Longsword (7 page)

Gervase stiffened, but returned no answer.

“Well, it's all one. I have a fancy for a really good sword, and I have sent for it. My cousin Crispin has been away at the tourney – did you know that? When he returns, I shall arrange for him to watch me trounce some of the squires here, and then he will have to take me with him when he goes on campaign next year. I wish you to show me the trick you have of throwing the sword from one hand to the other. With that, and a sword that is longer than anyone else's, I shall be unbeatable.”

Gervase felt bile hit the back of his mouth. He trembled, and saw that Jaclin noticed. The youth laughed. “What – do you turn ashen at the thought of my shaking a sword at you? You are all alike, you gutless rats. …”

“Your pardon,” said Gervase, and his deep voice and cold look held Jaclin in mid-sentence. “I had hoped to redeem my sword for myself. The Lady Beata promised. …”

The youth's lower lip came out. “Trust a woman to interfere … but she's too late. I told Varons two days since that I wanted the sword, and gave him the money for it. It should be here by nightfall, or tomorrow at the latest; what do you say to that?”

Gervase said nothing, but stared past Jaclin into the gathering twilight. He could not understand why the thought of his sword passing into Jaclin's hands distressed him – had he not parted with it of his own accord? Yet it hurt.

“So,” said Jaclin, “I want you to be in the tiltyard tomorrow an hour after dawn for my first practice.”

“I am hardly fit yet to. …”

“I don't expect you to stand up to me. As if you could!” He laughed, but his eyes were watchful, waiting to see if Gervase dared to give him the lie. Gervase wet his lips. He guessed that Jaclin's prowess was not as great as he boasted, but to say so would be disastrous.

“There's a groat for ye.” Jaclin tossed the coin in the air and let it fall. Then, still laughing, he left the cloister.

Gervase shuddered. His hands were so stiff from the effort he had made to control himself, that at first he could not uncurl them. He let the coin lie.

“Master William!” Gervase started. Would he ever get used to being called Master William? He put his knife and the half-completed top into his purse, and went into the end cell to see how the old man did. Hamo was sitting up, all hunched shoulders and knotted hands. Gervase thought he looked more like a king spider every day. A spider calling a fly into his web.

“Well, and what did you make of our noble kinsman, Jaclin?”

“He says he has sent for my sword. Who told him about it?”

“Nurse, I suppose. She thought your routing four unarmed beggars a tale worthy to tell her cronies. Doubtless everyone in the castle has heard of your prowess by now.”

“The beggars were not unarmed,” said Gervase, taking his customary seat at the reading desk, and looking to see what papers he was to copy, or letters to write. “Is it true that Captain Varons has sent for the sword? Can you not drop a word in his ear?”

“I?” The old man exhibited pious horror at the notion. “How would a word from me …?”

“It would be more than enough, if you wished it. The Lady Beata promised. …”

“Ah, but what power has she here?” The thrust wounded Gervase, as it was meant to do. He tried to give no sign of distress, but knew that Hamo had learned somehow – but how? The girl had not been near Gervase for days – of his love, and of the hopelessness of it.

“A soldier without a sword,” mused Hamo, turning up his eyes. “Eh, dear Lord! A soldier without a sword is like a crab without its shell. …”

“Or a craftsman without tools,” said Gervase. “Luckily a quill costs nothing to make, save a little time. I can always take up a new craft. …”

“You should not interrupt an old man. I was going to say that a soldier without a sword is like a knight without a name, or a home, or kin that will recognise him.”

Gervase stroked his beard with the feather of the quill in his hand, and considered the old man. The threat was there, in the air, all about them, even though Hamo had not put it into words. What was King Spider up to now? Did he know something, or merely suspect it? And if so … Gervase was too useful to him to be given over to the officers of the law … or was he? So Gervase peaked his eyebrows in enquiry, and Hamo allowed himself a chuckle of amusement.

“Well, well,” said Hamo. “Let us leave it at that for the moment. You want your sword back, though I Can't imagine why. Sheer contrariness, I wouldn't wonder. Just because Jaclin wants it. You have no money, and the clothes on your back are there at my whim – not that you haven't earned them – I'll say that for you, you're no idler. …”

Gervase waited, stroking his beard the while. The old man had been trying to say something to him for days, but had either been interrupted by visitors, or changed his mind at the last minute. Often now he dropped asleep in the middle of a conversation. Gervase was afraid that Hamo was failing fast.

“My hands,” said Hamo, holding them up. “I want you to be my hands.”

“I am willing, in so far as I am able. You know that.”

“And my eyes and my ears,” said Hamo. “And my brain.”

There was a long silence. Gervase sat back, throwing the quill onto the desk before him. He folded his arms and surveyed the old man with a mixture of anger and dismay.

“No,” said Gervase.

“You are always so hasty, you young men,” said Hamo, at once assuming an air of senility. “We will speak of this again, when you have had time to think about it … you have worn me out with your nonsense, now. …” He closed his eyes and composed himself for sleep.

Later that day, he called Gervase in to him again.

He said, without preamble, “Well, have you taken time to consider the advantages of the position?”

“I considered the disadvantages of refusing you,” Gervase replied. “Are you threatening me with imprisonment, or what?”

“I?” The bright eyes twinkled at him, but the old man still pretended he did not understand. “Now how could I threaten you with anything?”

“Old man,” said Gervase at his most grim. “You know why I must leave Mailing. A few days more, a week at the outside, and I shall be strong enough to take to the roads again. If I have earned my keep here … if my sword is lost to me for good, then I will earn my living as a clerk. …”

“Your sword is certainly lost to you for the time being. But why trudge the roads seeking another patron when there is one waiting for you here? Do you not feel that you owe me some return for my interest in you? Is the game not deep enough for you?”

“What game?”

“The game of power,” said Hamo. “What else can be of interest to a man of your talents? You were a soldier once but you sold your sword. Therefore I deduce that you had no further use for it. Perhaps killing had come too easily to you, perhaps you had killed once too often. …”

Gervase acknowledged the hit with a grimace. Yes, it had been far too easy.

“What then remains for a man of your talents, but to serve the land?”

Now what did the old man know of that? Had Beata been talking to him?

“Yes,” said Hamo. “There is your true bent; there and in the giving of justice in the courts. You seem to understand both sides of the business well. And so I offer you the post of steward to Malling.”

The knowledge in Hamo's mind overshadowed their conversation. The old man was really saying, “Be my assistant, and I will keep your secret”.

“No,” Gervase shook his head. “It will not do. I am not thinking so much of myself now, as of others. It is wisest I go, and go soon. You must do as you think best about that other matter.”

A little colour came into Hamo's pale cheeks. “I must apologise. My good friend Master Telfer warned me not to threaten you, and I see he was right. You understand that he and Captain Varons are joined with me in making this proposal?”

Gervase rose, without haste but showing that he intended to finish the conversation. “I told you, it is not fear of the past which makes me leave.”

“Now I should have thought you would be anxious to stay … to prove your devotion.”

Gervase's lips thinned. “If you know that,” he said, his voice harsh, “then you know why I must go.”

“On the contrary, I see no reason why you should, and perhaps – who knows? – it has been deferred a year already. …” Gervase started. “You had not thought of that, had you?” said the voice of the tempter.

“That you should even consider such a thing …!”

“What thing?” The voice was creamy with satisfaction. The bait had been well and truly taken, and both men knew it. “Sit down again; you are as restless as a small boy. Let us consider the advantages of the position. It is true that, lacking a family of my own, I have made the proper administration of Mailing my life's work, yet I think many a man finishes his life without having left so great a mark on the world as I will have done, when I die. More, I am a rich man, owning land given me by a grateful master. You laboured long and hard in the past, to be rewarded with kicks and blows. My Lord Henry understands the value of a good servant … are not Master Telfer and Captain Varons proof of that? More, my Lord Henry is kind enough to call me ‘friend', and to be troubled that I am still at work when I should be ending my days peacefully sleeping by the fire. I have already written to him, saying that I believe I have found a suitable replacement. …” He indicated a letter on the stand beside him, which had certainly not been penned by Gervase.

“Is there no man in Malling anxious to assume your mantle?”

“None. Or rather, none on whom both Lord Henry and his son would agree.”

“And there is an objection to your plan. Would not Lord Crispin dismiss anyone Lord Henry appoints?”

“Crispin is young,” said Hamo, and very wilful Swaun you …” He seemed about to say more on the subject. Then, abruptly, he dozed off. He was doing this frequently nowadays. Gervase made up the fire, and waited. Presently the old man opened his eyes again and resumed the conversation as if there had been no pause in it. “Crispin. The lad must always seek to test the limits of authority. He will test you, be sure of that. I do not think he will find you wanting. If you bend before his wrath, then he will despise you, and treat you accordingly, though I do not think you are the type to bend easily. …” The old man chuckled. “No, we are all three agreed on it – Varons, Telfer and I – you are the man for Mailing. You look at the land, and turn over in your mind what acreage can be sown next year; you look at the sheep, and consider discounts and costs; you inspect barns, and give orders for their repair before they need rebuilding. You are a careful man with other men's money, you are ambitious, and you will work hard in the hope of retiring with a manor of your own eventually.”

“How can you know me so well?”

Hamo made an impatient gesture. “Fool! Do you think Lord Henry would ally his daughter to a man of whom he knew nothing? I made exhaustive enquiries at Ware when it was thought you would wed the Lady Elaine, and I was pleased with what I discovered.”

“If you know so much, then you know why I left Ware. …”

“You should have left earlier! Could you not see which way the wind was blowing? You were as foolishly fond of your uncle as he is of his new wife … don't interrupt! Of course I didn't believe that stupid tale about a stolen ring. I doubt if anyone in his senses did. I'll tell you another tale I didn't believe … that you were found making love to your new aunt, just before you ‘stole' the ring!”

Gervase's face turned a dark red. With an obvious effort he swallowed a hasty retort.

Hamo laughed until he coughed, and had to be given some wine. “If you could see your face! Eh, but it makes me laugh to think … did she try it on, the other way round? Eh? Is that why she's so vicious in speaking of you? Is that why you had to be not only disgraced, but also driven away?”

Gervase set his teeth.

“No-one ever believes that the woman can make advances, sometimes. …” Hamo settled himself deeper in his pillows. “So that was it … I did wonder. You can't go back, you know. No matter how your uncle pines for you … yes, he does talk of you now and then, mourning your loss … but then his lady wife gives him a kiss, and he forgets all about you.”

“If I could only clear my name. …”

“Well, you can't. Put it out of your mind. Mud sticks, and without proof – and who can obtain that sort of proof? – you are without redress. No, you must continue to be Master William of Leys, and to hide that dark red hair of yours under a cap. Keep your beard, guard your tongue, forget about your sword, and entrench yourself as chief clerk here before Sir Bertrand comes. …”

“Sir Bertrand! Sir Bertrand de Bors? My aunt's cousin, the man who brought the charge of theft against me, and who. …”

“Who engineered your downfall, no doubt. Not that you can prove it, of course. Yes, he will be coming here, sooner or later. What, man! Do you ache to be at his throat? And what good would that do you, or Mailing? The man comes as prospective husband for the Lady Elaine, and you had better forget all about being Sir Gervase Escot of Ware, and sink yourself in the personality of Master William of Leys. When the time is ripe, you can tell your story to Lord Henry if you wish … though if you take my advice, you will let the tale grow old before you refer to it. Lord Henry is under some obligation to Sir Bertrand, in connection with that court case we were discussing the other day, about the boundary of the Derbyshire estate.”

“Did Lord Henry ask you to enquire as to Sir Bertrand's character?”

“He did, I did, and nothing good I found to tell, except that the man is brave, wealthy and fond of his cousin. I have advised against the match, yet I think it will go forward, for the reason I have stated. Besides, it is more than time that the Lady Elaine were wed. You are well out of that by the way. …”