The Winter Mantle (32 page)

Rouen, Normandy, Autumn 1075

Simon's new falcon was a gift from William in recognition of his squire's exemplary service both in the battle camp and at court. Being pleased with the man emerging from the chrysalis of boyhood, the King had shown it, as was his wont, in a practical fashion.

The young peregrine's wings shone with a slate sheen and her breast was mottled with soft cream and blue herringbone feathers. Simon had called her Guinevere, for to him she was a queen. He was training her to fly as a game hawk rather than to the lure, and for the moment she was taking up all the time he did not spend on duty. She had to be gentled to his fist and so he took her out with him, familiarising her with the sights and sounds of the court, to the presence of dogs and horses and the noise of men. At first she had bated her wings in panic and struggled to be free of her slender leather leashes, but gradually she had grown accustomed to the world outside the mews. Now she perched silently on his wrist, gripping the leather falconer's glove with shining talons like small scimitars of blued steel.

Sabina, the head falconer's daughter, stood beside him at Guinevere's perch. In the sharp-scented dark, her eyes sparkled like black glass. She wore a kerchief for decency over her black braids, but he could remember the feel of her hair beneath his fingers when he had cozened her into loosening it yester eve. Soft and black and deep. The dreams that had visited him later as he lay on his pallet outside William's chamber had been the sort to take to confession.

Crooning softly to the hawk, calling her my love and my beauty, caressing her with his fingers, he lifted her to the perch. All his movements were slow and measured. Swiftness of any kind was forbidden in the mews, where even a stumble or a raised voice could disturb the highly strung birds of prey. She stepped from his fist to the perch, and only briefly bated her wings.

'She does well,' Sabina murmured. 'Soon you will be flying her.'

Simon smiled and agreed. He wanted to say that all the time he had been stroking the bird's breast he had been thinking of Sabina's, but he bit his tongue. It was the sort of trite statement he had heard the other squires make in their efforts to impress the younger women of the Duchess's retinue.

'I wish you could stay.' She looked at him through her thick, black lashes.

Simon glanced around. They were alone, and there was no sign of her father. 'Why should you think I cannot?' he asked and boldly drew her against him, mouth to mouth, hip to hip. He lost himself in the sweetness of the kiss and the heat that rushed from their joined lips to suffuse other parts of his body. He grew as hard as a quarterstaff. Painfully, wonderfully hard, and frustrated; last night's dream had done naught but vent the overspill. He reached to the beguiling softness of her breasts and wondered how they would feel without the barrier of gown and chemise. Sabina made an enthusiastic sound in her throat, and arched against him, but after a moment disengaged from the kiss and gave him a little push. 'I think you cannot because the King has a guest,' she panted. 'You will be sought to serve at the table. They say that there is no one in the King's household who can carve meat like you.'

Simon drew her close again and pressed his lips to the soft pulse in her throat. 'They will find someone else,' he said, nipping flesh, but he knew he was deluding himself. He was one of the senior squires and the junior ones would be looking to him for help and advice, whilst William would indeed expect him to carve at table and serve the food. Of course, that depended on the guest. If it was someone of minor standing, then one of the other young men could see to the task. 'Do you know who it was?'

'Yes.' She threw back her head to give him better access to her throat. 'I saw him many years ago when I was a little girl and the English hostages were at court. I cannot remember his name, but he has hair like beaten copper and a yellow beard.'

Simon stiffened. Now it was he who drew away and looked at her with narrowing eyes. 'Earl Waltheof?'

'Yes, that's him… what's wrong?'

Simon grimaced. 'Nothing,' he said, 'I thought this would be the last place he would come.'

'Why?'

'Because there has been some difficulty in England.'

'And you would not tell me what kind even if I tied you to a hawk perch and brought the King's eagle to threaten your eyes,' she said shrewdly.

Simon gave a reluctant chuckle. 'No, I would not,' he agreed. 'Rumours enough abound at court and I make sure that I am not the one who starts them — unless I'm ordered. There is power in knowing what happens in the King's chamber, but I will not smirch my honour or the trust the King has in me by becoming a gossipmonger. I have to go.' He kissed her cheek, his erection subsiding along with the notion of dalliance.

She folded her arms and smiled at him. 'Come back soon,' she said.

Simon nodded. It was part of the game they played. Sabina was clever. She had known that as soon as she told him about the visitor he would have to leave, and therefore she could stop their loveplay before matters went too far. He thought that perhaps her guile was the reason he enjoyed her company as much as he enjoyed the lure of her body. 'As soon as I can,' he said over his shoulder in parting. Whenever that would be.

Making his way towards the tower, Simon's limp was scarcely noticeable. He was well rested, the weather had yet to turn cold, and the muscles he had developed in training and on campaign supported the damaged limb. As he walked, he wondered what Waltheof was doing in Normandy.

William had received letters from Archbishop Lanfranc informing him of the rebellion by the Breton contingent in England, led by Ralf of Norfolk and Roger of Hereford. The letters had assured William that the rebellion was being contained and that there was no immediate cause for the King to return to England. Messengers had continued to arrive at regular intervals. Ralf of Norfolk had fled the country to Denmark to plead for rapid help from the Danes, leaving his young wife under siege at his keep in Norwich. Earl Roger had been captured and flung in prison to await William's pleasure. It seemed that Earl Waltheof, although not participating in their rebellion, had known of their intent and had stood back to let their armies gather. Lanfranc wrote that Waltheof bitterly regretted his action, but Simon wondered if bitter regret was atonement enough. He did not know how he would feel when he saw Waltheof. The man who had saved him from a bolting horse, the man who had sat with and encouraged him, who had pulled him through his darkest days. It seemed ungrateful to call him a fool and a traitor, but those sentiments haunted Simon's mind.

He paused at the entrance to the great hall to wash his face and hands at the laver then made his way unobtrusively along the side of the room towards the dais. William was presiding over the high table surrounded by nobles and officials. Waltheof sat beside him and, although the atmosphere was somewhat strained, the men appeared to be talking amicably enough. Waltheof's hair was Norman cropped again, although he wore a beard, trimmed close to his jaw emphasising the strong Viking bone structure. Two junior squires were serving the lords with wine and dried fruit.

'I have never known a man as brave or as foolish as Waltheof Siwardsson,' muttered Simon's father, pausing briefly beside his son. 'I clearly admit that in his shoes I would have fled to Denmark with Ralf de Gael, not come seeking forgiveness in the lion's den.'

Simon eyed the gathering on the dais. 'Has it been granted?'

His father shrugged. 'I think that William cannot make up his mind. For the moment he bides his time, but again, if I were Waltheof, I would tread very, very carefully.'

Simon made a face. 'He does not know how to do that,' he said.

Advancing to the dais, he took the flagon and linen napkin from the lad who was serving and proceeded to the task himself. As he leaned to replenish Waltheof's cup, the Earl gave him a shadowed, troubled smile.

'It is good to see you, Simon,' he said, but without his usual, hearty ebullience.

'And you, my lord,' Simon replied politely.

'I see you are quite the polished courtier now.'

William refused the offer of more wine by placing his broad swordsman's hand across the top of his cup. 'Simon gives me excellent service, Earl Waltheof,' he said. 'I trust him implicitly, because I know that my trust will never be betrayed.' He spoke without inflection, nevertheless the comment was barbed.

Waltheof flushed. 'I am doing my best to make amends,' he said in a low voice. 'I make mistakes, I admit I do.'

'There are mistakes, and mistakes. It is no use admitting to them if you do not also learn from them. And a mistake such as treason is not the same as dropping a cup or carving a haunch into uneven slices.'

Simon moved down the board. He did not want to appear to be lingering, and it was obvious that the conversation was going to be hard and filled with recrimination. For Waltheof's sake, he knew he should close his ears. Yet, he wanted to hear what Waltheof had to say in his own defence.

'I have not committed treason, sire. Indeed, I have come to you so that you can truly gauge my loyalty.'

'Is that what I am to gauge from your presence here?'

'I would hope so, sire. Indeed, Archbishop Lanfranc has sent you letters to back my plea.'

'Archbishop Lanfranc has sent me letters saying that you confess and repent, which is not the same.'

'I confess to having been foolish — not to treason, sire. I have brought gold with me, and it is to you that I give it, not to your enemies.'

William grunted. 'Blood money - isn't that what you English call it? Wergild?' He spat out the word as if it were a piece of gristle.

'It is a peace offering, sire.'

William frowned. 'A peace offering,' he repeated. 'I am cautious of letting you off so lightly. Am I to have this doubt of your character every time that the Danes set out to raid our coasts? Gold does not buy trust or restore innocence.' He rubbed his hand over the blue stubble-shadow on his jaw. 'For the moment you will oblige me by remaining at court while I decide what is to be done with you.'

Waltheof sat upright, his eyes flashing. 'You make me a prisoner?' he bridled. 'I came to you in good faith.'

'Over a matter of bad faith,' William said curtly. 'And be relieved that I am merely putting you under house arrest. Earl Roger of Hereford has a less comfortable captivity that he would willingly exchange for yours.'

The flagon was empty. Simon descended the dais to fetch a fresh one, but he had others to serve and there was no opportunity to hear any more of the conversation.

Later, however, William summoned Simon and told him that for the duration of the Earl's stay in Normandy he would be assigning him to Waltheof's entourage. 'You know him, you are comfortable in his presence, and as I said, I trust you.'

'Yes, sire.' Simon gazed at a wood louse toiling through the deep layer of rushes beneath his feet.

'What is it lad, look at me.'

Simon raised his eyes to meet the King's. 'Earl Waltheof trusts me too,' he said. 'If I had to break his confidence in order to serve you, then I would, but it would leave a bad taste in my mouth.'

William nodded. His lips curved the merest fraction. 'I know your worth, lad, and I am glad of your honesty. Unless Waltheof tells you that he intends to murder me in the dead of night -which I am sure he will not, then you may keep your own counsel as you see fit.' He waved his hand in dismissal.

'Sire.' Simon bowed and, feeling slightly less apprehensive, went on his way. Some young courtiers stood jesting in a group. As Simon passed, Robert de Bêlleme stuck out a leg elegantly encased in red hose and deliberately tripped him.

Simon went sprawling in the rushes and felt a jolt of pain slash through his damaged limb. His assailant's tough, calfhide boot had caught him directly across the area of the old break.

'You'll never be fast enough, De Senlis,' scoffed De Bêlleme. 'I could pull the legs off a crab and it would move better than you.'

His jaw tight with suppressed anger, Simon struggled to his feet. The pain was like the point of a knife blade winkling between his bones, but he refused to show by so much as a blink how much it hurt. The others in the group watched but said nothing. While someone else was being victimised they were safe.

'At least my mind is untainted,' Simon said, knowing that he should hold his tongue but unable to stop himself.

De Bêlleme turned fully towards him, his hand going to the dagger at his hip and a slow smile spreading across his narrow, saturnine features. 'Indeed?' he drawled, 'you seem somewhat of a lackwit to me.'

Simon swallowed. 'Think as you will,' he said, 'that is your undoing.' Turning on his heel, he walked stiffly away. His leg was throbbing fiercely but he forced his will through the pain so that although he limped the impairment was no worse than usual. His shoulder blades twitched and he half expected to feel De Bêlleme's dagger blade prick between them, or a hand on his shoulder, grasping and spinning him round. But there was nothing. De Bêlleme muttered something disparaging to his cronies, though, for a burst of laughter followed Simon from the room and he knew that it was at his expense.

Waltheof was in the small chamber that had been allotted to him. The fact that he was under house arrest meant that a guard hovered nearby. His huscarls had been given space in one of the timber guardrooms in the ward, and their weapons confiscated.

Waltheof welcomed Simon with open gestures and smiles; it was obvious to the youth that they were false and that the Earl had never felt less like smiling in his life. He set down the flagon of wine and the platter of honey wafers he had brought and poured a goblet for the Earl.

'I have been a fool,' Waltheof said bitterly. 'I should never have attended Ralf de Gael's marriage.' He seized on the goblet and drank the contents in several swift gulps. Simon concealed a wince. Drowning sorrows did not make them disappear,

'Then why did you?' Simon trimmed the candle and lit another one beside it to brighten the room.