Honor & Roses (5 page)

Theobald stood up, waving the suggestion away. “On the morrow. Is there anything I should know immediately about the king’s progress, anything you could not commit to paper? Tell me before we go into the feast, if needful.”

Alric considered. “There are a few things to report, my lord, but I would not say they are urgent. I will spend an hour or so tomorrow to give you all the particulars. And in turn, I shall be grateful to know how things have passed here while we have been away.”

“The usual matters,” Theobald said. “I watch the lands to the west carefully.”

Alric nodded in understanding. The princes among the Welsh were not always content with the border, and they often took advantage of distracted marcher lords, launching raiding parties into English territory.

“The new curtain wall is meant to thwart them from attempting to attack the manor?” Alric asked. “When was the last raid?”

“There were a few small forays this winter past,” Theobald said. “Not more than twenty men, roaming through the shire and seizing easy prey. Like as not, they were simply masterless men who spoke Welsh, rather than a sanctioned raid.”

Alric nodded. “Quite possible. The Long Forest and the Ardenwood to the north can shelter all too many brigands. It’s just as well to keep people safe here.”

“But they must go sometimes,” said Theobald, looking displeased about it. “The pigs must be tended as they graze in the forest. There are mushrooms to be found, or fallen wood to gather. The women of the manor go berrying all through summer. And I often lead the hunt. The forest is almost as well peopled as the village or the manor.”

“Perhaps that keeps more brigands away,” Alric concluded.

He followed Theobald out into the corridor and to the great hall, where the laughter of the gathered folk was already growing loud.

Alric looked around the space, searching for Cecily.

The hall blazed with light. Torches were stuck into holders along the walls, and a large fire burned in the middle of the room, even though it was high summer. Alric took in the dozens of brightly gowned women and the men dressed in the finest clothes they had. The feast brought everyone together. Everyone mingled here from the lowest villeins to the knights to the parish priest to the highest nobles. But he didn’t see the bright face of his childhood friend.

Then his eyes were caught by the vision of a fine lady standing at the high table. Had Lord Theobald finally married again? Who was this woman so laden with gold that she gleamed in the light?

She must be a new wife, chosen for her wealth or her bloodline. Theobald was a shrewd man who gained every advantage in a transaction, and he’d look at a marriage no differently. This lady must be someone important.

Then she turned her head toward him, and Alric felt like he’d taken a blow to the gut. Cecily.

Those fine grey eyes were unmistakable. But Cecily the girl was gone, and here was a woman, fully grown and fully aware of her place. The deep blue gown with its elaborate stitching made it clear that
she
was the lady of this castle, and the gold circlet in her soft gold hair made it clear that she was a lady to be reckoned with.

The shift was so overwhelming, Alric didn’t know how to react. He knew she’d be beautiful. Just not so unreachably beautiful. Had he truly thought there’d be a way to pick up the old threads of friendship, or the childish affection they’d shared? He was mad. Cecily was a lady, in every way. If he wanted to be near her, it would be only in the capacity of a knight and liege lady. Just as he served her father and then her uncle. Alric blinked once, in an effort to lock the new image of Cecily in his mind, erasing the girl he used to know.

Then she looked directly at him. Even across the room, her expression changed when she saw him—did she recognize him? She must. But then that aloof queenly look was back, and her eyes passed on. Had he only imagined her recognizing him? Had
he
changed that much?

“Our lord Theobald has arrived,” Cecily called out, to the general cheer of the people. “And our knights and men have returned at last!”

The cheering grew louder at that, and Alric found himself quickly surrounded by well-wishers. Rafe stepped up to him, pressing a full mug of ale into his hand. He lost sight of Cecily once more.

Everyone clamored around him, asking for news and sharing years of gossip. Alric was offered more food and more drink and wanted none of it. He thought he was coming home, but after seeing Cecily’s distant face, he felt like a stranger.

Cecily thought she might faint when
Alric entered the great hall at her uncle’s side. It took her a moment to realize it
was
Alric. When had he become so…magnificent?

She always thought him handsome. As a knight in constant training, he was slim and well-conditioned, the muscles of his arms and back made strong through daily practice with a sword. She hadn’t remembered him being quite so broad-shouldered, but there he was, as perfect a man as any woman could hope for. His hair was still a rich chestnut, with not so much as a hint of silver yet. His skin had grown duskier from summer campaigns. And his eyes were still that welcoming brown.

As she caught his gaze, she quickly turned away to speak to someone near her, giving herself a moment to compose her face.

Alric had changed. Of course he had changed! Five years had passed.

But she admitted to herself that in some ways Alric hadn’t changed much at all. It was simply that she now had no veil of friendship between her eyes and her mind to obscure how she reacted to him.

Cecily chanced another look at him. The eyes were deeply brown, but welcoming? Not anymore. There was a coldness in his gaze, a new wariness. The result of so many years expecting attack? Or something deeper?

Thankfully, the rituals of feasting gave her plenty to occupy her mind. Theobald offered a toast to the health of all the returning knights and their squires, one that was heartily cheered by everyone in the hall. Then the servants brought out the first courses, and soon the tables were piled high with food.

Because the kitchen did not have much warning, the most elaborate dishes one might see at a feast were absent—the subtleties and the roast swans and such. But there was ham and mutton and beef in abundance. Meat was roasted or boiled, sauced or sliced, hot or cold. And in addition to the meats, there were all sorts of breads, both sweet and savory. Cooked puddings steamed up the room, and preserved fruits lay like jewels on silver platters.

“Quite a presentation,” said Pavia, from where she sat next to Cecily.

“One might almost think we were expecting their return,” Cecily noted dryly. She was still irked at the late warning.

“Oh, don’t pretend you’re not happy they’ve come back!” Pavia gave a little laugh. “I’m pleased to see such knights, though they’re all too young for me! Which one was always at your side? What was his name? Hawk?”

“Alric of Hawksmere. Yes,” Cecily murmured. “He’s here. He will not have remembered the child I was.” She watched covertly as Alric spoke with Sir Rafe and an unknown knight with an uncommonly dark complexion.

“Well, they have seen much of the world in the past few years.” Pavia sighed, then nodded toward the stranger. “And now they bring back someone from the Holy Land itself. How remarkable a journey. I’d never have the strength to travel so far! He must have stories to tell.” The older lady signaled a servant to ask the newcomer over.

He obeyed the summons instantly, though he had to put aside his own meal to do so. He bowed graciously to both Cecily and Pavia, announcing himself as Octavian.

Pavia smiled impishly. “Well met, sir,” she said. “I half feared the ladies of the hall would bore you, hence your not coming over to greet us already.”

“That was not my intent,” the young knight said, looking stricken. “Forgive me if I appeared uncouth.”

Pavia laughed, and Cecily did as well. She could see that Octavian was either serious in all things, or he wasn’t quite used to the language, and thus missed Pavia’s joking tone.

“On the contrary,” Pavia reassured him. “Your manners are admirable. You were raised well.”

“Do not mind Pavia’s jokes,” Cecily added. “She takes little in this life seriously.”

“But I am quite serious about learning more of you, sir,” said Pavia. “Tell us a little of your home.”

He nodded, used to the question. “I was born in the Kingdom of Edessa, and that is why they now call me Octavian de Levant.”

“And your family?” Pavia asked.

“My father was born in a Christian kingdom of Africa, and he served as a solider on the side of the Franks. He helped secure the city of Edessa against the incursions of the Saracens, who now seek to retake the lands the Franks claimed during their crusade. It was there he met my mother, who was so beautiful he offered to marry her the day he saw her…so I was told. I have never met my parents.”

“Oh!” Cecily said. “How did that come to be?”

“When my mother died bearing me, I was given to a monastery to be raised. I was the eighth boy to be left there that year,” he added.

“Thus Octavian,” said Pavia.

He nodded. “The one who brought me to the monks told them of my parents. And they told me when I was old enough to know.”

“Were you meant to be an oblate?”

“No. I think I was left at a monastery only to ensure my upbringing. But the monks were of a military order. Thus I learned to fight, and soon found my calling.”

“So you were raised as a soldier. And you must have been taught English,” Cecily concluded.

“Indeed, as well as French and Latin. And a little Greek.”

“Why leave the Holy Land at all?” Pavia asked. “Especially when so many men seek to go there?"

Octavian’s expression changed, becoming guarded. “There is strife, and disease, and famine—just as anywhere else. When the lord I was serving heard of the dispute between King Stephen and the Empress Maud, he decided to return to his ancestral lands to protect his own claims. I asked to join him, because I want to see more of the world. On his return, he declared for Stephen, and I am bound to serve my lord, so I entered the king’s army as a man-at-arms.”

“Any lord would be pleased to have your fealty,” Pavia said.

Cecily agreed, and added, “You are most welcome at Cleobury, Sir Octavian. My uncle will have said so already, but I add my welcome to his.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Octavian said solemnly.

He rejoined the table where the other men were seated.

“My goodness,” Pavia sighed. “What pretty eyes that young man has.”

Cecily hadn’t noticed. She looked over at Alric again. He was either completely absorbed in the discussion his tablemates were having, or he merely wished to avoid looking toward Cecily, because he never even turned his head.

Cecily managed to eat a serving of juicy beef, though not before the hard bread of her trencher became thoroughly soaked through. She should eat the trencher too, but she was far too distracted to feel hungry. She sipped wine from her goblet. The taste of it tingled lightly on her tongue. She always watered her wine, at Pavia’s recommendation. A wise woman should never risk drunkenness.

A footman approached Cecily. “My lady?”

“Yes, John?”

“There are beggars at the gates,” he told her.

“Well, let them in,” she said, surprised he would even bother to ask. Beggars were always free to enter the manor on feast days and beg what they could from the people, even in the hall itself.

He twisted his hands nervously. “But my lady, some are lepers. If we allow the beggars in, the lepers may sneak in as well. Right now they are tame enough, but they clamor for food.”

Cecily said, “Those who are not marked as lepers may enter, just as always. Tell the kitchen to bring some bread outside the gates where the lepers may take it. They will not violate the rules and come inside.”

“Are you certain, my lady?”

“Quite. Do as I say and have no fear, John.”

Not long after, a beggar came to Cecily’s feet. He seemed a little younger than Cecily, she thought. But he was bone thin, and his skin was already tanned and wrinkled from living outside in all weather. He looked too scared to even ask for alms.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Bertram,” he said. She could barely hear the name above the noise in the hall.

Cecily smiled, and pushed her trencher toward him. “If you are hungry, take this with my blessing. I can eat no more tonight.”

The beggar reached out cautiously, then grabbed the trencher once he realized it wasn’t a trick.

“Bless you, my lady,” he mumbled, though he stared only at the trencher, the hard bread now soaked with meat juices. “They talk about you at…” he trailed off, eyes glazed. His hunger was overwhelming his ability to speak.

“Go and eat,” she said kindly. After the beggar took the offering, he darted away from such august company.

Cecily looked around and noticed that part of the hall was more lively than the rest. There was some discussion going on among the newly returned knights. No, it was more of an argument. Though she couldn’t discern words, the tension was obvious.