Alinor Read online

  “Will you read my letter?”

  “Not unless you show it to me and desire that I read it. It is impolite, even dishonest, to read other people’s letters, except by their leave.”

  Adam turned and started away, then came back. “Will you—will you mind if I do not show it to you?” he asked hesitantly.

  “Of course not, dear heart,” Alinor said, bending and kissing him quickly. He was a good, kind child in spite of his deviltry. “I know that men have things to say to each other that women do not need to know or understand.”

  Ian, Alinor thought, watching Adam tear across the hall in the direction where Father Francis was most likely to be found. His name was a talisman. Everything, even convincing Adam to do his lessons, was made easy at once by it. Yes, and if I do not bestir myself, her thoughts continued, his name will be as black as mine in the eyes of the king. Alinor called a manservant and told him to summon her chief huntsman to her at once.

  The man was near twenty years older than the last time Alinor had set him a task far outside his normal duties, but he did not look much different. The hair had always been very pale; now it was white. The naturally fair skin had long ago been weathered into leather that seemed near imperishable. Perhaps there were more wrinkles and seams now in his face, but it was hard to tell. What was important was that the same intelligence gleamed from the bright blue eyes in the broad countenance.

  “Will the lord hunt tomorrow, lady?” he asked eagerly as he bobbed a sketchy bow. “It is long and long since my men had work.”

  “He hunts two-legged game for a time, huntsman, but I have work for your men—although it is not hunting. Listen close. There will come, sometime within the next moon, I believe, a messenger. This messenger must not reach Roselynde, but he must not be harmed either. Nor must he come to know that it is my people that have taken him prisoner. When he is captured is to be kept in some shelter in the woods, as if by outlaws.”

  “How will we know this man, lady?”

  “That I cannot tell you. This means that you will have to take all messengers coming to Roselynde.”

  “One came this morning.”

  “Yes, he brought the news that this other messenger would soon follow—the one that must be stopped. Any man riding in haste to Roselynde should be taken and stripped. The clothes and every other thing must be brought here to me. I will then tell you whether to release or hold the man. Huntsman, watch carefully. It is a matter of great weight to me and to the new lord. If the messenger comes through, there might be war or a change of overlords in Roselynde.”

  “Be at ease, lady. Not even a worm will come through that you do not know of it.”

  “Your men will be well rewarded for their diligence, all of them, and a special prize to the man who takes the messenger. Remember, he must be held straitly, but nowise harmed.”

  “I hear, lady.”

  No one would come by land. Now to block the passage by sea. That would not be so easy. If the messenger took passage in a merchantman, she could do nothing except arrange to have him killed when he came ashore. If he came across the narrow sea in a small boat hired for the occasion, as was most common, her fisherfolk might be able to take him. Alinor glance toward the window embrasure. There would be light enough, she thought. She sent a servant to the stable to order her horse saddled and to send up whoever had been left in charge of the men-at-arms in the castle while she changed into riding dress. She found Cedric of the Southfold waiting when she came down skirted and wimpled for riding. The old man’s brow wrinkled with concern.

  “Lady, we have no proper guard for you. Lord Ian took all but ten cripples like me.”

  There was fear in his face. Had the lady been in ignorance of Lord Ian’s orders? Beorn was with the lord, and no one doubted that the lady’s permission had been obtained. Had it not, heads would roll.

  “Yes, I know,” Alinor answered calmly, quieting her henchman’s alarms. “If you can spare me five men fit for riding, that will be sufficient. I only go into the town and to the fishing villages along the shore. It will be safe enough.”

  It should have been safe. Cedric would not have argued with Alinor in any case, but he felt as she did. Nonetheless, he chose the ablest men he had and saw that they were well armed. There was no trouble on the short road into the town. Alinor dismounted at the harbormaster’s house. The man was already at the foot of the outside stair and bowed her cringingly into the solar. Alinor’s eyes swept the room, the fine rug on the floor before the hearth, the cushioned, carved chairs. After a sullen, gloomy day the sun had decided to peep out in the afternoon. Its golden light, glancing in through the gable window that faced south, gleamed on the polished wood of chests and warmed the reds and browns of the tapestried flowers on the walls.

  It was time, Alinor thought, to check her harbormaster’s accounts again. He held his place by her pleasure and by paying an annual fee for the right, and his wealth came from rents and fines on the merchantmen and ships that came into Roselynde harbor. This was all accepted practice, but if the fees and fines were set too high, ships would seek out other harbors. It seemed to Alinor that the harbormaster’s comforts had grown apace since Simon fell ill. Either trade had increased abnormally or the man was cheating the shipmasters and her. Alinor stated what she wanted done, watching, without seeming to watch, the play of emotion on the man’s face.

  “You understand,” she concluded, eying him coldly, “that if the messenger reaches Roselynde Keep, you will die. It is within your right to examine the credences of any man who enters the harbor. Until I give permission, no man bearing the king’s credence may come into Roselynde Keep. If you can find reason to imprison the man, do so. If you must kill him—well, I give justice here. None is likely to trouble you. I would prefer he be kept alive, but that is less important than that he be kept away. And if word of these orders be spread abroad, you will lose your tongue. That will make you less talkative about my business in the future.”

  “Lady Alinor, I will do my best, but if he comes secretly—”

  “There is no reason for him to do so. However, that is no business of yours. I will take measures to prevent that also. You need not concern yourself for that.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  The next stop was an inn very close to the waterfront. Here Alinor did not dismount. A man-at-arms brought the innkeeper out. He bowed low. He and the lady understood each other. She did not meddle in his business. When those who sheltered with him trespassed too boldly, the lady passed him word. Either the malefactors were surrendered to the lady’s justice or they disappeared. Alinor gave her orders. The innkeeper bowed again.

  “My people will watch. Any writings will be sent to the keep. Do you desire the man also?”

  “If killing is not needful, hold him. I will send word whether he should be slain or what else should be done.”

  “As you will. Word comes there will be a new lord. True?”

  Alinor laughed. “The birds fly swiftly with news from the keep. Yes, it is true. But I hold justice in my hands still. There is no need to concern yourself with the new lord other than to obey him if he give an order.”

  “As you will.”

  The innkeeper bowed himself back into his inn. At the door he paused a moment to watch Alinor. She did not go back up the steep road toward the keep. Her party turned instead to the west and threaded its way through the alleys. It would be well for him, the innkeeper thought, if the messenger fell into his hands. The Lady of Roselynde was very generous to those who served her well, and it was clear that this was a matter of importance. She was riding to alert the fisher-folk also.

  Had he not paused to watch Alinor, the innkeeper might have noticed that two strangers were also interested in her movements. As it was, there was nothing to draw his attention to the fact that they finished their ale and left almost as he cleared the doorway. He was more intent on spreading word of the wanted man among his “people”—the beggars and petty thieves who mad
e their livelihood off the merchants and sailors that came into Roselynde’s excellent harbor.

  Once out of the town, the strangers left the rough road that meandered toward the nearest fishing village and struck north. Somewhat less than a mile inland there was a small wood, actually a finger stretching down from the Forest of Bere. Here the two found the rest of their party and excitedly gave their news. The lady of the keep was out, with only five men. If they took her, the ransom would buy them all new farms and pay the taxes on them also for years ahead. There was some argument from the less bold members of the group. It seemed too dangerous an enterprise to attack a noblewoman. They had come hoping to raid a small merchant train, and that was a far different matter.

  The two who had brought the word of Alinor’s availability pointed out that no new ships were in and that there would be no traveling merchants for some days. The longer they remained this close to the keep, the greater their danger. Any day a hunting party might come into the woods. Besides, taking the lady would put silver and gold coin into their hands. There would not be the additional terrible danger of having to sell the goods stolen from the merchant. When they had their ransom, they could flee far, where no one would know them or question them. Gold and silver pieces were all alike; they could not be traced. They would not hurt the lady.

  The argument took time, but the men were not concerned. Their position had been carefully chosen so that lookouts could command both roads leading out of Roselynde Town. To return to the keep, Alinor and her party would need to come either by the one road or across the open country just south of the little wood. By the time they had been sighted by the lookouts, the more adventurous souls had won. The lady’s party was outnumbered better than two to one. They were between her and the town, where presumably the rich merchants would come to her aid. The short evening of autumn was already darkening into night. Everything was to their advantage. The outlaw band mounted on their stolen horses and set quarrels into their wound bows.

  Chapter Six

  The marvelous gait of the great gray destrier, moving as if there were no more than a feather on its back—a feather that must not be dislodged by uneven jostling—soothed Ian. For a while, he had returned to the happy days when Alinor’s gift to him carried him proudly among the hills of Wales, when his friendship with Lord Llewelyn had been first forged. Girls were for tumbling then, without love and without regret. Love was a star, so distant that to look upon it was an unalloyed joy. One does not hope to seize a star.

  Deliberately Ian did not think of the later years when a more mature man suppressed a less pure longing. He thought of the gray stallion, now grown old, running loose among the mares on his northern lands. So far, the animal had not brought forth a get of his own nature. There were colts, better than the mares that bred them, but seemingly none with the thews or spirit of the sire. The flicker of regret Ian felt for that was immediately washed away by pleasure. It no longer mattered. He possessively stroked the silken gray neck. They were all his now, stallions and mares. What a fool he had been to feel hurt at Alinor’s offer of the horse. She was keeping her promise. Everything she could offer him was being given freely and without grudging.

  Shying away from the thought of what could not be given by her will, Ian turned his attention to the countryside. He was momentarily distracted from tactical considerations by its beauty. The sun had finally emerged, and the beeches and oaks that dotted the pasture or served as windbreaks on the crests of the knolls flamed gold and crimson. The stubble of the reaped grain, a softer gold, lay thick on the winter fields. Roselynde was very rich. Not only was the land fertile, but it had been fortunate in a succession of good masters.

  The burned-out farm buildings were an offense against the good management and tranquility. Ian flushed a trifle with anger when his eyes fell upon them, but he checked his flare of temper. It was not really senseless or wanton destruction. There was spite in it, but spite directed by intelligence. Ian had a glimmering of an idea. He could not permit himself to develop a hatred or rage against the perpetrator of this outrage until the man was in his hands and motives—aside from the obvious ones of a need for food—had been examined.

  The attacks on Alinor’s land might be the result of a mistake. By and large, only the properties of King John’s favorites were still as prosperous as the Roselynde estate. Those whom John did not love were taxed and fined until even good landlords were forced to squeeze their serfs and tenants. Roselynde’s freedom from excessive charges was owing to several diverse causes, but not to John’s love. Simon had been deeply beloved of John’s mother, who had not died until 1204, and the king had remained sufficiently in awe of that mighty woman to leave her favorite in peace. After 1204 John had been too busy with incipient revolt in England and military reverses in Normandy to bother with Alinor and her husband.

  All taxes and demands had risen, of course, and many who were not prepared could not meet those demands even when no special fines were added. This problem also did not touch Roselynde. Alinor kept her own books and her own secrets. There was no one who knew what Alinor’s revenues were, except Alinor herself. Moreover, the land was only a small share of her income. What Alinor made from the fishing trade in Roselynde and Mersea only Alinor knew, and the ships often carried more than fish. Simon had brought back enormous loot from the Crusades and had made enormous profits from his office as Sheriff of Sussex. As taxes rose, Alinor increased her demands on her people, but not enough to ruin them. She and Simon knew what John was like. They had been prepared for lean years.

  If the leader of the reavers was wreaking his spite on one whom he believed to be a favorite of the king, it might be possible to turn the man from his purpose. The more Ian saw of his work, the more he respected the common sense and ability of the leader of the outlaws. Considering the situation, he kept his men under good control, Ian thought. Looting was to be expected, since that was the purpose of the raids, but wanton burning was minimal and, Ian had discovered, the women who had been carried off were either widows with no young children or whores. Very interesting. Rape, too, was minimal, largely confined to the wives and daughters of the bailiffs. Spite showed there; a special kind of spite. Ian could only hope that the iron had not bit too deep into the outlaw leader’s soul.

  Ian directed twenty men-at-arms from Roselynde Keep and ten of his northerners to take cover around the burned-out farmstead. Other groups had been deployed at various positions all along the boundaries of the lands, but Ian had decided to take this position in person because he did not believe the man who led the reavers would permit resistance to defeat him. He would be back for the cattle he had not previously been able to take.

  In a nearby serf’s hut, Ian gathered the remainder of his troop, ten wiry Welshmen with long hair bound back by leather thongs and odd, very long quivers strapped to their backs. Short swords hung from their belts, but as Ian explained what he wanted them to do in French and Owain translated swiftly into Welsh, they did not finger their swords as men preparing for action often did. Those who did not stand quietly ran their hands caressingly along the six-foot bows of ash or yew that they held.

  “No killing unless it be needful,” Ian snapped. He knew what those yard-long shafts sped from the enormous bows could do. They were as effective as a crossbow and could be aimed and fired many times more swiftly. Not many men in England knew the use of the longbow, but any man who had fought the Welsh respected and feared the weapon. When he had time, Ian intended to introduce its use to Alinor’s men, but skill with it came slowly. Only a few of his northern men-at-arms had mastered the art.

  “I wish to know where they lair, but I do not want them, or anyone else, to know that my men are making free of the king’s forest,” Ian continued. “If you kill, hide the bodies—but mark the place, so the poor creature can have a Christian burial when we find a chance to give it to him. It is sufficient evil that any such man die unshriven.”

  The last was said with more hope than c
onviction. Welsh hillmen said they believed in Christ, but weird ceremonies still took place in the light of the full moon, and the fear of those sins that Christian teaching most deplored sat very lightly indeed on these stalwart fighters. The men were fond of him, Ian knew, and might mark their victim’s bodies to please him. He doubted very much that any concern for the souls of the departed would trouble his Welsh bowmen. Yet he could not help loving them. They were as wild and free as falcons, and they did his bidding out of the same kind of combination of feral greed and affection that a trained falcon has for its master.

  He went to the door of the hut to watch them, totally fascinated, as always, by the way they disappeared into the landscape when only a few tens of yards from the place where he stood. Llewelyn could do it, too, and he had tried and tried to teach Ian. The only result had been despair and a conviction that it was an art one had to learn from childhood on Ian’s part and desperate attempts to conceal amusement on Llewelyn’s. Ian shrugged. Each man had his own arts. Ian knew now he would never make a Welsh woodsman; on the other hand, Llewelyn would never be much of a jouster.

  When the disappearing trick was complete, Ian went out to make sure his other men were suitably concealed and the lookouts placed were they could actually see something. As he went, he described what he was doing and why to Owain and Geoffrey. The younger boy’s attention was dutiful rather than interested. He did not yet really perceive himself as the master of an estate that he would need to protect. When Geoffrey dreamed of his future, he saw himself as a knight of the romances with streaming pennon riding in a joust, or leading an army into battle. Hunting outlaws because they had burned out a few little farms was not romantic enough for a thirteen-year-old.