Lady Knight (26 page)

Riannon’s brother Henry, though, speared her a dark glare before turning his
horse. Four days ago, he had fumed and roared and cursed at their having missed
the opportunity of a breach in the walls because they had been eating. Before
they learned of the chance and scrambled to arm, the defenders had patched the
gap with beams and stones. Well, that was war. Henry’s blustering and glowering
looks would not make it otherwise. Nor did his ill humour endear him to many.
Riannon wished he would return to his young wife, of whom she – for one – was
heartily sick of hearing. Her brother acted like a lovesick stripling.

“Mayhap we could load Harry in one of the engines,” Guy said, “and hurl him over
the wall. His departure would raise our spirits and plague the defenders to
death. They’d be opening the gates and begging to surrender in no time.”

Riannon laughed. Prince Oliver roared even louder.

Guy and Riannon accepted Oliver’s invitation to join his company. He lodged in a
set of buildings that had once been a house dedicated to monks of Kamet, but
which the imperial invaders had converted to a baron’s fortified manor.
Irulandi crusaders along with their servants, hangers-on, whores, laundresses,
and the gods knew who else pitched their tents nearby or rigged up makeshift
lean-tos of whatever materials they could scavenge. The fertile land was being
picked clean at an alarming rate by foragers and looters.

Riannon lowered herself to a padded stool and accepted a cup of mead. Guy
lounged close and engaged in light banter with one of the Irulandi lords.
Riannon’s gaze curved around the room from man to man. Most were high-born
Irulandis, though one or two were Oliver’s relations through the marriage of his
sisters into the royal families of Marchion and Bralland. Every one of the dozen
or so men in the room knew she was a woman. A couple didn’t like her, and some
betrayed discomfort around her, but in Oliver’s presence they accepted her. Good
enough.

“Today is the anniversary of my brother Roland’s name day,” Oliver said to
Riannon. “He’d have enjoyed being here and the challenge of this siege.”

“He’d have enjoyed this mead,” she said.

“Aye! He could drink any two men under the table and still piss without wetting
his shoes,” Oliver said. “Why do you refuse my father’s offer to be warden of
Cliffton?”

“It’s a generous offer,” she said. “But my service is already pledged.”

“There are men beyond counting who serve two masters. Take Eustace, there. He
holds lands of both my father and his uncle, the king of Bralland.”

He lowered his voice confidentially. “Hear me out before you refuse, and think
on it. Whatever lands we reclaim in this crusade, my father plans to give to me.
He has an understanding with the patriarch and the Quatorum Council. My brother
Payn is his heir and will be king in Iruland after our father, so it’s only fair
that I get part of old Evriat. I’ll need men I can trust to hold these lands for
me.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said. “You honour me beyond my expectation.”

Oliver nodded and called to Guy to sing them his witty verses about a
middle-aged man besotted with his teenaged bride.

When Guy and Riannon left the gathering, the raised voices of the singing and
laughing Irulandi lords followed them. Guy had drunk more than his share and
walked unsteadily to where his squire waited with his horse. As they rode back
through the countryside scarred by the besieging army, Guy hummed and sang. Her
brother was a happy drunk.

Riannon’s thoughts centred about the possibility of property in reconquered
Evriat. Though Oliver was lord of only half a dozen castles and a handful of
towns that the crusaders had already stormed and captured, the possibilities of
pushing back the infidels loomed large. A gratifying number of men from all over
the Eastern Kingdoms had answered the call. Every day brought more. Riannon
doubted that Fulk would be able to stake his claim to the re-conquered lands
without much political opposition and manoeuvring, but the chance of Oliver’s
kingship was real. The patronage of a friendly and generous king could open up
great possibilities for reward. If she were rich… A shout jolted Riannon back to
grubby reality. A barefoot woman bolted from amongst a tangle of tents and
wagons. She held her skirts hitched with one hand and a knife clutched in the
other. Half a dozen men hurtled after her.

“Thief!”

“Stop her!”

The woman saw the horses and slowed to look for a way around. One of her
pursuers lunged and grabbed her loose hair. She shrieked and whirled around with
the knife like a cat striking with claws. One man yelled and fell with his hands
clamped over his face. Two more panting men threw themselves at the woman. She
went down under the bodies.

“Stop!” Riannon called.

The chasing men who had been poised to dive into the fray halted and stared up
at her. Alan and Guy’s squire dismounted and strode purposefully to the ongoing
tussle. Alan, cursing roundly, grabbed one man by the leg and hauled him off.
When the men saw Riannon and Guy, they subsided. The woman picked herself up off
the dirt and wiped a trickle of blood from her face. Her torn bodice revealed
part of a pale breast.

“Whore,” someone muttered.

The woman spat at him.

That nearly started the fight again.

“Come here,” Riannon said.

The woman strode towards her and openly eyed Riannon. Beneath the dirt and
bruises, she looked unafraid to the point of insolence. Even had Riannon not
been intrigued, she would not have left the woman to the mercy of the men.

“Bring her along,” Riannon said.

Guy grinned as he urged his horse to a walk beside hers. “You shiny knights of
the star take being noble too cursed seriously. That hellcat is neither innocent
nor defenceless.”

Riannon grinned and looked back to see the woman riding behind Alan. Her squire
wore a wary expression as if he feared for his purse or his genitals.

“You’ll have your hands full there,” Guy said as they dismounted outside their
shared tent. “Not that I can fault your taste. She’ll scrub up nicely. Damned
fine pair of legs.”

Riannon frowned at him.

“I’ve been wondering what your taste is like,” he said. “We’ve that in common,
too, it seems.”

Riannon scowled as she followed Guy inside. He acted as easy as if they were two
brothers discussing women. “You – When did you guess?”

“I flatter myself that I’m as needle-witted as the next, but I could lie and say
that it was two heartbeats after I met you rather than the three it probably
was.”

Guy sagged onto their only chest, stretched his long legs, and called for a
servant to bring him wine.

“You’d best do something about her,” Guy said. “She doesn’t seem the type to
tamely wait.”

“Oh.” Riannon cast a look back through the open flap of the tent. “I was going
to let her go, not bed her.”

“Now I know why I’ve not heard your cot creaking much these last months. Who’d
have wagered on the fearless Vahldomne being bashful?”

“She looks the type who’d prefer your privy parts to mine.”

Guy grinned and spread his arms. “Who would not? I’m hung like a bull. Though it
is other men I give cuckold’s horns to.”

Riannon threw her gloves at him and strode out to leave him to his wenching.
Though a pretty face or swelling breast might spur her lust, there was only one
woman she wanted.

Riannon squinted at the city. Mid-summer heat made the air dance and shimmer as
though the walls were melting.

If they could keep beating back the infidels and nibbling away at the territory,
Oliver might have his new kingdom. She could be one of his chief barons. So,
when Geoffrey of Howe died, she would be in a position to support Eleanor in
sufficient style that Eleanor would feel small pangs for the loss if Queen
Mathilda confiscated every acre Eleanor and Riannon held in her realm. Perhaps,
one day, it would not be a dream, any more than wiping the infidels from Evriat
was a dream. When that tower in that city wall fell, both would be one small
step closer to reality.

Eleanor strode into her husband’s chamber and saw Geoffrey sitting on the bed
with his leg bared. A grey-haired priestess from the local grove stopped her
ministrations to bow to Eleanor. Eleanor waved her to continue. He must need
healing for a return of his joint ague or his pustular abscess. Either way, it
was likely to be his own fault for over-taxing himself and drinking too much
sweetened wine. Sometimes he acted as though he believed himself closer to her
age than his own.

“It gladdens my heart to see your face, my dear,” he said. “I’ve had my fill of
Sio Anne’s sour looks and strictures.”

“Mayhap she wouldn’t need to scold,” Eleanor said, “if you followed her advice.”

Something the priestess did made him wince instead of answer. Eleanor went to
stand looking out the window. Her husband could be touchy about his infirmities.

“What can I do for you, my dear?” he said. “Distract me from these ungentle
ministrations.”

Eleanor passed on some humorous gossip she had heard from her steward about one
of their neighbours. She waited until the priestess bowed herself out, and
Geoffrey sat on the side of the bed with his leg of hose back on, before she
broached the matter that brought her to him.

“My steward tells me a strange tale that I find hard to credit,” she said.

“Then it must be a tangled problem indeed, my dear,” he said, “if it defeats
your understanding.”

Geoffrey levered himself to his feet. He limped as he crossed to join her. She
let him take her hand to kiss.

“You’re frowning, my dear,” he said. “What troubles you?”

“Matthew tells me that a man employed by someone called Bland turned him away
from the manor at Breakwood. This Bland claims to own my land.”

Geoffrey patted her hand, released it, and went in search of something near the
bed. “That’s correct. Ere he left, Ralph feoffed Bland with the place. The man
has served him well and deserves reward. Ralph must be mindful of his reputation
for largesse and bind loyal men to him. It’s important for a man.”

“That was my land,” Eleanor said.

“It’s such a small place and inconveniently distant from any of our larger
estates, my dear.” Geoffrey waved vaguely and limped around to the other side of
the bed. “I’ve arranged for some replacement property to be part of your dower
in its stead. Really, my dear, it’s a matter of no import.”

Eleanor bristled, but strove to rein in her indignation. “Ought I not have been
consulted?”

“You can have little interest in your dower properties, my dear, until I am
dead. Let us hope, considering the pain Sio Anne has inflicted on me this morn
in the name of remedy, that is not for some time. Can you see where I left my
rabbit’s foot? I know I took it out to hold when that wretched woman came in to
do her butchery on me.”

Eleanor stalked across to snatch the brown furry lump from amongst the rushes
and thrust it at him. “The timber on that property was to be sold this year at
considerable profit.”

“We’ll not miss a few coin. But it’ll be greatly to Ralph’s credit that he gives
so generously. Now, my dear, was there aught else? I’m riding over to Longfield
chapel to make offerings for my healing and for the coming harvest. You’re
welcome to join me.”

“I have much to do this day.”

Geoffrey kissed her cheek. “That new gown becomes you, my dear. I’m the envy of
men half my age. In truth, you make me feel half my age.”

He cupped her left breast. Eleanor, still simmering, stepped away from his
touch.

“I’ll not be late in returning home,” he said. “Send your women to sleep
elsewhere tonight, my dear.”

After he limped out, Eleanor folded her arms and glared.

Riannon swung her sword down. The blade cut through a padded jerkin and bit into
flesh. The man screamed as he fell. His companion dropped his spear and fled.
Riannon watched him running across the plaza. He was not alone. Defenders from
the breach in the wall all the way along to the closest gate gave up their
resistance and bolted in the direction of the castle. A couple of the young
knights who had followed her over the wall took off in pursuit.

Riannon turned to see more fighting amongst the buildings bordering the open
space of the plaza. She had to squint through the glare of the morning sun. She
did not see the blue surcoat and shield she looked for. She and Guy had fought
their way down from the wall and across to the gate together. After they had
forced the gate open, the surging tide of the fight parted them.

Riannon blinked sweat from her eyes. She could feel her shirt stuck to her skin
beneath the layers of her gambeson and mail hauberk. Her flowing green surcoat,
with the golden tree emblem on it, only partly succeeded in keeping her metal
armour from broiling her.

“Sir?” Alan offered her a water skin.

Riannon removed her helm and took a long drink. Smoke from inevitable fires
drifted in lazy black clouds across the open space. Noise rolled and echoed back
from the fronts of the massively impressive buildings planted around the sides
of the giant square.

“Sir!” Alan pointed to a group of horsemen. “The prince.”

Riannon wiped sweat from her face as she stood waiting their approach. Prince
Oliver had the visor of his gold-trimmed helm lifted. He smiled at her.

“I think we’ll find some place suitable to eat our dinner inside the walls,” he
said.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “The city is yours. But I fear the garrison might yet need
a little persuading.”

She signalled in the direction of the castle. Oliver nodded and waved to one of
his men.

“I’ll get a horse found for you,” he said. “My thanks to you and your brother
for opening the gates. Where is Guy?”

“He’s probably found the city whorehouse,” she said.