by Maria Ling
"You don't seem surprised that de Rous made a complaint," the marshal observed.
Alan shrugged. Usually these matters were settled in person, on the field or off. But this quarrel wasn't about tournament tactics.
"I half expected it," Alan confessed. "He didn't take kindly to being brought down, and there was some ill feeling before. But you have my version of the tale. Beyond that, you'll have to make your own decision." The anger that surged in him rose anew, and spilled over into words. "I can tell you that I've never deliberately injured a horse in my life. If he blames that for his downfall, he's lying."
The marshal nodded. "Truth be told, I'm inclined to see things your way. That horse seems fit and well to me. But you don't have much of a name, whereas de Rous is known for an influential man. Besides, the household favours him. I don't say you're in the wrong, but I'd be grateful if you stayed away from the banquet this evening regardless. For your own safety, you might be best off leaving tonight. I'll convey your apologies if you wish."
Alan concentrated on taking light steady breaths. Anger would do him no good at all here. That was for combat, when he must bring all his strength and skill to bear on a single point. Situations like this required delicacy and careful handling.
He refused to let Caroline see him run away like a frightened squire. At the same time, he didn't relish open enmity between himself and a lord of both wealth and power, especially since it would place his friends in danger too.
"Put it to the household," Alan said. "If your lord and his lady want me gone, I have no wish to trespass on their hospitality. But if not, I will remain and defend myself against the charges laid before me. Openly and by combat, if necessary."
The marshal smothered what looked like the beginning of a smile. "You'd hold the advantage there. Well, I'll put the matter to my lord de Louvain. I have a notion I know what the answer will be, and not from him but from his lady. But I'll ask."
"Thank you," Alan said, and meant it. They all ran a risk here, of offending a guest and a wealthy magnate in one sweep. But he refused to run like a coward, for all that.
He courteously escorted the marshal out of the tent, which gave him an excuse to dawdle a while in the chill of evening. The site bustled with people: pages and squires striding to and fro on their masters' errands, grooms tending horses, children scampering around the edges of the tents and shoving each other to the accompaniment of shrill battlefield cries.
Some of them might be his opponents yet, in years to come. Alan smiled at that thought. He'd never craved children of his own, never cared much whether his line continued or not. He had brothers, well able to manage such things. But now, loitering in the twilight, watching little bodies fly swift in semblance of battle, hearing the squeals of threat and delight, he wondered what it might be like to raise some of his own.
Not that he was likely to marry. He held little wealth or influence as yet. Given a decade or so on the tourney field, he might amount to something.
While Caroline married elsewhere. That thought stabbed at him, unexpected and deeply painful. He could imagine choosing someone like her, if he were in a mind to choose. But he could not offer much, a life on the road, or a small manor perhaps, while she with all her beauty and brilliance could have any man for the asking.
Men like the lord he'd bested, who yet had power enough to bar him from banquets and send him into ignominious flight. Who might take a seat by Caroline even now, and harry her as he'd done on that first evening, while no one rose to defend her.
Abruptly Alan stalked over to Guillaume's tent. He'd never called on favours before, not of this kind. But he was lucky in friendship, and this was one cause where he felt justified to wring every bit of use from it that he could.
Guillaume lay stretched out full length on the bed. Matilda sat crosswise by him, patiently still while her page bandaged her wrist.
"Bad?" Alan asked, sympathetic but not much concerned. Gashes and bruises were to be expected, even the odd broken bone. Matilda had never let the dangers hold her back.
"Just a sprain," she said. "Don't want it swelling and causing mischief. You?"
Alan shook his head. "Fine." He ached like fury, but it didn't matter. Instead he glanced over the page, weighed how confidential his own errand must be. Decided not much, and launched into his tale.
Guillaume laughed outright. "What a fool. Charles won't hear of it. He already knows you for a good hand with horses. Besides, guests are honoured in his house. De Rous had better look to his own departure, if he presses this one home."
"I doubt anyone will believe the tale against us," Alan admitted. "But you never know. If it spreads -- "
Guillaume snorted.
"It's a point," Matilda said. She nudged Guillaume. "Could be worth having a word with Charles, since you know him. Give him a chance to cut this off at the roots."
"Maybe." Guillaume closed his eyes, sighed deeply, then swung himself off the bed. "There was me hoping for a quiet rest." He shot Matilda a twinkling glance, which she met with a grin.
"I don't want to know," Alan said. Happy as he was for the pair of them, their easy intimacy stung him at times. More, in truth, because he envied it for himself than because he grudged them it.
"No one's telling you." Guillaume punched him on the shoulder in passing, not hard, as close as they ever got to any display of friendship. Yet there was comradeship there, no less true for being unspoken. "Look after my wife, will you? See that she's not troubled."
"I'll back her up at need," Alan promised. Which he would, and he'd do the same for the rest of the band also, Guillaume included. Had done, more than once, in tight spots on the tourney field. Today it had been their turn to come to his aid, and now he could only pray they would not suffer for it.
Matilda dismissed the page, then poured out honeyed wine -- far too sweet as usual, it made Alan gag. But he sipped it for courtesy, and reminded himself that honey was a supreme remedy for all bodily ills.
"So," Matilda said. "This Caroline girl."
Alan winced at hearing her so described. "What of her?"
"You're developing a fondness."
"Hardly." Alan wilted under Matilda's forthright stare. "Perhaps a little. She's a remarkable woman. Learned. Skilful in argument. Beautiful."
Matilda coughed. "You think so?"
"Of course." No one could fail to admire those brilliant eyes as she spoke with passionate earnestness about high matters of theology, the firm roundness of her curves under the long tunic that she wore. Alan flushed at the recollection, and hid behind another sip of the dreadful wine.
"If I call you besotted," Matilda said, "I mean it in the fondest possible way. Well, good luck to the pair of you. Are you going to return her favour?"
"Depends whether I get close enough." He wouldn't, of course: he'd treasure it long after this day. "If she's -- " Alan paused, sought for words. Chose another tack. "Would you say I'm the kind of man a woman might wish to marry?"
"Depends on the woman. Why, are you thinking of it?"
"Considering it, yes." He was startled to find himself admitting that much outright. But then Matilda had been his friend for years, he trusted her, and she probably knew him better than anyone else. Flaws and all. "I haven't had the best of luck with my proposals, as you know."
"Your timing was off," Matilda said comfortably. "If you'd asked me a month or two sooner, I might well have said yes."
"If that bastard husband of yours hadn't broken my jaw first, I probably would have done."
"Remind me to thank him when he comes back."
"Now I feel appreciated."
Matilda threw a biscuit at him. Alan caught it neatly in one hand.
"You know exactly what I mean," Matilda said. "We'd have worked out fine together, but I'm happier with Guillaume than I would ever have been with you. And you'll probably be happier with this peculiar girl than you'd ever have been with me."
"She's not peculiar."
"Anyone who talks abo
ut books of floating people must be strange."
Alan suppressed a groan, though he did consider throwing the biscuit at her dense skull. Not a chivalrous impulse. He bit into the thing instead, and nearly spat it out. Honey everywhere, it made him retch.
"You surprise me," Matilda said with a twinkle in her eyes. "Time was you'd have leapt at that chance for an argument."
"No use," Alan said, his voice muffled by crumbs. "If you don't grasp the simplest principles of philosophical speculation by now, after being tutored so extensively by geniuses such as my modest self -- "
Matilda threw another biscuit at him. This time he tossed it right back. She caught it easily, and ate it with obvious relish. Crazy woman. But dear as a sister to him, now and always. Dearer, in some ways, for his sisters were married and far away, and never mentioned tourneys in their letters.
He'd want that in a wife, Alan reflected. Some measure of interest, no matter how slight, in the pursuits that dominated his life. But not a fellow fighter, and not a thick-headed creature like Matilda. Someone clever, and well-read, and -- damn it, he might as well admit the truth.
"I love her," Alan said. "Caroline. At least, I think so."
"That's your trouble," Matilda said. "You think too much. Just let yourself feel for a while."
Alan shrugged. "I'd never expected love to come on all at once. That's troubadour's talk. Nothing but myth."
"Which you would know how, exactly?"
"A book told me so," Alan quipped.
It wasn't true, but Matilda sighed as if he'd spoken in earnest. "That's what I mean. Stop trying to learn things from bits of parchment. When did they ever help you in real life?"
"Every tourney," Alan said, giving thanks for his battered copy of Vegetius. Only Roland's was better thumbed. Alan and he quoted it back and forth to each other on long rides, driving the rest of the party to distraction.
Alan indulged in a momentary fantasy of Caroline riding beside him, swapping quotes from other texts, while the rest of the group fled from all manner of mad learning. It made him smile.
"If you say so." Matilda ate the last biscuit, and drained her wine. "You have my best wishes, if that's any use to you. This Caroline girl seems about as crazy as you are, which ought to make for a good start to any marriage."
Alan laughed. "I'm glad you think so. Best find out what her views are, before we make any further plans."
And he would, he decided. Just as soon as Guillaume returned with assurances that all was well.
***
"Eh," Charles said. "If that's how you tell it, Guillaume my boy, then that's what I believe. Never trusted that oaf anyway." He glanced at the door that separated them from the ladies' chamber. "I don't think I'm talking out of turn if I mention that Caroline seems, ahem, a little taken with this Alan friend of yours. You know how girls are. Handsome lad, and so forth. I haven't put a stop to it, because, well, it's harmless enough. But before it goes too far... What's he like?"
"Courageous. Skilful. Best young tourney knight in Flanders, I'd call him." Guillaume's voice held no hesitation at all.
"Really?" Charles' face puffed out in amazement. "I've asked around a bit -- subtly, you know -- but I don't hear of much in the way of honours and prizes."
"He fights clever. Usually. Knows who to take, and when -- and how." Guillaume grinned, thought with satisfaction of their last few encounters. "Cautious of tangling with his superiors. I may have taught him that. Took his favourite horse off him once, before he joined us. Broke his jaw, too."
"Hm." Charles stroked his own grey-stubbled one. "That's not much of a recommendation."
"Still tried to fight me over a woman."
"Foolhardy."
"When she chose me, he took me aside and said I would die if I ever hurt her."
"This young man doesn't strike me as -- "
"Next time we met in combat, he caught me low and sent me clear out of the saddle and into the physician's hands. Worked on that stroke for months, apparently."
Charles' fingers paused. "After that?"
"Said he'd take his horse back by way of a ransom -- unless I agreed to let him join us, in which case he'd be in my debt."
"I see." Charles scraped at his chin. "Which you agreed to. Why?"
"It's a fine horse. And I like him. After a fashion. My wife thinks well of him, and she's known him for years. He's proved himself in my eyes. You could do worse than have words with him."
"Madeline -- my wife, you know, Caroline's mother -- is after wealth and connections."
Guillaume shrugged. "He's distantly related to a French duke, and cousin to Robert le Taureau, if that's a level that would satisfy her. Makes a comfortable living among us, with enough laid by to fetch a manor or two if the fancy takes him. Some gold held safe in his name, silver plate and a few horses. Nothing grand, but he's solid."
"Hm." Charles pondered, threw another glance at the closed door. "I take it he's not promised elsewhere?"
"Doubt it. Matilda would know."
"Then bring her -- bring all your party. A little gathering before you leave. I'd like to hear what you've been up to. After all the fuss is over, got to see our barons off in style. Stay on for a few days. If you can?"
"Be sure of it," Guillaume said. He liked Charles, always had done, from way back when Charles served among Guillaume's father's men. Guillaume still recalled following Charles around as an admiring page, begging to be taught those forceful blows. Charles had dealt out as sharp a clip around the ears as any other knight back then, but he'd taken the time to show and explain, which none of the rest had patience for.
"You were a fine boy," Charles conceded with a sigh. "I should have had sons, you know. Great pity. Though my girls are angels, all of them. Yes -- do come, and bring your friends. And if this Alan so happens to be looking for a wife, you might just mention in passing -- hint, as it were -- that our Caroline has not yet been promised to anyone."
***
"You're in," Guillaume said. "She fancies you."
Alan started, and almost dropped the vial of scented water.
He'd been half asleep on his bed when Guillaume ducked into the tent to give him the joyful news that all disapproval was cleared away and the whole party were expected at the banquet within the quarter hour. That was enough -- it was more than enough -- and Alan had turned with delight to such modest preparations as he was able to make within the time.
Only to have Guillaume spring this on him.
"Caroline's not -- " Alan caught his soaring voice and steadied it -- "that is, her affections are not engaged elsewhere?"
"Who'd have her?" Guillaume demanded. "Strange girl, and plain with it. But she's after you, lad, and since you have the poor taste to fancy her, I'd say you have a clear field and an open charge."
Alan disdained the challenge so bluntly thrown. "What of her parents?"
Guillaume lounged against the table, with an expression that was not quite a sneer but too close for Alan's temper. "You'd let them stand in your way?"
"Damn right I would. If they care for her at all, and she for them, their opinion will have weight. What are their thoughts on the matter?"
"Doubt they've thought of you much at all."
Alan muffled an oath. "On the matter of marriage, I meant."
"It's agreed with them these past twenty years."
No chance of getting sense out of Guillaume in this mood. Alan turned his mind to a notion that cheered him. "She gave me her favour. That must mean something."
"Canny idea of hers." Guillaume looked entirely too satisfied with himself. "Question is, will you take her up on the offer?"
Alan busied himself with his cloak. Should have the page here to dress him, really, but then Guillaume would not speak so freely.
Besides, Guillaume might clout the lad, out of habit if nothing else, and Alan couldn't abide blows against a child. They'd have to fight over that, too. Best to remain private.
"What offer would that
be?" Alan asked, in a nonchalant tone that would have made Geoffrey proud.
"To court her, you mutton-headed clot. She's not the type to go scattering favours to all and sundry and forget where she left them. What do you think she singled you out for, if not to send a message?"
There was that, Alan mused. But all the same... "Why would she look at me? There are plenty of rich and powerful men for the taking, if she has a mind to marry."
Guillaume heaved a sigh. "I give up. Always told Matilda you have no blood in you."
"I have plenty, as it happens. And I prefer it to stay there."
Guillaume snorted, and stalked out of the tent. Alan spared a moment to snatch the page and obtain final adjustments, then strode after.
A chill had settled over the site, and stars lit faintly in a sky that arched silent and still. But from the hall streamed the roar of many voices chattering, and once within he found the place bright and hot with lamps.
She was there. Caroline. A little tired, perhaps, though flushed and lovely in the warm light. She stood close with Ralph de Niege, the day's champion, and his hand rested firm under hers. Alan quelled a surge of anger at that: he had no right to intervene, or even object. The man had earned the day's prize.
As for Caroline herself, she was at perfect liberty to entertain the admiration of any man she chose to. Of course she could choose her own company. Besides, this was mere courtesy -- even Alan could grasp that. She was doing what every charming lady patron must do: extend gracious welcome to whichever man had won the right to keep by her.
The bastard. Alan directed a glare at him, and got an absent-minded frown in return.
"There's my young captor." The elder version of Caroline's companion, the baron de Niege who Alan had caught earlier in the day, clapped Alan on the shoulder. "Very pretty fighting today, my boy. I don't feel such a decrepit old fool any more, having watched you demolish the rest of the field."
Alan grinned. "You're generous in defeat, my lord."
"Eh, I'll get revenge on you in time. Watch yourself."
"Dare I ask if you fell to a man less generous than myself?" Alan probed. "I made no condition that you feast among those within."