“You be quiet!” shrieked Eline furiously. “You’re just jealous. Get out. Out!”
There was a sound of footsteps running upstairs beyond the door.
“Eline!” Alain pleaded desperately. “Come with me!”
“Out!” screamed Eline. She jumped over the bed and shoved him toward the window. “If you’re not out of the manor by the time my father learns you were here, he’ll have you in the stocks, I know he will. Out!”
Alain half-jumped, half-fell out the window, and slid down the trellis to the ground. It was a rose trellis, and when he landed, his face and hands were torn by the thorns. He stood a moment in agony, staring up at the window above and listening to the voices, one questioning, one replying scornfully. Then he turned and broke into a stumbling run.
He was halfway back to the fortified manor gate before he realized that he’d left his mail shirt, sword, and helmet in a heap under an apple tree, where he’d taken them off to climb the trellis. He almost went back for them — then thought of the stocks and ran on to the gate. Fortunately, the old gatekeeper hadn’t yet learned that he shouldn’t have come in, and let him out.
Alain collected the horse he’d left tethered outside the gate and rode away from Comper at a gallop. As soon as he was clear of the village, he allowed the tired animal to slow down, and buried his face against its neck, helpless with tears.
He fled blindly all through the afternoon, and by nightfall had reached the town of Montfort, fourteen miles east of Comper. There was an inn there as well as an alehouse, and he stopped for the night. When he rose next morning, he wasn’t sure which way to ride. He ought to retrieve his sword and his armor. Armor was valuable. It would take a year’s rents from a small village to pay for what he’d left under the apple tree. But it seemed very likely that Eline was right, and if he were caught in Comper just now he’d find himself in the stocks. Stocks, public beatings, and similar humiliations were ordinarily reserved for the peasantry, and Alain couldn’t bear the thought of them: the indignity, the inevitable subsequent ridicule! If Eline had said, “Father will kill you,” he would have been far more likely to dare going back.
It would be better to go to Fougères first, then, and send a page to collect the armor. Though Hervé of Comper probably wouldn’t give it back without a ransom. Alain would have to go to his father, Juhel, for the money — and explain to him where he’d been and what he’d done. He groaned out loud at the thought.
Perhaps he’d better go to Rennes first. Tiher would be worried about him. But then he’d have to face the duke and explain why he’d abandoned his mission; explain, too, how Tiarnán had rescued the girl he was supposed to be in charge of. He groaned again.
Everything had conspired against him, and in return for his faithful love he received only humiliation on all sides. He shouldn’t have galloped off to Comper in the first place. But Eline might have agreed to come away with him, and if she had, nothing else would have mattered.
In the end, he saddled his horse and rode east from Montfort very slowly, hoping that he’d think of something else to do before he arrived in Rennes. The only thing that occurred to him was to pass by both Rennes and Fougères and go join the crusade. The idea appealed to him: exiled for love, he’d either die nobly saving the holy places from the Turks or come back a hero! But there were practical difficulties with that plan, too. The last news of the Christian armies was that they were besieging Antioch, and Antioch was a very, very long way away. It would take a lot of money to reach it, and he knew his father wouldn’t give him any. Besides — the most relentless of his problems revolved back upon him like a wheel — he didn’t have his arms.
He was riding with his head bowed, so intent on wondering how he could steal secretly into Comper and retrieve his weapons that he didn’t hear the hoofbeats behind him, until they slowed. Then he looked up and found Tiarnán riding beside him.
Tiarnán had left Talensac that morning in an anxious and irritable frame of mind. This was in part simply because he was hungry: he was still religiously fasting in penance for the two robbers. For the term of the penance he could eat nothing but bread and salt, and drink nothing but water. If he made a short pilgrimage or two — to Saint Samson’s shrine at Dol, for example, and Saint Mailon’s at St. Mato — and if he gave alms to the poor, he could reduce the term of penance, but not eliminate it. It was of course possible to put penances off’indefinitely — they could be done even after death, in Purgatory — but Tiarnán wanted to marry in a state of grace, with all past sins atoned for. Therefore, he was hungry.
The penances assigned by Judicaël the Hermit were, for the age, strict. A generation before most priests would have given similar penances for like offenses, but the new era was laxer: many confessors wouldn’t have considered the killing of a couple of robbers to be a sin at all. But it never crossed Tiarnán’s mind to look for an easier absolution. He shared the general Talensac opinion that Father Judicaël was a very holy man, an unacknowledged saint, but that was the least of his reasons for loyalty. Before going to his hermitage, Judicaël had been the Talensac parish priest. When Tiarnán was orphaned, it had been Judicaël who supervised his care. He had taught the boy his prayers and his letters, and had carried him on his shoulders out into the fringes of the forest, and pointed out to him the plants and the animals, telling him their names and their habits. His was the standard by which everything had inevitably been measured, and no absolution from anyone else could count. And that was another reason for Tiarnán to be anxious: Judicaël thought he shouldn’t marry Eline. The hermit had been unhappy about the match from the moment it was first proposed. “She will not understand you, and you will not understand her,” he’d said. “You will do each other harm. From what you say, there is another man who loved her first, a man who may be better suited to her. If she loves him, is it right to interfere?”
The hermit’s authority was such that his pupil had been dissuaded — for a little while. But Eline’s father had invited him back to Comper, and there his wishes overcame his scruples. He told himself that Judicaël had never met Eline and couldn’t judge what she would understand. For his part Tiarnán loved her: Love would give him understanding. He’d been happy with this argument for a while, but now, in the irritability of hunger, doubts were creeping in. He loved Eline, but did she love him? He knew perfectly well that he had been preferred by Hervé only because he was lord of a manor. Was Eline really being forced into marriage with him when she preferred Alain de Fougères?
He was thinking about Alain de Fougères as he set out for the court that morning. Alain was a proper knight, nobly born and gently reared. He was handsome. He could sing all the new songs from the south, and sing them in key, accompanying himself upon the lute. He could dance; he could play chess. His clothes were always in the latest style: he would never be found on foot in an old green tunic. He never seemed to feel any need to do anything unbecoming to a knight: there was no taint of the peasant in him. And he obviously sincerely loved Eline. The more Tiarnán thought about his rival, the more uneasy he became.
Tiarnán was painfully aware of his own inadequacies — his peasant upbringing, his simple tastes, his lack of sophistication and polish, of gentillesse and courtesy. When he first went to court as an eight-year-old page, his failings had been rammed down his throat. Judicaël’s teaching had not included table manners, etiquette, heraldry, falconry, dancing, or a dozen similar matters of which, he had discovered, no one who called himself noble should be ignorant. Some of the older pages had taken it upon themselves to correct this uncouth Breton peasant, and had done so so persistently, and with such brutal inventiveness, that for a while he had prayed for death. Then he’d learned to fight. He still fought in the way he’d learned then, with the frenzied savagery of a child goaded beyond endurance. He had a man’s control of the rage now: he could place his weapons accurately even in the heat of it, and he could summon it up at will. It was effective, and he knew that people were afra
id of him because of it. That satisfied him — to fight well was the chief glory of a knight, the thing that brought him honor from his overlord and respect from his peers. But it was a brutal skill, and faced with a rival like Alain, he wished for grace, for breeding, for everything he lacked that might be pleasing to Eline.
When he first noticed Alain riding slowly ahead of him, he thought that his reflections must have printed Alain’s image on a stranger. But as he drew nearer and the identification became increasingly certain, incredulity gave way to a rising tide of fury. This was his usual road from Talensac, but Alain would only use it if he were coming from Comper. Alain, like those older pages long ago, was trying to make a fool of him. Alain, like those pages, would regret it. He rode up behind Alain in a tense silence, then slowed his horse and looked angrily into the other’s eyes.
To Alain, after the first shock, it seemed inevitable that he should meet Tiarnán. Fortune’s wheel was sweeping Alain down to the depths of wretchedness, so naturally it had brought his rival up to gloat over him. There was even a bitter satisfaction in the contrast between them. Last time they’d met, Alain had been splendidly armed, riding a spirited bay charger, while Tiarnán had been plainly dressed and on foot. Now love had transformed them both. Alain was haggard and unshaven, scratched by thorns, disarmed, dressed in a dirty tunic and trousers and a padded jerkin, and his horse was drooping and dejected after days of hard riding — while Tiarnán was splendid for the court. A painter might have drawn them in miniature to illuminate a poem on good and bad fortune in love.
Tiarnán was indeed splendid. Since inheriting Talensac, he had never gone to court without making every effort to silence the nonexistent heirs to those scornful pages. The stained green hunting tunic had been replaced by one dyed magnificently scarlet, with a collar and hem worked in gold brocade, and a red cloak trimmed with ermine, worn loose because of the heat. The sheath of the sword at his side was chased gold. A goshawk in a crested hood perched on one white-gloved hand, and the fine chestnut stallion he rode was caparisoned in crimson. For once he looked every inch a knight. Some four or five servants and attendants rode behind him, leading mules for the baggage. The face he turned to Alain was as guarded as usual, but there was something wicked and dangerous about his eyes.
“What do you want? Alain demanded belligerently.
“I am surprised to see you here, Alain of Fougères,” Tiarnán replied quietly. Fighting was a matter of blows, not words. “I thought you would be in Rennes.” He spoke in Breton, not in the French he’d used out of courtesy at their last meeting. Alain himself spoke the French of the Breton March, but the other language was often used at Hoel’s court, and he was reasonably fluent in it.
“I’m not,” replied Alain, trying to sound casual.
“So I see.”
“Tiher is taking Lady Marie to Rennes. If you’re on your way to Rennes, there’s your road. You’ll excuse me, but I don’t relish your company just at present.”
Tiarnán made no response to this. He kept his horse beside Alain’s, staring in an expressionless way that set Alain’s teeth on edge. The pupils of his eyes had contracted, and the very blankness of his face made the concentrated anger of those eyes more alarming. “You should not leave unfinished a task your liege lord has given you,” he said at last, very quietly. “And you should not pay court to other men’s ladies when their backs are turned.”
“She was mine before she was yours!” snapped Alain. His hand moved to where the hilt of his sword should have been, and grabbed the empty air.
Tiarnán eyes had followed the movement. “Where’s your sword?” he demanded.
Cold, dark devil, Alain thought, glaring. But there was a sick lump in the pit of his stomach. One thing he hadn’t thought of when he galloped off to Comper was that he might have to fight Tiarnán because of it. Not that it would have made any difference, he told himself; the son of a lord of Fougères wouldn’t turn coward for any man — but he should have thought of it. After all, any peasant would fight a man who’d been seeing his woman behind his back, and Tiarnán was a knight.
As he’d told Eline, he had seen Tiarnán fight, at weapons’ practice and tilting matches, and he knew that the man’s deadly reputation was merited. He himself was only a very commonplace swordsman. But he could not, in honor, back down. “My sword is at Comper,” he told Tiarnán, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. “And my armor. I … can’t get them myself just now, but if you like, you can send one of your men to fetch them.”
There was a moment’s silence as Tiarnán digested this. Then the brown eyes became less deadly. “Why can’t you fetch them yourself?” he asked.
Alain went red. “Never mind,” he said. “Hervé would give them to you.”
Tiarnán continued to stare at him, this time taking in the scratches, the dirt, the armor not just taken off and packed in the bag behind the saddle, as he’d assumed before, but actually missing, the general air of dejection. Slowly the whole truth became apparent to him, and his anger and anxiety began to dissolve away. “You took them off to climb the trellis, didn’t you?” he said. “That’s where you got those scratches. And you left in a great hurry, and didn’t have time to put them on again, and don’t dare go back for them. But Hervé didn’t catch you; you wouldn’t be here if he had. You were riding along as mournful as an owl in molt, and don’t relish my company at present. Eline herself sent you away, didn’t she?”
Alain thought he had never in his life hated anyone as perfectly as he hated Tiarnán at that moment. The lump of fear was gone, swallowed up by utter loathing. He’d be glad to fight the man. He might even win. Someone had to teach the bastard a lesson sometime.
Alain’s wordless glare was all the confirmation Tiarnán needed. Eline did not love Alain. His heart began to sing again, and the rest of his anger with his rival vanished. It was understandable that Alain should love Eline, but she did not love him back-poor devil! She had chosen Tiarnán.
Tiarnán made no open display of his delight, however. Another thing he’d learned from the bullying pages was never to show his real feelings. Happiness and pain alike had invited punishment. So he merely smiled a composed one-sided smile, and turned to one of his servants. “Donoal,” he said, “ride to Comper. Give Lord Hervé my greetings, and ask him for Lord Alain’s sword and armor, which were left there … yesterday, Lord Alain? — yesterday. Tell him that I beg him, as a particular favor, to give them back to Lord Alain. Do you want them sent to Rennes, my lord? Or to Fougères?”
Alain swallowed. The lump was back. “Where would you prefer to fight?” he asked, trying to sound as though it didn’t matter to him.
“I don’t want to fight,” replied Tiarnán contentedly. “I have two corpses to do penance for already this week. And why should I fight you? You’ve done me a service. I didn’t know whether Eline cared for me, or whether she was just following her father’s choice out of duty. You have many noble qualities that I lack, Lord Alain — don’t think I haven’t felt that. I didn’t know which of us she’d choose, until you put it to the test. Allow me the victor’s privilege of disposing of the armor of a noble opponent. Do you want it sent to Fougères or to Rennes?”
Alain wanted to tell him to take it to hell, but couldn’t quite bring himself to say so. He was glad he didn’t have to fight the man, but he wondered if he ought to refuse to accept his armor back. His father would be furious with him for losing it. Best-quality chain mail! Months of work for the blacksmith! You left it under a tree? Mother of God! And the sword I bought you in Tours for twenty marks? You idiot!
It would be much easier to face his father if he at least had his armor safe.
“Send it to Rennes,” he muttered.
Tiarnán nodded and relayed the instruction to the servant, and the servant galloped off. Alain watched him go, then looked bleakly back at Tiarnán.
“Fortune’s wheel never stops turning, you know,” he said. “If it’s brought me down, it will bri
ng me up again one day. And you’re riding the heights now, but that only means you’ve nowhere to go but down.”
“I don’t believe things are that simple,” replied Tiarnán equably. “Most fortunes are mixed most of the time.” He gave his lopsided smile. “And Fortune’s been kind to you, for all your harsh words about her. You got into Comper and out again, and you’re getting your armor back. If you ever try anything similar at Talensac, I promise you now, you will not be so lucky.”
Alain set his teeth furiously and reined in his horse. This time Tiarnán gave him a nod and another complacent half-smile of acknowledgment, and rode on. Alain watched him until he was out of sight. Eline could never really love a cold, dangerous man like that, he told himself. A man like that wouldn’t know how to be kind to her. After a few months he’d neglect her, go off on his hunting trips and leave her alone in his manor house, with no one but the servants to talk to. If she complained, he’d become angry. He might even beat her. A vivid memory from the jousting field leapt to his mind: Tiarnán flinging himself from his horse to fall on a knight he’d just downed, bringing the wooden practice sword down again and again so furiously that the sword broke and the other man was left stunned, blood streaming from his nose. A man like Tiarnán might do anything.
Alain’s spirits began to rise again. He wouldn’t listen to Tiarnán’s threats. He’d let Eline know, somehow, that whatever had happened he was still her faithful lover, and if she ever wanted him, he would be there. All he had to do was wait.
Tiher was sitting in the Great Hall of the duke’s palace that night when Alain came in. He’d been cleaning his mail shirt, but he dropped the armor with a jingle, jumped up, and ran over to him.
The Wolf Hunt Page 9