Lords of the White Castle (5 page)

Suddenly all pleasure and gathering lassitude were gone. As Jean's voice lingered to accompany the lute on the final note of the song, Fulke jerked to his feet and headed for the doorway.

Ignoring the loud applause and demands for more, Jean swept a hasty bow and ran after his charge. 'Where are you going?' He snatched Fulke's sleeve.

'My shield. I left it in John's chamber.'

'You can't go there now.' Jean's voice rose in disbelief.

'The kitchens are one matter, but my lord would certainly have us flayed for going anywhere near John's chamber.'

'It's new,' Fulke said stubbornly. 'My father sent it as a gift to mark my year day'

'Christ's wounds, are you a little child that you must have it now?' For the first time irritation flashed across Jean's amiable features. 'Leave it until the morrow.'

'You don't understand. It's a matter of honour.'

'Don't be such a fool. I—'

'Come or go as you please,' Fulke interrupted passionlessly, 'you will not stop me.' He stepped out into the wild night. The sleet had turned to snow as the temperature dropped and they were surrounded in a living, whirling whiteness.

Jean hesitated, then, with an oath, hastened after Fulke. 'John is likely to be at meat in the Rufus Hall, but that's still no reason to tempt fate to the hilt.'

'I'm not tempting fate,' Fulke replied in the same, impassive tone. 'I only desire what is mine to me.' He strode powerfully on, leaving slushy wet footprints on the whitening sward.

Muttering imprecations, Jean ducked his head into the wind and hurried along beside him.

The door to the royal apartments was closed and a soldier stood guard outside. Flickering light from a wall sconce played over his mail and coif, turning the iron rivets to gold. It also caught the wicked edge of his spear tip.

He fixed the youths with a stern eye. 'What are you doing here, lads?'

Fulke had a retentive memory and knew all the guards who did chamber duty. Roger's bark was worse than his bite. 'I left my shield earlier,' he said. 'I'd like to fetch it—sir.'

'I heard all about "earlier". 'The guard scrutinised Fulke's injuries. 'Good thing I wasn't on duty then,' he said sourly. 'The man who was is to be whipped for not investigating the commotion.'

'He wouldn't have heard, we weren't near the door,' Fulke said. 'Besides, there had been a commotion all afternoon.'

'Well, someone has to take the blame, don't they?' He gestured with the spear. 'Go on, get you gone before there's more trouble.'

Fulke drew himself up. At fifteen, he stood almost two yards high, taller than many a grown man, and he matched the guard easily. 'I have come for my shield,' he repeated. 'Once I have it, I will leave.'

'Now listen here, I don't take orders from a shaveling like—'

'My lord Walter sent us to fetch it,' Jean interrupted, stepping forwards. 'Master FitzWarin is in his charge for the nonce.'

'Lord Walter sent you?' The guard raised his brows.

'Yes, sir. As you know, he's responsible for training the squires attached to Lord Glanville's retinue. He wants to see the shield.'

'Well, why didn't you say so?' the man growled. He opened the door and gestured Jean to enter. 'Not you,' he said to Fulke. 'It would be more than my life is worth. I've no intention of hanging for a boy's petty squabble.'

Moments later Jean returned. He was holding the shield in a curious fashion so that the blazon faced inwards and all that was visible was the wooden backing and arm straps.

'Satisfied?' The guard closed the door and stood foursquare in front of it, making it clear that he would not budge again.

'Thank you, my lord,' Jean said, bowing and using the inflated form of address to flatter the man's vanity. He started to walk rapidly away.

Fulke hurried along beside him. 'What are you hiding?' He grabbed for his shield. 'Give it to me.'

Very reluctantly, Jean let him have it. 'There's no sense in losing your temper.' He laid a restraining hand on Fulke's sleeve.

Fulke gazed mutely at the shield he had been so carefully tending that afternoon. The smooth, painted leather had been scored repeatedly with the point of a knife, completely obliterating the wolf's teeth blazon. So strong was the malice in the knife that several deep grooves had been cut into the underlying wood.

Rage rose within Fulke like a huge, red bubble. It throbbed behind his eyes, his hatred threatening to blind him. Within that hatred was the knowledge that this was what John must feel for him. To destroy a man's blazon was to insult not only him, but also his entire family and bloodline.

'Whatever you are thinking, he is not worth it,' Jean said, his gaze darting between Fulke's expression and the shield. 'We can have one of the armourers put a new skin on this and no one will know the difference.'

'But I will,' Fulke said in a voice strangled with bile. 'This changes everything.'

'Look, we have to go back to my lord's lodging. We've risked enough as it is.'

Fulke looked at him blankly for a moment, then, with a shudder, controlled himself. He walked stiffly into the adjoining hall, his fist clenched tightly upon his shield strap. There he stopped and stared like a hound spotting its prey. King Henry was talking to a cluster of officials and courtiers. And John was with him, a little pale around the gills, but showing few other signs of damage. His older half-brother William Longsword stood at his side, and their cousin, Aline de Warenne.

'Don't do anything foolish,' Jean muttered out of the side of his mouth. 'Lord Theobald will not be tender with the shreds
of
us that remain.'

Fulke could not stop himself from trembling. The force of his rage and the effort it was taking to control it was shaking the flesh from his bones. 'I'll kill him, I swear I will,' he snarled softly.

His glare was like a lance and John must have sensed it, for suddenly he turned his head and their eyes met as if they were on a battlefield. Without taking his attention from Fulke, John spoke to his father, who was deep in conversation with Ranulf de Glanville.

Henry turned somewhat impatiently, bent an ear to his son's swift murmur, and then he too stared across the room at Fulke. Ranulf de Glanville placed his hands behind his back and frowned.

'Christ,' muttered Jean beneath his breath as Henry crooked his finger and beckoned Fulke.

Fulke swallowed, but more with the effort of restraining his fury than with trepidation at approaching the royal party. He strode vigorously over to the group, his head high and the shield brandished to show John that he knew what had been done. Only when he reached the King did he kneel in obeisance and bow his head, his black hair flopping over his brows.

'Get up,' Henry commanded.

Fulke did so and immediately towered over his sovereign who was a little below average height and stockily built. The once flame-red hair was sandy-silver and Henry stood with shoulders braced as if his kingship weighed heavily.

'You have your grandfather de Dinan's size,' Henry said with a slight narrowing of his eyes. 'And the same propensity for trouble, it would seem. What do you have to say for yourself in answer to my son's accusation that you tried to kill him?'

The tales about Fulke's maternal grandfather, Joscelin de Dinan of Lambourn, were many and legend—and they were told with pride. Fulke was too full of fury and indignation to let him down. 'That his accusation is a lie, sire, and that he struck the first blow.' He raised his hand to indicate his swollen nose and puffy eyes.

John went from ashen to crimson. 'You cheated and you were insolent,' he snarled.

'I have never cheated in my life,' Fulke said hoarsely and swung his shield forwards so hard that he forced a startled William Longsword to take a step back. 'My lord Prince talks of insolence, but what of insult!' He thrust the ruined surface towards Henry and the courtiers.

'You tried to kill me!' John sputtered. 'You threw me against the wall in a fit of rage!' His eyes darted around the circle of barons, seeking sympathy, and lit on Ranulf de Glanville. 'You saw with your own eyes, my lord!'

'I saw the aftermath,' de Glanville said evenly. 'I doubt that whatever the provocation it was Fulke's intention to kill you. He would be stupid to do so, and while he is often rash and hot-headed, he is no fool.'

Fulke gave de Glanville a grateful look. 'I hit out in self-defence,' he said, his shoulders heaving. 'Lord John had already battered me with the chessboard and I had to stop him from doing it again.'

'You stinking whoreson, that's not—'

'Hold your tongue!' Henry snapped, turning on John. 'In truth I have never known you when you are not picking a quarrel over some imagined slight. If Fulke did any harm to you, then I suspect it is no more than you deserve. Come to me for justice, not favouritism. 'He turned to the Justiciar. 'Ranulf, see that my son receives a lesson in self-discipline. If the buckle end of a belt is involved, I will not be dismayed.'

De Glanville raised one eyebrow, his aplomb unshaken. 'Yes, sire.'

John turned as white as a table napkin. 'Papa, you would not.' His voice was torn between indignation and pleading.

Henry took hold of John by the shoulders. 'You are my youngest child.' His voice was almost weary now. 'One day soon you must have lands settled upon you, but how can I give you the responsibilities of a ruler when you cannot even play a game of chess without squabbling?'

John pulled away from his father. 'Perhaps if I had the responsibility now, I would not need to squabble at chess,' he spat and, with a furious glare at Fulke that threatened retribution, stalked off in the direction of his chamber.

Fulke looked at the floor, embarrassed, waiting for the King's dismissal and perhaps a flogging of his own. In the aftermath of temper his legs felt weak and he was freshly aware of the pain in his face.

Henry touched the damaged shield. 'Take this to the armoury and have it seen to,' he said. 'Lord John's Privy Purse will meet the cost.'

'Thank you, sire, but I would rather pay for the mending myself.'

Henry drew his finger through his beard. 'Have a care that your pride does not bring you down, Fulke FitzWarin,' he said quietly. 'If it is the be-all, then it can become the end-all.'

Fulke bowed and Henry moved on. William Longsword followed, giving Fulke a look of knowing sympathy, since he too had frequently been on the receiving end of John's unpredictable and vicious temper. De Glanville remained for a brief word.

'I thought Lord Walter would have more sense than to let you wander about near the royal chamber,' he remarked sharply.

'He did sir, but I had to fetch my shield.'

De Glanville looked suspicious. 'He knows you are out then?'

'He's gone to the abbey' Fulke answered, licking his lips. 'With the Archdeacon of York.'

'I see. In that case you had better hope that he is in a lenient mood when he returns.' The Justiciar flicked one fastidious hand in a gesture of dismissal.

'Sir.' Fulke bowed and prepared to make his escape.

'A word of warning, FitzWarin.'

'Sir?' Fulke stopped and looked over his shoulder.

'The King was right to warn you about pride. If I were you, I would tread very carefully. Prince John will bear you a grudge for today's incident, and he has a very long memory'

Fulke hefted the ruined shield so that it protected his body from shoulder to shin. 'So do I, sir,' he murmured.

CHAPTER 3

Lambourn Manor,

January 1185