thought he would be
left behind. Then he had been ordered to come also. It had seemed, after
Alinor's softness, that

God's will was to bring them together. That was only delusion.
Alinor's softness was kindness, not love. She wanted to be friends. But it was
too late for that, Simon found to his horror. He could not be Alinor's friend.

The loading was finished. Simon, the last aboard, took a quick
look at the landing. Nothing large had been left, and anything small must be
gone for good. The ship was well-stowed, not surprising since about half
Alinor's troop had been fishermen before they were taken into her service. Beorn
was conversing earnestly with the captain of the ship, his face wearing an
expression of serious delight.

The sailors pulled in the planks, cast off the ropes, and settled
to their oars. The ex-fishermen men-at-arms were hastily pulling off their
steel-ring reinforced leather armor and urging the others to do so also,
explaining it was better to be cold than to drown. Then they crouched down,
huddling together, the innermost men, who would be warmed by the bodies of
their companions, contributing their cloaks to make double and triple layers on
the outermost men and as covering for the whole group. Simon walked slowly
forward, suppressing a sensation of envy for the warmth and companionship they
had. He made his way along the raised walk that bounded the cargo area,
glancing down at the sweating, neighing, terrified horses. They were shackled
so that they could not kick each other, but little more could be done for them.

The ship rose and fell in the easy swell. Simon staggered a little
and moved more quickly. He was not prone to sickness from the sea, but he was
no sailor either and he wished to be out of the way of the men who would soon
have to raise the sail and fasten the lines. There was a small cleared area in
front of the women's tent, and here Simon stopped. He had been considering
sheltering himself from the wind inside the tent. He considered it no longer.
Above the noise the horses were making he could hear the sobs and prayers from
inside. It was one thing to be brave on
terra firma.
It was another to
maintain ones composure when one's footing rose and fell and tipped from side
to side. There was an ear-splitting shriek followed by a slap almost as loud.
Simon grinned even as he swallowed tears. That was undoubtedly Alinor. He hoped
it was one of the maids she had slapped and not one of the ladies, but he
feared from the outraged cries he was now hearing that his hope was in vain.

The case was proved a few moments later. Simon had just laid his
shield down in a safe corner when Alinor erupted from the cabin.
"God," she spat at Simon, not seeing who he was in her rage but
knowing from his garments that she was not speaking to a commoner, "helps
those who help themselves. I have done all I can. I hope they tear each other
to bits." Then her eyes cleared, only to light with anger again.
"What are you doing in that mail?" she asked furiously. "Was not
one near drowning enough for you?"

Simon opened his mouth, then closed it again. Any word he
permitted to pass his lips, flooded as he was with the sweet memory of those
weeks at Roselynde, would be inexcusable. Silently he unbelted his sword, took
off his helm, undid his cloak, and unlaced his hood. Alinor had looked at him,
the anger in her eyes replaced by shocked hurt. When he began to struggle to
remove his hauberk, however, two small, strong hands pulled at the hood. By the
time the hauberk slipped from his body as he bent double, she was no longer
there. He glanced once at her back as she stood beside the raised side of the
ship, and then busied himself with carefully folding his hauberk and laying all
his accoutrements together on his shield.

Then there was nothing else to do. Simon wrapped himself in his
furred cloak and went to the port side where he sat down with his back to the
planking. Again his eyes strayed to Alinor. The ship was moving steadily, but
it was not that which made sickness rise in Simon's throat. Alinor was
rereading her precious letters. Determinedly Simon closed his eyes. He wished
he could close his ears, too, to keep out the caterwauling of the other women.
Perhaps if he went in, he could calm them, he thought guiltily, but he could
not summon the courage for that. "Simon!" Alinor shrieked.