Bond of Blood

by Roberta Gellis

  "No," Radnor gasped, vaguely aware that there was danger in drinking what Leah offered. "No, it will not stay down."

  "This will, and it will make you much better. It is a remedy my mother used for my father who was often in the state you are now. Come, drink."

  His lips parted to order her away angrily, but the words never came. In the depths of his sick depression, Cain no longer lied to himself. If there was something dangerous in the cup Leah offered him, he wanted to drink it. It would be better to die than to live with such knowledge, for he had fallen into the trap against which Philip had warned him. He was the slave of his love for Leah; even if he knew she wished him dead, he would not be able to hurt her to free himself.

  Twenty minutes later, Radnor sat up gingerly. His head still ached, but his stomach was quiet and his mouth no longer tasted like an unswept barn. The drink was as she said; Leah would do him no harm nor conspire to harm him. Cain looked at his wife remorsefully, but he could not apologize for his suspicions without hurting her by naming them. Instead he laughed when Leah brought him his clothes and assured her that he did not drink to excess often. Helping him to dress, Leah forced herself to smile and reply that as long as he was so gentle and merry she cared not how often he was drunk. Her eyes were anxious, however, when she asked how he felt and whether it would be safe for him to ride.

  "Safe or not, it must be. Nay, I have been successful feeling worse than this. The first few shocks are hard, but when the blood rises the unease passes." He hesitated, passing his hand over his unshaven face. It would be better if she would stay behind so that if Pembroke were successful she would not need to remember seeing him die. "Will you not stay safe at home, my love, until I return to you?"

  "A hundred times this night I have said just that to myself, that I should stay at home and not be tortured. I cannot, my lord. It would be worse torture by far to stay behind and not know what was happening. If harm comes to you—oh, God help me—I must be there."

  There was no sense arguing. "Very well, then let me go. I must speak to Giles and arrange for your safe-keeping."

  Arrangements were very quickly made for guarding Leah in the viewing stands. Giles and one group would watch one end of the stands; Cedric and another would guard the other end, and a few trusted men were to be sprinkled through the crowd to keep their ears open and give warning. All were to be fully armed.

  "We will have trouble getting through," Cedric protested. "The royal guards do not like full-armed men at these tourneys."

  "You wear my blazon and I am king's champion. Tell the royal guards to protest to me. And I tell you all here and now," Radnor said, raising his voice, "that you are expendable. If any untoward circumstance other than that to do with the tourney affrights my lady, none of you will live to see Wales again. I will cut out your hearts and livers with my own hands and before your very eyes—and make you eat them raw and smoking."

  "You are a little hoarse this morning, my lord. Have you lost your lust to sing?"

  Cain turned his head sharply. "Let be, Giles. The head I have is punishment enough."

  "No, it is not," Giles replied with sudden fierceness. "Before a grudge fight like this, only a moonling drinks more than he can hold."

  "Keep your tongue between your teeth, old man. I did not do it apurpose nor willingly. These letters I had to have from Stephen, and the drink was a better convincer even than my golden tongue. Listen, Giles. There is some chance— Bless me if I know how to say this or even what to say."

  "If you mean to tell me that they will try for your head again? I know. Oxford's hired killers drink too."

  "No, Giles, not that. I can still find courage to say straight out that death waits for me. First, send these letters to William of Gloucester, if that befall. Then, there is a matter closer to my heart. If I am slain, Pembroke must not profit from it. You must contrive to conceal my wife for a few weeks. There is some small chance that she may be with child. If so and you can take her to Painscastle, she will be safe. My father will protect her for the sake of the child who will be my heir and his. Nor will he press her into marriage because he will wish to keep her dower lands in our family.”

  Giles nodded, but did not speak through his gritted teeth.

  “If she is not breeding …” Cain continued, and sighed. “God help her! Will you try to gain the safety of her dower castle with her and hold her there for my sake? I could not die in peace, Giles, if I thought she would be her father's prisoner for he desires to gain the whole Gaunt estate through her. Maud too will want to wed her with a man loyal to the king and thereby control our holdings. She might be forced at once into a new marriage with God alone knows what beast. The most brutal is like to be the most successful."

  "If that is your order, my lord,” Giles said grimly, “it will be done. I am an old man, but while I live and can fight, I will guard her for you. There are some others too, younger, who would sell their lives dearly for her sake. Keep your mind on your business, and fear not for your wife. Her best safety is in your living."

  Sir Harry Beaufort, following his lord to the lists, prayed silently with unmoving lips. He prayed for guidance and for strength to follow that guidance. On the previous night, after he had given Lord Radnor every detail he could remember about the party that had tried to make off with Lady Radnor, he had been offered a variety of rewards—a large sum of ready money, continued service at a higher stipend, or a position as castellan.

  He had gone to an alehouse to think this over away from the congratulations and jealous jests of the men-at-arms. There he had been approached by a weasel-faced creature, who nonetheless had the manners and speech of a gentleman. Another very similar offer had been made, but for this one the task had yet to be performed. It was easy enough physically; he had simply to exert as little of his fighting skill to protect Lord Radnor in the melee as would allow him to continue to live in honor. He had laughed heartily at first, explaining why the offer had no attractions, but his conversant had not been taken aback at all. He knew that, he said, and his offer was a matter of pure generosity. Sir Harry could take what was offered or he could fight and die with Radnor. It was so sure a thing that Radnor would die that no guarantee would be asked from Beaufort; if he lived, the prize was his for the taking.

  Sir Harry had gone back to the house as quickly as possible, but when he tried to speak with his lordship he was told that Radnor had already gone. A sleepless night and Radnor's haggard morning-after appearance had given him furiously to think. If Radnor died, Lady Radnor would be free and very rich. She would be at the mercy of any man who could take her. If he could keep her safe, perhaps she would be grateful. Gratitude sometimes led to other things.

  If Radnor was not well enough because of a weakness for liquor to hold his own, was it incumbent upon Sir Harry to die for him? Strict honor did not leave the question in doubt. Harry had done homage to Radnor; it was his duty to die for him. Self-interest, the code by which Beaufort had lived since he left his brother's house, gave a totally different reply. Completely immersed in his own thoughts, Sir Henry did not notice that Radnor had run his first course until the roar of the crowd drew his attention to the fallen opponent.

  "Oh my God, my God," Radnor groaned, reaching for his head as he handed his lance to Beaufort and accepted a new one. "I know I hit him fair because he went down, but I am damned if I can see what I am doing."

  Beaufort's mouth hardened. He did not need to worry; Radnor would never last through the jousting. It had not rained for months, and the parched grass was slippery. Either the horse would fall because of poor management or Radnor would be so debilitated by the heat on top of his post-drunken weakness that he would fail. Even if he did survive the jousts—to hell with honor. Beaufort would not die for a fool who could not keep off the wineskin although his life depended on it.

  An hour later, Sir Harry's opinion had undergone another change. Never in his life had he seen a jouster to equal Lord Radnor, and only a small part
of Radnor's success was due to the accident of birth that had given him his physical strength. True, it was partly the immense power of the man that bore down the knight riding against him when the lance point held, but it was skill in jousting that made the point hold without breaking the shaft of the lance time after time on the first run. No mean exponent of work with the lance himself, Beaufort could not help marveling at his lord's skill.

  Opponent after opponent went down and the crowd roared louder and louder at each fall. In addition, Radnor himself, although breathing rather hard between each course and sometimes dropping his shield to rub his arm and shake his hand after a particularly powerful counterblow, looked immeasurably better than he had that morning. Sir Harry could not help but fill with pride. Before God, this was a master to serve!

  A tenth knight arced rather gracefully over his horse's croup and Radnor rode across to the heralds rather than back to Sir Harry. He requested and received permission to change his horse. All were agreed that the beasts should not be subjected to the punishing shock of jousting for too long. No such mercy, however, was shown to the king's champion; for every knight who fell, another seemed to appear at the challenger's list.

  As Radnor returned, Sir Harry took stock of him. The helmet was brand new, undented steel polished to a high sheen. It was of the old style, a circular pot without panache that sat flat on the head with a nosepiece that dropped from the low forehead band. A brilliant surcoat of red velvet, lavishly embroidered with gold down the facings and around the hem, covered most of the mail shirt except the V at the breast, but this showed the close observer that the shirt was of the very latest fashion in contrast with the helm. Rare and costly, it was made of heavy rings of metal linked together rather than sewn into leather strips.

  Even Radnor's gloves had plates of metal sewn to the backs to protect his hands although he did not wear greaves. Greaves were considered effete, and most men did not use them because the long concave shield protected the leg on the left side and, for jousting, the horse's body protected the right leg. In swordplay, it was understood that a man's sword arm would protect his right leg if it needed more protection than that supplied by the long hauberk. The shield itself was of ordinary construction; a heavy frame of wood covered with hide hardened almost to the consistency of steel, bound and bossed with metal, it was painted with the chevrons of noir et or, which were the Gaunt colors.

  "Another horse, Beaufort," Radnor ordered a trifle breathlessly. "Also, while I run again, watch the lists. If many more men appear, ride over to Hereford's pavilion and see if you can borrow a mount up to my weight. If he has nothing, try Philip of Gloucester's men. I must save Satan for the melee, and I cannot trust the new horse."

  "My lord, you cannot mean to break lances with as many men as would need three more mounts!"

  "At one time, I did not mean to break lances at all, but since the king was so good as to name me his champion, I must answer whoever challenges. Oh, never fear. If Oxford thinks to kill me this way, he will fail. I can joust as long as he can find men to ride against me."

  "All mortals tire, my lord."

  "Do I look tired?"

  "No, my lord, but—"

  "Beaufort, you know perfectly well that there are ways and ways of hitting men. Thus far my opponents have been old friends who know nothing of what is planned against me or honest youths eager to try my strength, and I have set them down lightly. When hired men begin to try me, I can break bones and kill too, even with a dulled jousting lance. Soon they will see and no more will come. A man cannot spend the gold he is given when he is dead."

  It was not necessary for Radnor to carry out his threat, however. Before the time came to change to another horse, William of Gloucester was complaining pettishly to Stephen that the spectators were growing restless. It was all very well, he said, to see one man down five or six opponents. It was even funny when the same man downed eleven or twelve, but to see the same thing endlessly over and over grew dull for men of educated tastes. The hour at which the melee was to start was already past, and the ladies and gentlemen were hungry and thirsty.

  "Call a halt, Sire. This is all very well for the commons, but we are bored, and nothing can come of it. The man who unseats Lord Radnor now can win nothing but dishonor, and I think the commons will tear him apart. The giant in gold and black is their darling—not to mention that the Marcher lords are beginning to grumble that you owe them a grudge and therefore wish to see one of their number shamed."

  Maud was of the same opinion and reinforced Gloucester's complaint. She had never really approved of Pembroke's notion of purchasing an endless stream of challengers for the joust. It was far too obvious a plan for her taste, leading to just the suspicion that Lord William had voiced. She was annoyed with Pembroke for trying to make too sure. That weaseling caution would ruin all! Her plans were laid for the melee, and although it was good to have Radnor tired from jousting, to tire him too much might make him withdraw from the big battle.

  Oddly enough the person most displeased by Gloucester's intervention was Radnor. There had been nothing in the jousting that he could put his finger on, no man that he could pick as bought. Now he would need to continue to fight, taking the far greater chance that Pembroke's assassins would be successful under cover of the melee. He did not know why Stephen stopped the jousting, but he cursed the king under his breath when his protests that he was not tired and would like to continue were set aside as mere polite denials.

  By the time he reached the much-stained tent that served as his shelter on campaigns, the exhilaration that had sustained him during the jousting was dead and he was depressed by the notion that fate was against him. Silently he removed his helmet and unlaced his mail hood. Leah was there waiting, pale and quiet, but perfectly calm. She pushed back the hood and dried his face and hair, which were soaked with sweat.

  "I have dry undergarments for you, my lord, will you change?"

  "To soak them anew? No. Only bring me something to eat and drink. I am faint with hunger and parched with dust."

  He kept flexing his hands and rubbing his arms to relieve their numbness. Beaufort was right—men got tired. If only Leah would remain calm and not weep. Cain bit his lips. If she wept, he could not bear it. His talk with Giles had crystallized his fears for Leah's future and now he could not rid his mind of the image of her cowed, beaten into submissive negation, screaming with terror and pain. It was impossible to admit any longer that she might be willing, might show the same affection and warmth to someone else. At this point his passion for her had reached such proportions that he would have turned on her and killed her rather than believe she would accept another man.

  Leah set food before him and he forced himself to eat. He knew that if he did not think about something else, he would die through his own inability to fight. If only he could contrive to scrape through this alive and take prisoner some of his attackers. Then he would have a weapon to use against his enemies. He would have a weapon that would save him from future plots of this kind by Maud because he could threaten to expose her to Stephen or to the neutral barons if she tried to harm him again. The same weapon could be employed to free Chester and Hereford because he could force Maud to urge Stephen to make peace with them. Radnor thrust aside his food and stood up, pulling the mail hood over his head again. Very gently Leah pushed away his hands and laced it herself.

  Her face was turned up to Cain's so that she could see what she was doing and, slowly and very gravely, she smiled at him. "Do not fear for me, my lord. You will be preserved to me here, or I will follow very quickly wherever you go."

  He had no voice and no heart to protest. It might be safest and best for her, if that was what she truly desired. He drew her close and he kissed her, her eyes, her forehead, her cheeks, her fingertips, but he kissed her as if he had parted from her already and caressed only a tender memory. After that neither spoke, neither smiled; there was no reason to speak or smile.

  Chapter 17
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br />   The sun, as Lord Radnor stepped out of the gloom of his tent, cast light on both eyes and soul. It was only another battle, only that, no more. Hundreds of times, thousands perhaps, a whole army had seemed to seek his single life. Surely he knew every trick that could be played and a counter-trick for it. Surely, prepared as he was with knowledge of the treachery planned, he could save himself. He began to turn back to speak reassurance to his wife, and Beaufort called to him sharply.

  "My lord, the trumpets have sounded once already. Why do you turn away?"

  It did not matter. Leah would not believe him anyway, and very soon she would have him back safe. The field, made ready for the melee, stirred Lord Radnor's blood too. Before him as he rode were ranks and ranks of men, all in armor that glinted and sparkled in the sun. The great destriers snorted and stamped, raising dust from the drought-parched earth and causing the brilliant pennons blazoned with the colors of the great houses of England to quiver and flap in the breezeless air. There were the gold and red of Norfolk, the red, blue, and gold of Leicester, and on the opposite side the red and gold of Warwick dazzled the eyes. Between the colors of Hereford and Chester there was a space that would be filled by Radnor's own black and gold. Shields still thrown over shoulders repeated the color scheme, and above all other sounds rose the buzz of excited voices as friend called advice and jest to friend across the field.

  Radnor stopped behind Hereford. "Roger."

  The young earl backed his horse with a frown. "If you must talk, be brief and look cross. There is a court rumor that we are at odds, which is good for us both right now."

  "I will be brief. There will be, I think, a little trouble. If you hear me call for help, catch me a few of the carrion crows who will be attacking me and hold them safe. You might do well to conceal them quickly lest their masters win them back, and when you have them, put them to the question for me."