Roselynde (58 page)

Only Joanna had met her match. "I do not give a pin for
duty," Alinor said firmly, "and I will not wait. Do not mistake me,
Madam. I do not desire your help to permit me to marry. I desire it only to
save Queen Berengaria hurt. Simon has the King's permission. If necessary, I
will bid Simon obtain the King's
order
that we be married. The King is
not like to yield to his wife's wishes above Simon's at this time or on this
matter. Of course, I do not know what is in the King's mind, but either I am
Simon's war prize, in lieu of some great estate, or the King has some other
purpose that makes it needful that we be wed."

Again Joanna looked stunned and again after a pause to assimilate
what Alinor had said she began to laugh. "I can see that Simon knows his
ward better than Berengaria knows her lady. You are, indeed, willful,
disobedient, and bad tempered, as well as kind, clever, and skillful in
management. I will do my best—to save Berengaria from hurt."

Joanna was successful in preventing Berengaria from actually
forbidding Alinor's marriage, but she could not and did not even try to shield
Alinor from the other effects of her news. Cold disapproval alternated with
tearful pleadings and dire warnings. If Berengaria had been completely a fool,
she would have failed utterly in her purpose. She was clever enough, however,
to pick away at any point she found at all sensitive. Once married, a wife's
estate
was
in her husband's hands while he lived. No contract could
alter that. An older man who looked at young girls—would he not seek them
younger and younger as Alinor bore children and became less nubile?

Alinor knew it was all nonsense. She knew Simon to be honorable to
a fault, but might his very honor lead to disaster? And marriage was different
from being a warden. A warden had to account for his stewardship sooner or
later. A husband had to account for nothing—ever. Simon had already endeared
himself to Alinor's men and vassals. Might he not endear himself to them
further so that they would support him in whatever he did? Once there were
children, he could even put her aside, mew her up in some prison, with a tale
of illness. Even worse, Alinor had no kin. Should an accident that was no accident
befall her, Simon would inherit all her property. It would be his very own.

Not Simon, Alinor told herself, not Simon; but she grew uneasy and
apprehensive. And to add to the strain, Simon was behaving oddly. In response
to her questions about his estate he had written promptly, detailing the
property sufficiently for the contract, adding that it should be secured in the
usual manner, in male tail or, failing male issue, to female heirs general,
failing any issue to his wife, and, should his wife predecease him, to the
Crown.

"I have no children," he stated in reply to her blunt
question, "or if I have, their mothers have not seen fit to inform me of
it so I must assume they have made other satisfactory arrangements."

That was all. There was no word of love, no word of joy at the
realization of their long dream. Alinor wrote again and then again, and
received no response at all. The empty-handed messengers who returned could
tell her nothing; they were not given to observing their betters. Alinor sent Beorn,
but his report was merely more puzzling and frightening. Sir Simon was not ill,
at least he was not laid upon a bed nor showing obvious signs of feebleness,
but he was very thin and
very
ill tempered. He was not much engaged in
business, the whole camp was idle, and had said he did not write because he had
nothing to say and he would see Alinor soon enough.

If Alinor was growing uneasy at the idea of her marriage Simon was
in a far worse state. In the grip of a post-fever depression, he was unable to see
any brightness in his future. With each passing day he became more convinced
that the King was right and that he was sinning against Alinor, ruining her
life by marrying her. He was an old man. The solution was simple. He must tell
the King that he no longer wished to marry. The trouble was that Simon wanted
to marry Alinor a good deal more than he wanted to go on living. He simply
could not make himself ask the King to withdraw his permission. Typically when
faced with an emotional rather than a practical problem, Simon buried his head
in the sand and waited for the situation to resolve itself. He
could
not
force himself to do anything that would make Alinor refuse him, and he
would
not do anything to encourage her desire or determination to marry him.

His mental condition was not improved by the pall of depression
that hung over the King and the army. Not only had Richard failed to take
Jerusalem and rescue the Holy Sepulcher from the hands of the infidel but he
had not even kept Ascalon, which they had worked so hard to rebuild. The
positive facts that the cities of the northern Holy Land were secure and in the
decently capable hands of Henry of Champagne, that Christians were to have free
access to the Holy City and the holy places therein, and that those holy places
were to be honored remained overshadowed by the failure to achieve the greater
objects of the Crusade. The black pall came back to Acre with the King and the
army and settled over Alinor's wedding arrangements.

When Simon did not come to her on the day they arrived, Alinor
sent the priest who had charge of the wedding contract to him. The priest
returned with the documents still unsigned.

"What displeases him?" Alinor cried, half enraged and
half terrified.

"Nothing," the puzzled priest replied. "He said at
first that you were overgenerous, but I pointed out that any other arrangement
would be an insult not only to him but to the King who has chosen him to be
your husband. At that he laughed a little but said no more than that the day of
the wedding would be soon enough to sign."

On the morning of his wedding, Simon laid aside his white tabard
and red cross and sought out the gray silk tunic and gown that Alinor had sent
him the previous day. He held them long in his hands running his fingers over
the silver embroidered collar and facing. Alinor's work. It was a wonder she
was not blind, he thought, guessing how thin a needle, how fine a thread, how
many stitches had been needed to portray the beasts with their gold-dot eyes
and claws that climbed among the silver leaves in the silver trees. She is
blind; she is blind, his heart hammered. If she were not blind she would have
seen you are too old.

He almost made himself sit down and write to her—Alinor, refuse
me, I am too old. It would be a cheap sop to his conscience; she would never
refuse him at this stage. Never? There was a tiny chance. Simon laid aside the
gown and tunic and dressed himself in less fine garments. Even that tiny chance
was too great. "If she refuses me," the troubadours sang, "I
will die." But the trouble is, Simon thought, I will not die. If I could
die, I would not hesitate an instant. I will have to live, and I cannot face
enduring that torment.

He fled the palace. His excuse was that he wished to redeem the
bride gift that he had placed in safekeeping with the Templars while he was
fighting. In reality he did not dare speak to anyone he knew. He had only two
thoughts in his head and they would come out of his mouth if he opened it and
make a fool of him. Worse might befall him. The King might change his mind;
Alinor might change hers.

Out of deference to the rather sad mood and the near-frantic
distaste of Queen Berengaria, the wedding was to be as quiet as possible. There
was to be no feast, no outward celebration. Dinner was very subdued. Neither
the King nor his gentlemen attended. They were busy arranging all that must be
done before leaving the Holy Land. Berengaria wept; Ali- nor sat in stony
silence. After one or two efforts, Joanna gave up her attempts to make things
pleasanter.

Joanna had offered to come and help Alinor dress, but at the last
minute she and the other ladies had been summoned to the Queen. With only the
help of her maids, Alinor donned the white silk tunic and green cotte she had
chosen to wear. There had been no time to prepare really elaborate garments,
and they would have been out of place anyway. One single bright note was
sounded, and even that was marred. When the priest came with the signed
marriage contract, he brought Alinor a river of gold and emeralds to hang
around her neck. It was a priceless gift, but there was no message to lighten
the heart of the girl who received it. In the twilight of the day, she walked
alone to the chapel where she was to give her freedom and her life into the hands
of a man who had become a stranger to her.

It was not a merry wedding. The bride and groom both looked white
and stricken, barely able to murmur their replies. The King looked black as
thunder, giving countenance to something he heartily disapproved and losing
thereby one of the most useful servants he had. The Queen wept aloud all
through the ceremony, nearly drowning the replies of bride and groom. Lady
Joanna was in so foul a humor, foreseeing the trouble she would have with
Berengaria in the days to come, that she was fit to be tied.

The bedding ceremony was as stark as the wedding. An apartment in
the palace had been set aside for the new-wedded pair, but Alinor had little
heart to furnish it elaborately. This was not her home and, in any case, Simon
would hate cloth-of-gold hangings and jeweled washing vessels. Moreover, if she
purchased such things, she would only need to sell them again at a loss. With
the costs of the journey home in her mind, Alinor was not prepared to spend a
penny on a useless show.

In a totally unnatural silence, for usually the time for disrobing
was a time for bawdy jests and comments, the weeping Queen and the furious
Joanna stripped off Alinor's clothes to exhibit her naked to the King and the
few prelates who attended. It was a useless formality. Alinor was without
physical flaw, but considering her wealth and Simon's poverty she could have
been a goat-legged hunchback and her husband would not repudiate her. The King
and the Bishop of Beauvais stripped Simon. The Queen turned her back, but the
other witnesses examined him conscientiously. It was far more likely that the
bride would be tempted to repudiate the groom. The general opinion was that, if
she did, it could not be for any physical fault. Of course Simon's body was ridged
and seamed with scars from a life full of tourneys and battles. The marks were
startingly apparent because Simon was very hairy and, wherever he was badly
scarred, the hair had not grown back. The hair, fair or gray, contrasted with
the red of the new marks—all except the pubic hair, which was, amusingly,
bright red. That brought the single comment made during that dreadful half
hour. The Bishop of Beauvais, who by chance had never seen Simon naked,
remarked wryly that the flames of Hell knew where to congregate.

Impatiently, the King shoved Simon toward the bed. After sharing a
bedroom or a tent with him for over two years he was well acquainted with
Simon's physical form. "They are both perfect in my eyes," he
announced. "I am witness, we are all witness that there is no cause upon
the body of Lady Alinor Devaux or upon the body of Sir Simon Lemagne to break
this marriage."

Simon and Alinor got into the bed, the curtains were drawn shut,
the witnesses left them in peace. Simon closed his eyes for a moment and wet
his lips. Now he would explain to Ali- nor how he had come to allow her to make
so great a sacrifice. Instead of going to the Templars in the morning, Simon
had spent all that day wandering about thinking what to do, and he had found a
solution. "Alinor—" he began.

He was shocked at the loud harshness of his voice in the silent
room. Alinor jumped like a startled deer and burst into tears. Ordinarily
Alinor was no more sensitive or modest about physical things than a cow. She
would not have been at all offended by the rough humor of an ordinary bedding
ceremony, but something in the cold, indifferent appraisal of the King and the
elderly prelates he had summoned as witnesses shamed her. And now Simon was
angry with her for no reason at all.

"What is wrong? What is wrong?" Alinor wailed, turning
and throwing her arms around Simon's neck. "Why are you so different? Why
are you so changed?"

He should have said he had not changed, that he was no different;
instead the pressure of her nakedness against him roused a sudden fury of
passion that choked off both voice and brain. He forced her flat and shut her
mouth with his own. Pinned by Simon's weight, Alinor twisted and writhed but
Simon had had his will of more than one unwilling woman. He was adept at
immobilizing thrashing arms and legs and indifferent to scoring nails.

"You will not deny me," he snarled.

"I will kill you!" Alinor shrieked.

Simon laughed and closed her mouth again. It was the best thing he
could have done. Alinor's struggles became less and less violent. Simon tipped
himself sideways a little and stroked her body. She shuddered, but no longer
made any effort to wrest herself free of him. His hand slid up between them and
touched her breast. Alinor gasped and bucked under him, but it was not a
movement of protest. Simon slid a knee between her legs. Her lips parted; her
clenched teeth opened; her little tongue came out. Simon lifted himself a
little, bracing on one elbow and one knee, and felt for the mount of Venus and
the sensitive little tongue that lay between the nether lips.

She cried out when he entered, but softly. Simon waited, released
her lips and, with a practiced contortion, brought his mouth down to her
breast. Alinor cried out again and bucked. Simon drew and thrust gently,
sucking in concert with his movement. Alinor gasped, bucked again, once, twice,
unevenly and then caught his rhythm. Later, but fortunately not much later, for
Simon was sweating with his effort to control himself, she uttered several
convulsive, rhythmical little moans. Simon jammed himself into her, twice,
thrice, his groans overriding her renewed gasps of pain, and then was still.