Fulk kissed her hand and her cheek and went toward his horse. He was so tired that he had to stop and gather his strength before he could step into his saddle. It had done no good, all the prayer; he had gotten neither an answer nor resignation. The ride back to Stamford seemed like a torture and the great affairs there of no more importance than the flutter of the leaves in the wind.
“Let’s go,” he said to Roger, and they rode at a noisy trot out the gate.
TEN
The gold medal of Saint Anne lay in Fulk's palm. Before him, Simon twuisted the ring on his little finger as if he meant to tear his finger off. "That man of Thierry's had it--Haaken. Thierry came to him when he saw he was wearing it and they argued and Thierry took it from him. I got it later from his room. He and all his men are in one of Lincoln's houses, they don't tyhink it odd if I go there, they know me from before when I was Thierry's man. You know that medal is Rannulf's."
Fulk turned the medal over in his fingers. "It was Rannulf's." He drew a deep breath and held it a moment and let it out. In a soft voice, he said, "I would not have thought this of Thierry."
"My lord, let me--"
"No." Fyulk stood up, toiok the medal, and went into the back of the room to put it into his chest. This room was large and sunny, and he could look out the windows and see the trees of the garden. He went back to Simon.
"The man who had it, before Thierry took it," he said to Simpon. "Haaken. Go get him for me. Not dead."
"I can't, my lord," Simon said. "He is dead. Drowned. They pulled him out of the river the day after I saw him with the medal."
Fulk clicked his tongue. "Too bad. You must have frightened them. Don't go down there again, Thierry must know--No, no, go if you wish, but be careful, and keep watch on him for me. Will you?"
"My lord," Simon said, fiercely.
"Never let him go anywhere without your watching."
Simon whirled and bounded out the door. Fulk stood looking at the trees through the window; they were heavy with ripe apples.
It was proof of nothing, that the man had the medal--Fulk could think of several ways he might have come by it, and several innocent reasons why Thierry would have taken it from him. But the man was dead. Another accident. Fulk called to Morgan for his cloak and went down the stair into the hall of the house.
In the house's small courtyard, Simon was mounting his horse. He looked at Fulk, and Fulk waved him out the gate. Beyond the wall, the street was filled with people going to and from the marketplace. Because he had been at Ledgefield when they moved, he had gotten a house in the noisiest part of the town. With Morgan, he rode four streets away to Leicester's house, where it was much quieter.
TEN
The gold medal of Saint Anne lay in Fulk's palm. Before him, Simon twisted the ring on his little finger as if he meant to tear his finger off. "That man of Thierry's had it--Haaken. Thierry came to him when he saw he was wearing it and they argued and Thierry took it from him. I got it later from his room. He and all his men are in one of Lincoln's houses, they don't think it odd if I go there, they know me from before when I was Thierry's man. You know that medal is Rannulf's."
Fulk turned the medal over in his fingers. "It was Rannulf's." He drew a deep breath and held it a moment and let it out. In a soft voice, he said, "I would not have thought this of Thierry."
"My lord, let me--"
"No." Fulk stood up, took the medal, and went into the back of the room to put it into his chest. This room was large and sunny, and he could look out the windows and see the trees of the garden. He went back to Simon.
"The man who had it, before Thierry took it," he said to Simon. "Haaken. Go get him for me. Not dead."
"I can't, my lord," Simon said. "He is dead. Drowned. They pulled him out of the river the day after I saw him with the medal."
Fulk clicked his tongue. "Too bad. You must have frightened them. Don't go down there again, Thierry must know--No, no, go if you wish, but be careful, and keep watch on him for me. Will you?"
"My lord," Simon said, fiercely.
"Never let him go anywhere without your watching."
Simon whirled and bounded out the door. Fulk stood looking at the trees through the window; they were heavy with ripe apples.
It was proof of nothing, that the man had the medal--Fulk could think of several ways he might have come by it, and several innocent reasons why Thierry would have taken it from him. But the man was dead. Another accident. Fulk called to Morgan for his cloak and went down the stair into the hall of the house.
In the house's small courtyard, Simon was mounting his horse. He looked at Fulk, and Fulk waved him out the gate. Beyond the wall, the street was filled with people going to and from the marketplace. Because he had been at Ledgefield when the army moved into town, he had gotten a house in the noisiest part. With Morgan, he rode four streets away to Leicester's house, where it was much quieter.
Leicester was standing in the courtyard watching a man shoe a horse; he wore leather breeches and a shirt open all down the front. The horse was fighting, and he spoke to the smith, who shouted something and laughed. Fulk dismounted and started toward him.
"Robert, let me talk to you a moment."
Leicester looked around, his hands on his belt, and raised his eyebrows. Fulk led him away from the other man.
"Chester and Thierry killed Rannulf."
With his hand on Leicester's arm he felt the other man start. "What? How do you know?"
"Simon d'Ivry found a medal of Rannulf's in Thierry's house. The man he saw wearing it was killed the next day." He paused a moment, fighting down his sense of haste; he kept his voice low. "Why would they kill Rannulf? It makes no sense."
Leicester said, "Rannulf has a son. How old?"
"Newborn."
"Aye, and if you die, and your heirs are Hugh and this baby, and Thierry makes a contest of it, who will profit?"
"None," Fulk said. "None of them."
"Chester will."
Fulk said nothing. In the corner of his eye, he saw a sudden movement, and he jumped, but it was the horse kicking out at the smith.
"You must see it."
Looking up at him, Fulk nodded; he remembered what Chester had said of using other men. "What is it in Thierry that makes him so useful a tool to everybody?"
"He's a fool. Such men are always used."
"Rannulf loved him. I--"
"Did Thierry love Rannulf? I never marked it. It's Chester who rides him now."
"They came back to my tent that day, to say that--" He turned back toward his horse and took the reins and a handful of mane in his fist.
"Wait," Leicester said sharply. "The prince will not let you kill them, without suffering for it."
"Thierry is still an outlaw."
"He is in the prince's favor." Leicester took hold of the shank of Fulk's bit. The smith's hammer rang evenly, a dozen strides away. "You must have better evidence. You must try to make a case of it. I'll help you."
"No," Fulk said. ""How long would that take? and it would have to go to King Stephen's court. No."
Leicester frowned. "Be careful, will you, God, you will ruin your family, if you--"
"I'm not for killing them," Fulk said. "Not yet."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know. Something." For an instant, in his mind, he sasw the face of Red Alys of Dol. He sawed on his reins, and the horse lifted its head out of Leicester's grip. "I'll tell you." He ride out into the street, wondering if Rannulf had known who it was that killed him.
"My lady," the bailiff of Highfield said, "The Earl of Stafford is here and wishes to see you."
The Lady Rohese was sitting at her loom, in the great hall of Highfield; she rose and came smiling to meet Fulk, her tall gaunt body draped in white and dark green, and when he took her hand he felt the sharp bones and the strength of her fingers.
"My lady, I'm very pleased to see you again."
"I would be more pleased to see you, my lor
d, if I did not know that you came to get provisions for your army. Come sit. Do you mind if I go on with my work?"
"Please."
He went around behind the loom, curious; this hall was covered with tapestry, and when he saw the work in the loom he realized that Rohese had woven it all by herself. In the center of the work on the loom was a crowned king at table, surrounded by his knights, and along the edge she had made scenes of war, of women watching, castles and feasts and hunting. The colors were bright and clear, and she had set them together well. The faces of the people were only dots in pale ovals, but the clothes were excellent.
"This is skillfully done," he said.
"Thank you," she said, and sat down on her stool. "I find it pleasant work. Richard, bring that chair closer."
The servant got a chair from beside the hearth and dragged it across the room. Rohese was sitting before the window, so that the light shone on what she was doing.
"As to your accusation that I'm stealing provisions--"
"I know you are not stealing them, she said. "You pay very well, I understand, and with the king's coin. But none of the manors has beasts to spare, and you take more than we can do without."
"With the money you can buy others." Fulk sat down. "Who told you about it?"
"Durand Fitz Osbern, my neighbor to the north. He says you took one half of his cattle, and I know his calves were disappointing this spring." She snipped a thread, selected a light green one, and worked it carefully into a tree in one corner of the tapestry. "How many of my beasts do you want?"
Durand, in fact, had advised Fulk on her holding. "We need sixty cattle, hens as many as you can spare, and--" He stood up. "My lady Alys."
"I heard you had come."
Alys of Dol came forward from the door. She wore a yellow gown embroidered with small blue flowers; her red hair hung down her back in two thick braids. At Stafford her braids had been much longer. She stopped midway between the door and Fulk and looked at Rohese.
"Good day, cousin. Why did you try to keep from me that he had come?"
"I know you don't like him," Rohese said calmly. The loom creaked evenly while she worked; she was still making the tree in the border, and the green rose up above the work on either side. "I didn't think you'd want to see him."
Alys gave Fulk a long, narrow look. "No. You just will not let me talk to a man. It doesn't matter who he is."
"Nonsense," Rohese said, her mouth full of threads. "You may stay if you wish, child."
"Don't call me child."
"If you persist in this discourtesy--"
"I won't." Alys sat down on a stool, facing Fulk, her hands in her lap. One of the dogs who lay near the hearth came over, and she put one hand on its head. "I promise. My lord, where is Thierry?"
Fulk sat down again. The two women exchanged glances like edges of ice rubbing together. Rohese snipped off a thread and set her scissors down with a click.
"Please, cousin," Alys said bitterly.
Rohese was searching for another color, her head bent over her basket. "I will not allow it. My lord Stafford and I were speaking of important affairs when you came in. Be quiet until we finish. You mentioned cattle and hens, my lord."
"Swine, sheep, cheese, flour. Ale or wine." He paused, in case she remembered she had not yet offered him anything to quench his thirst, but she said nothing; the bobbin with its tail of color whipped back and forth through the moving threads.
"You sound like peddlers," Alys said, and laughed.
"And when must I have these beasts collected?" Rohese asked.
"As soon as you can. Send to me when they are counted and marked and I'll arrange to drive them to Stamford and pay you. Did Durand tell you my prices?"
"Yes. I think them good enough. I shall speak to my bailiff. How does your siege of Stamford go? I shouldn't think it would offer much difficulty to you."
Fulk watched Alys' foot, endlessly tapping. "No. We hold the town, and we expect the castle to fall very shortly."
"Is Thierry at Stamford?" Alys said. "Please. Tell me." Her feverish eyes darted toward Rohese and returned to Fulk.
"I told you not to--"
"You said I could ask, when you finished your business--you said I could."
Rohese put her bobbin down and looked at Filk. "Did I?"
"I don't recall, lady."
"Oh--tell her, then, she'll hear it from someone else, if you do not."
"Thierry is at Stamford," Fulk said. "He is close to Prince Henry and in the friendship of the Earl of Chester, he is well, and he has not taken another woman."
"Stafford," Rohese said sharply. "In a handful of words you have destroyed all my work."
"You are kind, my lord," Alys said, surprised. "Have you been reconciled, you and he?"
"No. Never."
She shrugged that aside. "I should not have asked." A page came in, and she sent him down to the kitchen for honeycakes; she sat, half in the sunshine, with the creak of the loom behind her. For the first time, Fulk saw her soft and calm. She looked much younger, and very lovely. He knew she was plotting her way to Stamford.
"Tell me about this prince," Rohese said. "Rumor talks of nothing else. We hear that he is handsome, just and wise, and that he is a monstrous devil full of iniquities."
Fulk was thirsty; he considered asking for a drink, decided it would be discourteous, and feigned a dry cough instead. "You should meet him, my lady, and make up your own mind."
"I would--Mother of God, what a creature you must think me. Alys, will you call for a page? I have offered Stafford nothing to refresh him after the long ride here from Stamford. You will try some of our strawberry wine, my lord, will you not? I much prefer it to ale."
"Of course." The thought of strawberry wine alarmed him; he shifted in his chair.
"I would enjoy meeting your prince. My prince, he shall be, I understand. But I fear I would be most unwelcome in a camp of war. I wish I were a man."
"My lady wife told me several times how boring it is to be a woman."
Alys came back and sat down. "Thierry spoke lovingly of the countess. I was unhappy to hear that she died, my lord."
"But she was right that womanhood is boring," Rohese said. "I met her once, in London, I believe, but I didn't realize she and I were so much alike."
Fulk hadn't realized that either. He watched a page pour the strawberry wine--its aroma was chokingly sweet. Alys was watching him, no longer soft; she had remembered to be unfriendly.
"I like being a woman," she said. "No one treats men as prettily as they treat women."
"Except women," Fulk said.
"If I were a man I would ride to Stamford to talk to this Prince Henry," Rohese said. "Ah, well, I suppose I shall meet him someday."
"Lady, you have the means to meet him now, if you wish. He loves to hunt, tell him that he may use your hunting lodge and forest and your dogs to hunt with, while he is at Stamford. He would certainly come here to thank you and you could serve him a great supper."
"Stafford. What a superb idea. I shall. Will you carry a letter back to him for me?"
Fulk took the cup from the pages; he knew Alys' eyes were on him, suspicious. "I would be happy to." The wine was thick and sweet and almost made him retch.
"Walter," Alys said to the page. "Bring my lord Stafford some of our ale--cousin, you cannot serve men your sticky wines."
"Oh? Don't you like it?" Rohese turned toward Fulk.
"I'm sorry, my lady. No."
"What a pity. Giles detested it. My last husband. All men are alike."
Alys gave a shout of laughter. Rohese put her basket down and slid her stool away from the high loom. "I'll send for my clerk and write the letter now." With the keys and scissors jangling at her waist, she strode toward the door. The page Walter came back with a fresh cup and a swan's-neck ewer.
"Bring it here, Walter," Alys said, and rose. "I'll serve you, my lord. Tell me more of Thierry."
"I would rather not, my lady."
"Does he ever speak of me?"
"Once. I don't remember what he said, I'm sorry."
She poured the ale expertly, neatly, and brought it to him. When he had taken it, she picked up the cup of strawberry wine, bending to reach it, and murmured, "Take me to Stamford."
"No." Not yet, anyway. He took a long drink of ale.
"I knew you would not." She held out the winecup to the page. "Walter, take this down to the kitchen."
"My lady, I cannot leave the room."
Alys threw the cup at him. "Damn you, brat, take it away, I'll twist your ears off, wet breeches--" She charged him, and the page skittered out of the way, his hands over his ears.
"Let him alone," Fulk said. "That's your cousin's order not to leave you alone with men. Sit down and stop behaving like an ale-wife."
"Now there's strawberry wine on the Grail tapestry," she said. "I hate it here. I cannot ride, or even walk alone in the courtyard. She never leaves me alone. You must take me to Stamford."
"No."
"I can't bear it. I'll kill myself. I'll leap off the top of the tower. You must help me escape from here."
"God's bones. Leap off the tower. Only stop screaming."
She sat down, drew her braids over her shoulders, and stared at him. "Is it true what she says? Are all women covering up their hair now, like nuns, and wearing coifs?"
"All the women in France. I think it's an ugly style, myself. You have very pretty hair."
"I shall have to find linen for a coif. I thought she was telling me so to make me cover it." She smoothed her hair back from her temples with both hands. "Why are you being kind to me suddenly?"
"I have no reason to be otherwise. On the previous occasion, remember, I had something to gain by making you lose your temper."
"I don't believe you."
"As you wish, my lady." Rohese was coming in the door; he stood. Behind her was her clerk, a monk who was probably her confessor as well--she had many of the new habits of the continent. She sat down and motioned to the monk to sit nearby.
"Walter, bring that little table here. Brother Gervase is my confessor, my lord Stafford."
THE EARL (A HAMMER FOR PRINCES) Page 25