by Alex Myers
The day of the feast arrived. Alfred and Silence donned the new doublets King Evan had provided. Alfred’s, of black wool, was adorned with the Count of Nevers’ lion in gold and Silence’s, of green wool, bore a crow. Together, they descended to the hall, where sconces burned brightly. A servant led them to the high table, to the king’s table, a long rectangle with seats on only one side, so they could all look out over the hall; already the knights and lords were waiting by their benches below. Alfred sat to Silence’s right and to Silence’s left, three chairs stood empty. The table was covered in silk damask, worked all over with a dizzying pattern of silver lions and golden chevrons. Golden platters, too, waited before them, and silver flagons ornately carved with forest scenes. The Count of Nevers took the seat at the other end of the row, nodding in acknowledgement of Silence and Alfred’s bows.
Silence had never seen such wealth, such grandeur; he marvelled at it and wondered if it was anything more than a great burden. At that moment, he would have preferred to be back in the leafy quiet of the woods. He caught himself in this thought and had to stifle a laugh: all those years at Ringmar longing for court and now … No, it was a joy to be here, in the thick of all this splendour …
And here was the queen. Eufeme, of whom he had heard so many stories. Who had been won by Evan from Norway, a beautiful girl, a daughter of Norway’s king. Silence bowed low as the king and queen approached; shuffles of leather, rustles of wool as everyone below them did the same. As the king and queen gazed out across the hall, Silence studied her face. Pale, but with a glow to it; like the moon, or a pearl, a milky, hazy, promising hue. Her hair, bound up in an ornate caul of golden wire, shone a lustrous black, so dark against her skin. She turned from the hall, gathering her skirts to settle into her chair, and swept her gaze across Silence. He tried to duck his head and resume his obeisance, but their eyes met. Hers, darkest black, held a glimmer of light, and Silence felt that he was looking down into a well. But he didn’t look for long, and when he straightened from his bow, it was only because Alfred had nudged him, hissing, ‘Sit down.’ He hurried to do so. Benches scraped and servants passed among them, delivering wine: earthen pitchers to the tables below; silver decanters to the king’s table. The king alone stood. He wore a golden circlet around his brow, a cloak of deep red with a collar of brown fur. A servant filled his glass and King Evan raised it.
‘We have come through a time of trouble. A time of doubt, when some raised arms against us. I have felt like a father with a rebellious child, one who will not take instruction, one who will not see that a father knows what is good, that a father cares for his children, that a father will do what is best.’ And here King Evan turned to Silence, cup held before him, the candlelight catching the silver in his hair. ‘And we have been saved, in part, by a son returned. A son we feared lost. He lost his father in this battle, and we have mourned this brave knight’s passing. Today, though, I welcome this son as though he were my own.’ He lifted the flagon. ‘Come, Silence, and stand before me.’ Silence rose; his legs felt heavy, as though he yet wore greaves upon them. He walked around the table to stand before King Evan, his back to the hall. Now he could see the face of the Count of Nevers, beaming behind his moustache. And the face of Eufeme, an arched nose, the barest brush of rose on her pale cheeks, and those eyes, deep enough to drown in.
‘From the moment of your birth, Cornwall was yours. But title and land that is earned is sweeter than title and land that is given. And earned it you have.’ A servant came forward in a tunic of blue and gold, holding a scabbarded sword. ‘This was your father’s blade, retrieved from his side where he fell. Your father’s blade that slew the dragon of Gwenelleth. That cut down the giant of Norway. That felled so many foes in the name of England, in the work of justice, to protect the shores of Cornwall. My cousin, the Count of Nevers, has named you a knight. But today, I name you earl. Guardian of this kingdom. Protector of Cornwall.’ He lifted the sword from the servant’s hands and offered it to Silence. He took it, the metal cool in his hands, and lifted the pommel to his lips, offering it a chaste kiss. Then he bowed low. ‘My lord and liege. I am your servant.’
King Evan seized him by his shoulders and pulled him up. ‘Serve me well, Silence,’ he said. The hall cheered as Silence returned to his seat.
It was Alfred’s turn next, and the king spoke of his bravery, but Silence scarcely heard a word, for once he had returned to his seat next to Queen Eufeme, beneath the silk damask covering the table, he felt fingers on his thigh, a quick squeeze of his leg. He jolted, kept his eyes studiously fixed on Alfred, who was bowing before the king. The fingers squeezed again. Silence pressed his legs close together, shrinking back from the queen. Surely she didn’t … surely she wouldn’t …
Alfred returned to his seat. The fingers retreated from Silence’s thigh. Servants swooped in with platters. ‘How was the hunt?’ King Evan called down the table.
‘Excellent, Your Majesty,’ said Alfred. ‘Lord Burress brought the deer down.’
‘Your hounds are magnificent,’ Silence added.
‘Ah, yes. Your father kept a good kennel,’ King Evan said. Silence cut into the venison, chewed the rich meat; added a comment on the line of boarhounds they had kept at Ringmar, listened to Alfred’s account of the hunt.
The queen leaned close to him and set down her knife. She lifted a finger and pressed it against the crow on Silence’s breast. He fought the urge to flinch. ‘This crow,’ she said, and her voice was rich, mellow. ‘Why? Has it always been part of Cornwall?’
‘Ah, it was my father’s choice. At my mother’s insistence. So I have heard. I never knew my mother,’ Silence stammered. The queen’s finger hadn’t left his chest, still pressed against the crow, and a chill ran through him.
‘I have heard of your mother. A healer.’ The queen’s voice was little more than a murmur, so Silence had to lean close to hear. ‘But why a crow?’
‘They are common in Cornwall, my lady.’
‘They are common everywhere!’ she said and laughed, tossing her head back, arching her pale, slender throat. ‘But you are not common.’
Silence scarcely knew how to respond. So he smiled and said, ‘Thank you, my lady.’
The Count of Nevers was regaling King Evan with the story of how he had met Silence and Alfred at the Moulins Fair. ‘Won the prize for the best song, with a pair of minstrels …’
King Evan leaned forward and said, ‘You must sing for us, then! After dinner. I’ll call my bard and have him play with you.’
Silence found his smile frozen on his lips. The king’s words had, at least, caused Queen Eufeme to remove her finger from his breast, but Silence had no interest in singing. ‘Your Majesty … my days as a minstrel are past, I think.’
The king waggled his finger at Silence. ‘Your father was utterly bereft when you ran away. He thought you had been kidnapped by a pair of travelling musicians. Did you know that he banned all minstrels from Cornwall?’
‘I did not—’ Silence began, but his words ended in a little squawk: Queen Eufeme’s hand had regained its position on his thigh.
‘Ah, ah. You owe Cornwall several years’ worth of music,’ the king chided. ‘Best you get some practice here.’
‘As you wish, my lord.’ Silence tried to lean away from Eufeme, but her fingers persisted. He pressed up against Alfred. ‘Pass me those beans, if you please,’ he said and then whispered, ‘Can we exchange seats?’
‘Most discourteous,’ Alfred said, his eyes glittering. ‘And I know you like to be courteous.’
‘Alfred …’
But his friend, who he suspected knew exactly what was occurring beneath the table, merely smiled. Eufeme’s fingers were moving higher and Silence, in desperation, pushed his chair back. ‘Your Highness. I’ll begin my minstrel’s work now. Your beautiful queen has inspired me.’
The king seemed a bit taken aback, with a knifeful of venison partway to his mouth. Silence thought he could hear Alfred groan
. But the king smiled, his jowls lifting. ‘Of course. Call the bard!’
And so Silence found himself with a stranger’s harp in his hands, seated just behind the high table. Below him, the feast carried on, and he harped for the king and queen and count alone (and Alfred, but he suspected that Alfred’s attention was wandering towards the ladies in the hall).
He began the tale of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. He loved how it started, with Arthur and Guinevere and the strange challenge; with Gawain beheading the knight, only to have the knight pick his own head off the floor. (Silence could remember being horrified by that image, which was illustrated in Griselle’s little book.) And then the quest for the Green Chapel. Silence worked the strings of the harp, making them ring out like a horse’s trot, as Gawain rode and searched, arriving at Bertilak’s castle. And there … now the harp subsided, playing the gentle music that might lull a lord and lady to sleep. There … while Bertilak went hunting each day, Gawain stayed with the lady, who tempted him and tried to seduce him, but Gawain resisted, accepting only a kiss. Or two.
Before he could reach the end of the tale, which really was both the best and the worst part, where Gawain behaved dishonourably (it made Silence cringe every time) but survived the ordeal and reminded all of Arthur’s court of the importance of chastity and honesty, the queen interrupted. She had turned her chair to face Silence while he harped and as he told of Gawain’s time in Bertilak’s castle, a sly smile had spread across her face. She reached back to the table and picked a currant out of the sauce, popped it into her mouth. Licked her red lips with her pink tongue and said, ‘Who could believe such a story? Who could believe a knight would resist a beautiful lady who gives herself willingly?’
And Alfred laughed and said, ‘Indeed, Your Majesty, I am always telling Mau— Silence that these stories fill his head with impossible ideas. Yet, he is the living embodiment of virtue, I assure you.’
Her dark eyes flicked over Alfred. ‘And you are not?’
Now the Count of Nevers rose to Alfred’s aid. ‘Sir Alfred is courageous, yet knows mercy. Honourable and fair. But none of us is perfect … and Alfred has been known to …’ The count cleared his throat. ‘Like to … court … ladies.’
The queen smiled widely. ‘There is nothing wrong with that.’
Alfred returned her smile. ‘That is what I try to tell Silence.’
King Evan set down his flagon. ‘Enough, enough.’ He waved a hand at the queen and Alfred. ‘You’re making the poor fellow blush.’
Silence bent his flaming face to the harp and began playing the notes to a swift marching song.
Earl Silence and Sir Alfred soon became well established at Winchester. They spent the early autumn routing out the remainders of the barons’ forces. They spent the late autumn wandering the woods and roads that stretched away from the castle, pursuing rumours of robbers and highwaymen and, now and then, of trolls or bears. Of trolls, they found none, but Alfred did slay a massive bear, and presented the pelt to King Evan.
King Evan had insisted that Alfred and Silence spend the winter in Winchester, sending the Count of Nevers down to Tintagel. ‘Fresh starts are made in spring,’ the king had said. ‘If you stay here, my steward can teach you all you need to know about taxes and show you the best maps of Cornwall. If you go down to Tintagel, you’ll be mired in a million tiny problems.’
Silence agreed – how could one not agree with the king – and welcomed the chance to be little more than a knight for a while. The harvest season brought festivals, hunts, and jousts. These were the happiest days for Silence. King Evan had given him a courser to replace Wind, a brown gelding that Silence named Bold, and he had spent much time riding and practising on the quintains.
Winchester’s yards were more extensive than those at Tintagel, and here they could set up a course of Rings. The lances they used for this game were lighter and a little shorter, the better to swoop in and catch the ring with the tip of the lance, slide it down the shaft. A dozen or so rings were spread out across the yard, held by squires standing on platforms. Just in the couple of months they’d been at Winchester, Alfred had become an expert at the sport, easily snagging ten rings before missing one; Silence was capable, but he preferred sparring.
They had just finished a game; Silence and Alfred had challenged two of Evan’s knights, and emerged victorious. ‘Would you care to test your skill with the sword? To ten points?’ Silence asked.
Alfred took off his helm and wiped the sweat from his forehead. ‘We’ve won. Why do you want to spar?’
‘I’ve heard the ladies of the court, led by Queen Eufeme, have moved their sewing chamber,’ said one of Evan’s knights, his voice teasing. ‘And no, we don’t wish to spar. I’ve been beaten often enough by you.’
Silence sighed and racked the lances. ‘Why would they move their sewing chamber?’
The knight laughed as they led their mounts towards the stables. ‘They say their new chamber has a better view of the yard used for sparring … and of the new earl who likes to spar there often.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ Silence sputtered, tugging on Bold’s reins.
‘What lady can resist such a show; a young earl, unmarried, the champion of the battle of Tintagel …’
Silence felt heat rise up his neck and into his cheeks, glad they had reached the stables, where the dusty dark would hide his embarrassment. ‘Alfred,’ he whispered as they led Bold and Storm to their stalls. ‘What do I do? Does the queen truly have an interest in me?’ He feared he knew that answer all too well.
‘I would advise you to find yourself a lady to woo, publicly, quite soon.’
Silence groaned. ‘I haven’t the Nature to be a wooer.’
They left the stable and walked up towards the castle’s inner yards, passing under a gatehouse. As always, Silence’s eyes flicked up to the banners above the entry: lion passant. And below that, crow. ‘Every man’s a wooer by Nature,’ said Alfred, then nudged him in the ribs. ‘Look.’ He lifted his chin and Silence saw the object of his interest. The queen. Followed by half a dozen ladies, carrying baskets and lapdogs.
‘Quick,’ said Silence, pivoting and heading in the opposite direction. ‘Before she sees us.’
‘Retreat from the field of battle? Most ignoble,’ Alfred teased. ‘Unbecoming of a knight.’ But he hurried away with Silence, laughing as they sought refuge in the kitchens.
As for Alfred, he had three ladies that he teased, took for walks, and sat beside in the evenings while Silence played his harp. ‘One would be too few, two would fight with each other, and four would be too many,’ was all he said when Silence asked why three.
There were plenty of young women who listened to Silence play. There were evenings when King Evan insisted Silence sit at the high table between two young ladies. In truth, this placement was quite a relief, as neither lady fondled his thigh. Visiting counts brought their marriageable daughters, and Silence handled them all politely. He spoke to them kindly, but blandly. He could not find it in him to court, for he knew it would be pretence, deception.
More than once, he wished that his father had put it around that Silence was born a eunuch. He knew some at the court spread such a rumour, and he did nothing to quell it, for it explained his smooth cheeks and his high and husky voice. Regardless, these very traits seemed to draw women to him. Perhaps it was curiosity or challenge, but though he tried to hold them at arm’s length, his arms weren’t long enough.
That winter was particular torture, confined as they often were to the keep. The steward busied Silence with studies of the maps of Cornwall, lecturing him on fishing villages, the depths of harbours, which woods were to be kept for the king’s hunts, and so on. These sessions alternately bored Silence terribly and stirred up a strange longing in him. Tracing his fingers over the parchment, imagining that the lines weren’t just ink but rocky coastline, grey-blue waters, he thought, this is my land. And he began to look forward to the spring, to the smell of sea
weed, to the pounding of the waves. To lambs new-born in fields that were his.
Yet winter dragged on. Silence taught the pages tunes on the lute. He made the squires clear the snow from the courtyard so they could spar despite the cold. But, inevitably, by the time evening drew near (and the evenings of winter are long), he found himself sitting by the hearth, playing the harp, with Queen Eufeme beside him.
‘Come to me,’ she whispered one evening, bending close to his ear. She smelled of rosewater and something else, the tartness of lemon. ‘The king meets with his counsellors all morning. Come to me after Terce.’ Her lips brushed the edge of his jaw; he fought to keep from flinching, which would only draw attention to them, and then she leaned away. ‘You don’t know that song! For shame, Earl Silence! Who can teach this man “The Knight Comes Courting”?’
A babble of reply broke out, and Silence was glad of the dimness to cover the horror on his face. Go to the queen? In her chamber? When the king was not there? Some knight stood and sang, but others booed him, and Silence arranged his face into calmness. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You have brought the tune to mind.’
He harped and sang and told stories and watched the queen from the corner of his eye. With her dark hair and pale skin she reminded him of a magpie, that black and white bird that perched and kept lookout for anything sparkling, that it might swoop down and carry the treasure to its nest. He feared that to Queen Eufeme, he was little more than a bright bauble …
When he could, he sought the company of Lady Elizabeth, who often brought her son to the hall to listen to Silence play. Those were happy hours, when he’d tell the little boy stories, and he and Elizabeth might sing silly songs to entertain him. And the boy would doze off and Elizabeth might ask Silence to tell her again of his adventures as a minstrel, or he might recount the marvellous joust that he saw Jackin win, or she might tell of how she first met Jackin at a midsummer festival long ago.