Alinor could see Gilliane draw breath to speak, but she interrupted her decisively, saying it was time to leave the men to plan the details of what they would do. Gilliane, Alinor said too positively to accept denial, needed her rest after the exertions and trials she had undergone.
“You have made yourself quite clear, my dear,” Alinor stated, a warning in her eyes. “You do not find war an amusement, and war against one’s own men is never profitable. I feel very much as you do, and I am sure Adam will respect your wishes to settle this matter without war if he can.”
Chapter Twenty
It was first light, the sun not quite risen, and it was bitterly cold in the women’s chambers where the serving girls had not yet stirred the banked fires to life. Gilliane shivered when she threw off the covers, but she did not hesitate, merely clamping her jaws shut so that her teeth would not chatter. She drew on her stockings and a warm woolen shift hurriedly, covered this with a pale pink tunic, and pulled a soft rose cotte over all. The clothing was another gift from Lady Alinor and had been chosen because it became her dark beauty so well. Gilliane thought gratefully of Adam’s mother, who had been as kind as any natural parent. Alinor had been much in Gilliane’s thoughts all through the sleepless night she had just passed. All through the dark hours she had reviewed the conversations she had had with Lady Alinor that first evening at Roselynde.
“My dear,” Lady Alinor had said, after drawing Gilliane into her own luxurious bedchamber, “I am about to speak very plainly to you because Adam tells me that you were raised in a simple knight’s household, that all the women were mistreated there and had no affection for their menfolk.”
The stricken expression on Gilliane’s face told Alinor a good deal—if it was genuine. Alinor found it hard to believe it was not, but she repressed her sympathy. Adam was her son; her first duty was to him.
“Sit down, child,” Alinor went on, her voice softening. What must be said, must be said, but there was no need to be harsh. “I am not going to scold you, but you must know certain things. Men of great estate must be warriors, and the men of our family are so by nature as well as by training. To keep vassals and castellans faithful, a man must be able both to defend and to punish them, and this can be done only by war.”
“But…”
“There are no buts,” Alinor said sharply. “The wider the lands a man wields, the more time he spends under arms. If he is not protecting his vassals against incursions by some other great lord, or settling a quarrel between his own vassals, he is putting down rebellion by men who wish to break away or to keep from him what is his due.”
“For what?” Gilliane broke in. “For another ten shillings in rent? For a jewel to bedeck oneself? What good are rents and jewels to a dead man?”
“Do not be a little fool,” Alinor snapped. “Tonight I adorned myself to do honor to you and to your men, but you have seen that I do not go bedecked in jewels, nor does my daughter, nor does Adam. On state occasions, Ian wears jewels because I force him; Geoffrey because he knows the value of the appearance of wealth. As to rents—do not speak scorn of them. They come year by year and bring with them power.”
“Power? I do not desire power!” Gilliane exclaimed.
“Do you not?” Alinor asked cynically. “Then do you desire to be powerless? Yet I heard you stuck a knife in the neck of a man to free yourself from bondage. And do not speak to me of a middle path. There is no middle path. Either you keep or enlarge what is yours or you sink into a victim.”
Victim! That was true. Gilliane closed her eyes. All her life she had been powerless—a victim. She would not endure that again. Yet if Adam must fight to keep her free…
As if she had read Gilliane’s mind, Alinor continued, “In any case, it does not matter what you desire for yourself. Adam will be no man’s victim for any reason—ever. Your lands lie close by his, and to ensure the peace of his own domain, he has taken yours under his hand. Will you nill you, he will bring your men into obedience—all of them. To allow the rebellious ones to go their own way would only breed rebellion in the others.”
That was true also. “I see,” Gilliane sighed.
“Do you see enough? I hope you understand that it is useless to quarrel with Adam about the taking of Wick and Bexhill. Moreover, there is more in this than rents and power. There is also the good of the realm at large. Matters are bad enough now with Louis weakening the hold of the king’s guardians on the great lords so that they feel free to wage war upon one another. Can you imagine what it would be like if men like my husband and my son and son-by-marriage lost control of the men they lead? Every greedy, ambitious knight would attack his just and peaceful neighbors without fear of retribution. No man could hope for protection from the evil. Because Adam will crush Sir Godfrey and Sir Matthew—if they do not yield willingly—the rest of your men, and Adam’s also, will be peaceful and obedient, perhaps for years.”
“And perhaps not, in which case Adam will go out to fight again,” Gilliane said bitterly.
Well, the girl did not lack for spirit, Alinor thought. When she is roused, she will speak. “Certainly,” Alinor agreed, staring purposefully at Gilliane. “He will go out to fight even if they are peaceful and obedient. Adam loves to fight. If he does not need to fight for or against his vassals, he will fight in the king’s war. And if that is ended, he will rush out to find tourneys to fight in. Adam is born and bred a fighter. So was his father.”
“Who no doubt died in battle,” Gilliane spat.
“No, he did not. He died in bed.” Suddenly Alinor’s eyes were full of tears. “My poor Simon, my poor Simon. How he hated himself for growing old and weak.” The tears rolled down Alinor’s cheeks. She did not sob, but Gilliane saw the suffering in her face. “All the years we were married and he went to war and I prayed and prayed for him to come safe home to me… If my prayers were answered, I will never forgive myself for them. He came home safe from battle—to suffer and suffer and curse each day his eyes opened upon. Better for him had he died in battle.”
“You loved him,” Gilliane whispered. She had not realized that. Because of the sharp, forceful way Alinor spoke of men going to war, Gilliane had believed that Alinor could not feel as she felt.
Alinor wiped the tears away and smiled. “I love him still. One does not stop loving just because a person dies. And do not mistake me. I love my present husband also, and I fear for him.“
“Then why do you let him go?” Gilliane breathed. “Why?”
“Because I cannot stop him, or Adam or Geoffrey either,” Alinor sighed. “I have spoken to you of power and necessity, but I, too, am a woman. Often and often I have thought that if I could shut my dear ones into this great keep and thus hold them safe, I would not care if the world all around were utterly destroyed. But then I knew that was what I desired. To me, what Ian and Adam and Geoffrey desire is more important than what I desire.”
“And if they desire death, you will give them that?” Gilliane whispered.
“Yes,” Alinor replied bleakly. “They are not babes to be protected against their wills. They are men of sound mind and high spirit.”
Then she sighed and smiled. If Ian heard her, he would be hysterical with laughter at the notion that Alinor would not interfere if he wished to do something she believed was dangerous and unnecessary. However, that was not the point. Gilliane was not knowledgeable enough yet. This was the first lesson. Others would come later. She took Gilliane’s hand.
When they were settled in front of the fire, Alinor began once more. “There are times when death is not so great an evil. When Simon was so sick, I could have kept him living for some years longer, I believe, if I had kept him abed and given him certain medicines. That was what I desired. I wanted his warm arms, his wisdom, his tenderness. But my breath did not rasp in my throat, my legs were not swollen to twice their size and covered with ulcers, there was no stabbing agony in my arms and chest, my days were not one long lassitude of weariness harder to endure t
han pain. I did not hate my body for its failure. I let my Simon go. I let him crawl up the stairs and struggle to mount his horse—I let him die because that was what he wanted.”
Gilliane’s eyes were full of tears of sympathy, and she nodded mutely, caught up in Alinor’s remembered grief.
“God willing, that is not a trial you will ever need to face,” Alinor continued more briskly. “Adam and Ian and Geoffrey are strong men, and they do not desire death. They do not, even though it may seem to you that they seek it in battle. Adam, I know, does not even think of death when he thinks of fighting—and you must never, never put that into a man’s mind.”
The tears in Gilliane’s eyes sank back to their source, unshed. “But if he has no fear—” she began.
“He will be ten thousand times more safe,” Alinor cut in. “Do not equate fear with caution. Adam has been well trained by a man with great military aptitude, and his personal fighting skills have been honed and polished by the Earl of Pembroke, who was the greatest fighter of his day, and by my Ian, who is one of the greatest fighters of this day. Adam knows his own abilities down to a hair. Nor is he ignorant of what carelessness or recklessness can do. In the last two years, Adam has been almost constantly in the field. You have seen the scars on his body. There are not many, and most are old, taken while he was still in training.”
Of course, Alinor did not really believe what she was saying about her son. Thoughts of Adam’s recklessness had given her many sleepless nights. However, Gilliane must believe Adam knew what he was doing or all this explanation would be useless.
“There is a new scar,” Gilliane sighed.
Concern leapt into Alinor’s eyes. “How bad? He seemed easy in his movement to me, and Joanna said nothing.”
“Only a small tear in the skin,” Gilliane assured her, both startled and relieved by the anxiety she perceived. She was now certain Alinor loved her son, a fact about which Gilliane had begun to wonder. “Nonetheless,” she went on, “even if all you say is true, any man can be overmatched.”
“Assuredly,” Alinor replied, slow and deliberate, “and it is in that moment that it is most important he have no fear, no doubt, no other thing in his mind at all beyond his experience of battle. If at such a time the thought of death freezes a man’s brain, how can his wits be flexible enough to espy any single brief chance of escape? If his thoughts are clogged with the knowledge that he will leave fear and grief behind—if he thinks of a weeping woman instead of his own safety—how will he be nimble enough to avoid the blows aimed at him?”
There had not been much color in Gilliane’s face, for this talk was no lightener of the spirit. However, what there was drained away. “Oh, God,” she breathed.
“A woman must hide her fear as best she may,” Alinor went on inexorably.
“I understand,” Gilliane whispered. “I understand.” Then she frowned. “No, I do not understand, I heard you say you do not like war. You said it to Adam.”
“No more do I,” Alinor agreed in a more cheerful voice, “and I do my best to keep my men from engaging in battles for the pure love of the sport—they do think of it as a sport, you know. However, I do not waste my breath or try their tempers by arguing against necessary action. You know Wick and Bexhill must swear fealty to you. Either their present holders must swear, or they must be removed and others chosen. This action is not sport, but necessity. You did right to suggest Sir Matthew be given a chance to do homage. If he does not, to think of other reasons to delay Adam will increase Adam’s danger by giving Sir Matthew more time to prepare.”
“I see that,” Gilliane conceded unwillingly. She did see it, but she did not like it. “But if Adam should be hurt gaining these lands for me…”
“It is not for you,” Alinor insisted, thinking only of easing Gilliane’s guilt and not of how her words might be interpreted. “Had he found Neville, idiot and crippled, at Tarring instead of you, he would have done the same. He has taken Tarring and its men into his keeping for his own sake and the king’s—and he will keep them.”
At this point the talk faded from Gilliane’s memory and was replaced by the doubts and jealousies those words had raised in her, the hopeless round of images that she probed for signs of Adam’s intentions. It never occurred to Gilliane that Adam would marry her. She had not thought in those terms since she had so willingly given herself to him. Why should he marry her? All she wished was to be assured that he cared for her and would not cast her aside completely.
Had Gilliane even the smallest knowledge of men other than Saer and Osbert, she would have had no doubts. Unfortunately, she knew only the crude and open handling those boors gave the women they desired, the total indifference and even physical rejection they offered all other women. Adam, of course, neither rejected nor singled her out in any way when they were in company. Except that his eyes wandered to her once in a while, his looks and conversation were no more bent upon her than upon his mother and sister. Adam had been taught most firmly that a gentleman does not ogle his mistress when his attentions might embarrass her—but Gilliane did not understand this.
Over the four days they had spent in Roselynde, Adam had been polite and attentive. His manner toward Gilliane was about the same as that toward his sister when he and Joanna were not teasing each other with playful quarreling. Gilliane did not understand this, either. Much of Adam’s time had been spent with the men. He had taken Sir Andrew and Sir Edmund hunting the day Sir Richard rode to Leith Hill. The next morning they had spent jousting and fencing, to Gilliane’s suppressed terror and to Simon’s ecstatic delight. In the afternoon, Sir Philip had returned with Sir Richard to do Gilliane homage. The messenger who had gone to Wick returned also, carrying, to Adam’s heartfelt joy, an open defiance.
Gilliane, keenly aware of what Alinor had told her about useless argument, had forced herself to shrug her shoulders. She had listened to the war plans for a little while in silence, until Sir Richard growled that the greatest danger was that Sir Matthew might summon help or receive reinforcements from the French who used the harbor at the mouth of the river Arun.
“Cannot our ship—the one we took from the French—be used to block the harbor in some way?” Gilliane asked.
Sir Andrew, Sir Edmund, and Sir Philip gaped at her; Sir Richard nodded approval. He had not known about the captured ship, but that Gilliane should have captured one and now make so astute a suggestion about its usage no longer seemed strange to him. Alinor and Joanna began at once to talk about what armament the ship should carry. Adam laughed aloud and threw up his hands.
“I do not know why I bother my head. What do you say, gentlemen? Shall we go hunting tomorrow and let the ladies manage this little matter for us completely?”
“I beg pardon, my lord, if I have said something stupid,” Gilliane offered. “I only thought…”
“Ungrateful dog,” Joanna teased, “you are cross because Gilliane got in before you with a bright idea. Come away, Gilliane, we are spoiling their fun. If we say all the reasonable things quickly, they will not be able to chew the subject over all afternoon before they come to the decision we would have come to in ten minutes.”
A very odd expression crossed Adam’s face, but he said nothing when the ladies rose and left the men to their talk. Gilliane did not know whether she was glad or sorry. She had thought she would die of fear when siege engines and scaling ladders and the necessity of preparing hide shields against hot oil and pitch were discussed. It was a relief to be away from such talk, not to need to govern her face and hold her breathing steady. It was a real pleasure to be in the company of Joanna and Alinor, who kept her mind and her hands busy with talk of management of households and stitchery. On the other hand, she wanted to be near Adam every second before he went away. And she could not decide whether Adam’s laughter had covered pleasure or anger or why Joanna had drawn her away.
The latter question was answered the following evening. Gilliane had not seen Adam at all that day. He had risen
early to see the four men off. They were to lead the troops already under arms down to Wick, taking care that no offense be committed on the way. Adam would bring the men he had hired in Roselynde town and fifty experienced men-at-arms that his mother had offered to lend him from Roselynde keep. He would also bring extra supplies so that there would be no excuse for raiding. In addition, he would see to the armament and crewing of the ship. These arrangements had occupied Adam all day. He had not even returned to the keep to dine.
When he did return, Gilliane was sitting alone by the fire in the great hall. She did not notice him when he entered because she was stunned and frightened by a most peculiar byplay that had taken place a few moments before. She, Joanna, and Lady Alinor had been sewing and talking quietly when a maid came and whispered in Lady Alinor’s ear. She had raised her brows, looked at Gilliane, and said firmly to Joanna, “You feel ill, Joanna. Come above and lie down for a while.”
Joanna’s mouth dropped open. She was breeding and it was true that she was sometimes uneasy in the morning, but she put in a full day’s work, even riding out to the demesne farms when necessary. Her color was good; her voice had been easy; in fact, there was no sign of illness about Joanna. Before she could protest her mother’s non sequitur and irrational remark, Alinor had seized her by the arm and drawn her forcibly out of her chair and across to the stairwell. Gilliane sat looking after them in blank amazement.
“Have you run mad, Mama?” Joanna asked as soon as she could master her surprise. Her voice, however, was low. She did not really think her mother was mad, merely desired an explanation. “Poor Gilliane—”
“Hush,” Alinor said sharply. “I think I am giving ‘poor Gilliane’ exactly what she most desires. I want to see what she does with it. And hold your tongue,” she went on. “I am not spying out of jealousy or morbid curiosity. I have a real purpose.”
Gilliane (Roselynde Chronicles, Book Four) Page 33