Warrior's Song (21 page)

    "Chandra."

    "Nay," she said and held up her hand to ward him off, then turned to walk away.

    He stared after her, praying that his teasing hadn't led to her tears— no, impossible. He'd realized some time before that keeping the upper hand was the only way to save himself from being ground beneath her heel. Why had she cried? Surely not because he'd laughed. He wished she'd hit him instead. He wanted her, always wanted her; it was a low ache in his groin. But he saw his avoiding her as punishment for what she'd done. Punishment for him as well. He was a fool, he knew, but he didn't know what he could do about it.

    The next morning everyone at Camberley was caught up in the preparations for the coming of the prince and princess. Under Lady Avicia's sharp eye, the tapestries were taken down and beaten free of dust, the feather-down mattresses were hauled from the keep and aired for two days, leaving everyone to sleep wrapped in blankets on the floor. Even the jakes did not suffer from lack of Lady Avicia's attention. She saw to it that even with a south wind, there was no odor to offend the nose. Weaving and sewing went on far into the night, and the serving wenches were fitted with new kirtles of green wool. The lavers were polished until they sparkled enough to show the prince and princess their reflections while they washed their hands. The accumulated ashes were swept away from the huge hearth and the cavernous fireplace scrubbed.

    It was only when Lord Hugh saw several boys dangling from tall ladders trying to clean the crossbeams in the hall ceiling that he threw up his hands, crying enough. Hawk, with Lord Hugh's agreement, was kept out of the keep, and Chandra— who spent most of her waking hours directing servants and weeding the garden herself, for Lady Avicia was certain that Princess Eleanor would wish to inspect the tiered vegetable plots— was too tired from all the work to complain much.

    "I wonder which of us will have to wash the castle walls," was all she said.

    It was Jerval, in fact, who directed the cleaning of the barracks and stables, for in Lady Avicia's mind, the prince's men would surely tell him if they found filth. Although the men grumbled, they too were infected with the growing excitement, for royalty had not visited Camberley in over twenty years, when King Henry had once deigned to pass the night there. The rotted hay— of which there was very little— was swept from the stables and burned in the bailey.

    Meals were meager the several days before the prince's arrival, and the smells from the cooking sheds made everyone's mouth water. Lady Avicia had even sent for a baker from Carlisle, and the little man, his scrawny frame wrapped in a huge white linen apron, had quickly spread terror among the rest of the cooks, until, under his snapping orders, piles of pastries and breads filled the larders.

    Everyone but Lady Avicia was delighted when Anselm, high in the north tower, sounded three loud blasts on his hunting horn. She still wasn't ready— oh, by all the saints, what would the princess see that would offend her? At the sound of the horn, even the smallest child in the keep lined up beside his mother, his hands reverently clasped in front of him, awaiting the royal review.

    Chandra wished she were in the tower with Anselm to witness the prince's vast retinue, but her silk gown was new, as were her soft leather shoes, and she was left to wait at Jerval's side in the inner bailey. He was dressed, she was certain, as finely as the prince must be. His fair hair fell shining and thick in loose waves at his neck. His surcoat of vivid dark blue velvet fell to his ankles, its full, fur-lined sleeves wide and loose over his large hands. His mother had made his surcoat.

    "I do hope," Jerval said to her, "that the prince has bathed in the last week, else my mother will likely have him bathed before he's allowed to eat at the trestle tables."

    Chandra smiled at that, but didn't reply, for the inner bailey was suddenly a blaze of deep purple and crimson. Edward and Eleanor, dressed in rich velvet shot with gold thread, rode at the fore of their retinue, astride two matched, glossy-white stallions.

    "She is beautiful," Chandra whispered, her eyes on the exquisite woman who rode beside the prince, her black hair held in a net of gold, her gloved hands, covered with sparkling pearls, lightly holding her reins. "Never have I seen a more beautiful lady."

    "Aye," Jerval agreed, and could but shake his head. Chandra was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Had she no idea what she looked like? That a man wanted to fall to his knees just looking at her? "If you think me tall, Chandra, wait until your neck creaks looking up at the prince."

    "Aye, I know he is called Longshanks."

    Prince Edward leapt gracefully from his destrier and tossed the reins to one of the gape-mouthed stable boys. He was as magnificent as his princess, Chandra thought, taller even than she'd imagined, broad shouldered, and slim hipped. He was not, she thought objectively, as handsome as Jerval, but his features were strong, and his light-blue Plantagenet eyes seemed to take in everything and everyone about him. His hair was pale yellow and hung to his shoulders.

    There was a babble of voices until Lord Hugh stepped proudly forward. "God's grace on you, sire." Lord Hugh bowed deeply to the prince, and then to Princess Eleanor. "And to you, my lady."

    Chandra saw Prince Edward meet Jerval's eyes, his lips parted in a grin, but it was to Lord Hugh and Lady Avicia that he said, "Thank you for your excellent friendship. Eleanor and I are pleased to be here."

    "Aye," Eleanor said, her voice sweet and full, "we thank you for your hospitality."

    It was then that the prince turned to Jerval and clasped his hand, then hugged him. "Aye, it's even more handsome a rogue you've become," Edward said.

    "And even more a giant you've become."

    "It is good to see you again, Jerval." Edward wrapped his arms about Jerval's shoulders. "Eleanor, I beg you not to fall in love with this very short man just because you feel sorry for him. It's true too that he's but a boy, a good five years less of ripening than I have."

    "After seeing only your face for so many years, and watching you grow old, I vow I will look my fill," Eleanor said and gave Jerval her white hand. "It has been too long, Jerval. I trust all goes well with you."

    No, he thought, things weren't going all that well for him, but those thoughts didn't show on his face. "Aye, it has been far too long, my lady," he said, then added, "Sire, my lady, this is my wife."

    "What? You have finally tied yourself to one woman? Show me this amazing creature who has brought you low." The laughter left Edward's blue eyes when he looked down at Chandra. The girl curtsying before him would take away a man's breath. She was glorious. Golden hair hung loose to just below her shoulders, held back from her face with plaited yellow ribbons. He wanted to touch that hair. Actually, he wanted to touch all of her. And then she looked up at him, and he wondered what one said to such an exquisite creature. There was no shyness in her as she straightened to look at him full-face.

    "Who are you, my lady? Surely such a lovely girl would not pass unheard of to me, even at Windsor."

    "I am Chandra de Avenell. My father, Lord Richard, is one of your marcher barons. His castle is known as Croyland."

    "Sir Jerval is a lucky man," Eleanor said, smiling. "Come, my lord, have we not heard tell of Chandra de Avenell?"

    "My daughter-in-law," Lady Avicia said to everyone's astonishment, "has long been known for her beauty."

    "I can certainly see why," Eleanor said. "Do you not remember, my lord? Your father approved their marriage not long ago."

    "Aye," Edward said slowly. "I remember you well now, my lady. Lord Graelam de Moreton, as I recall, approached my uncle about wedding you." He turned to Jerval, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "You beat out a fine warrior, Jerval, and stole yourself a prize."

    It was on the tip of Chandra's tongue to inform the prince that it was Graelam who had nearly done the stealing, but Eleanor said suddenly, "A French minstrel, Henri, visited the court last year. He sang about you, Chandra, your beauty and your warrior deeds."

    "This lovely girl a warrior?" Edward gave a great belly laugh.

CHAPTER 21

"She is now more a wife," Jerval said smoothly, taking Chandra's hand in his. "As for Graelam de Moreton— that, sire, is a long story. Perhaps late one night when we are deep into my father's fine wine from Aquitaine, I will tell you of it."

    After the prince and princess were swept into the hall by Lord Hugh, Jerval turned to give orders for the prince's vast retinue.

    "Well, cousin, you must be relieved that the prince is happily wed and doesn't have the habit of consorting with his nobles' ladies."

    Jerval drew up at Eustace's deep voice. "You keep high company, Eustace." His eyes turned to his wife. "Chandra, this is Eustace de Leybrun. He was my sister Matilda's husband."

    Chandra nodded politely at the dark man, hearing the barely veiled dislike in Jerval's voice. He was dressed nearly as richly as the prince, his thick velvet cloak covering a surcoat of burgundy, its wide sleeves lined with miniver. He was not of Jerval's height, but he was built like a bull, his neck thick and corded, and she could see that beneath his noble clothes, his body was hard with muscle. She guessed him to be about thirty, or perhaps older, for there were lines etched about his dark eyes and his wide mouth.

    "Welcome to Camberley, sir. I understand you have been in France."

    "Aye, my lady," Eustace said. "Had I known that my little cousin was wedding himself to such as you, I would have returned and relieved him of his bride." His glance swept toward Jerval. "I saw de Moreton, you know, cousin. He was surly, his manner more abrupt than usual. None wanted to cross him. I had no idea that it was you who was the cause of his black humor. He said nothing to me, of course, but his squire's tongue became loose with drink, and he spoke of his master's defeat at Croyland, and of his shoulder wound at the hands of a gently bred lady."

    Eustace turned to Chandra and said in a soft voice that made her skin crawl, "So the victor won the prize, my lady. It is seldom that an heiress has claim to such beauty, as well as skill with a dagger. You are a prize to be treasured. Were you mine, I would hold you above all my possessions."

    Chandra had listened to him in silence. She wanted to strike him on both his ears. He hated Jerval— that was easy enough to see. It was jealousy, but no matter. Soon he would be gone again. She said, "Your compliments, Sir Eustace, ring hollow as the chapel bell. Mayhap you'd best strive for more sincerity."

    "Well met, my lady," Eustace said. "What is this about your gentle wife being a warrior, Jerval, and hurling daggers at the greatest fighters of our land?"

    "Go assist my mother," Jerval said, and gave Chandra a light shove. She wanted to remain, to challenge Eustace, but she saw the anger in her husband, anger that was deep and abiding.

    "My wife, Eustace," he said, watching Chandra gracefully mount the staircase to the hall, "is many things. But most important, she is now a de Vernon."

    "Do not, I beg you, Jerval, challenge me for admiring your wife's beauty. I see that you are surrounded by beauty. The fair Julianna has grown quite comely. I trust that she is still a virgin? Or did you already relieve her of that commodity?"

    Jerval wanted to strike him, to break both his legs, but he couldn't, at least not at this moment, so he ignored his words and said, "You have a new neighbor at Oldham. Sir Mark is now master there." He saw the tightening in Eustace's jaw and smiled.

    "How generous you are toward a landless knight." Eustace said it with a sneer, which marred his face, had he but known it.

    "The de Vernon lands need proper protection from the Scots," Jerval said smoothly, "and Sir Mark's loyalty to the de Vernons, as well as his honor, cannot be questioned."

    Eustace shrugged. "From what I heard, Sir John kept a tight hold on Oldham. Did he have the misfortune to look lustfully at your wife?"

    "Nay, he lacked the wit to see me for what I am, and he now rots in a shallow grave just beyond the keep. He betrayed us, dealt with Alan Durwald, who is also dead now. You will see Lady Faye, his widow. She has much changed since we freed her of that bastard. Let us go within. Doubtless you would like to refresh yourself."

    "What lovely rugs," Jerval heard Princess Eleanor say to his mother as they entered the hall.

    Lady Avicia beamed. "This one is from Castile, my lady, your homeland."

    "How long do you stay at Camberley, sire?" Lord Hugh asked.

    Edward tossed down the rest of his wine before saying with a disarming grin, "Actually, Lord Hugh, our trip north is for two purposes, the first being to travel to Scotland to celebrate my aunt's birthday. If it pleases you, we would be your guests for two days. My wife much enjoys the lake region, and it is always a pleasure to see my father's faithful barons."

    "And your other reason?" Jerval asked, having a good idea what was in Edward's mind.

    "Do not press me, Jerval," Edward said. "I plan to get you drunk, then gain your agreement."

    "That will be a sight worth seeing," Jerval said, and laughed. "I could always outdrink you. You'll be snoring and sodden in your chair and likely forget what it is you're after."

    "Very true, my lord," Eleanor said. "But at least you are always sweet and regretful the next morning."

    Edward said to Chandra, just shaking his head at his wife, "My lady, Lord Richard, your father, is one of the king's favorite men, and he has done well against the Welsh. But even castles like Croyland are not enough to contain them."

    "You are right, sire," Chandra said. "There is more need of protection. However, I must say that because of the Welsh, life at Croyland was never dull."

    Edward sat forward in his chair, needing no more encouragement, and rubbed his large hands together. "Aye, someday I will build castles along the border, mighty fortresses that will hold even Llewelyn. Englishmen will need have no fear that they will awake with their throats cut." Edward said to Chandra, "You find life at Camberley dull then, my lady?"

    What to say? That she was forced to mend sheets? To pull endless weeds next to the rosemary in the wretched gardens? Well, no, they weren't exactly wretched, those magnificent gardens, but to spend three hours on her knees, pulling up weeds, patting those plants as if they were children to be encouraged. Aye, life had to be dull if she wasn't allowed to hunt until she proved to her husband that she could sew him a wretched tunic. There were needle marks on the pads of her fingers. She hated sewing. She said finally, aware that Jerval was looking at her, his head cocked to one side, "It has not been so since we heard of your coming, sire."

    "She misses her armor," Julianna said. "Did you not know, sire? Chandra boasts that she can rout any man on the battlefield."

    Edward's brow shot up. "What is this, Jerval? You have another warrior at Camberley, yet you do not use her skills?"

    "My wife is currently enlarging her skills, sire. My mother is teaching her the duties of a chatelaine. Now, sire, you have need to refill your goblet."

    What Chandra wanted more than anything at that moment was to fetch her sword and go toe to toe with the damn prince.

    She looked at her husband and knew he saw exactly what was in her mind. He smiled at her even as he shook his head. That smile of his, she knew, was dead serious.

    She sighed and escorted Princess Eleanor to her chamber.

    The trestle tables groaned under the weight of the food Lady Avicia provided that evening. Silver plates held the trenchers of bread, set amid pastries filled with chicken, venison, salmon, and eel. The mixed aroma of onions, garlic, carrots, artichokes, peas, and potatoes wafted through the hall, filled with over a hundred people, many of them eating seated on the stone floors, Avicia having wisely rolled up the carpets to prevent them from being soiled.

    "Indeed a royal feast," Edward said as servants carried in huge platters of roasted stag, cut into quarters, crisped, and larded. He watched, rubbing his hands in anticipation, as one of the cooks poured a hot, steaming pepper sauce over the stag.

    "And such a wealth of vegetables, Lady Avicia," Eleanor said.

    "The vegetables are from Camberley's own gardens," Lady Avicia said. "Chandra has nearly made the garden her own."

    "Not the garden," Chandra said, "merely the weeds."

    "It is one and the same thing," Avicia said.

    As if on cue, Lady Avicia's specially hired cook ushered in three servants who were carrying an enormous platter. Lord Hugh, grinning widely, stepped forward, eyed the huge pastry, and slashed it open with his dagger. A score of small swallows fluttered out and flew wildly about the hall, amid the men's shouts and the ladies' cries. Eventually, they winged to the crossbeams and to safety.

    When he was sated with food and wine, Edward sat back in his chair with a satisfied groan.

    "Do you wish more wine, sire?" Lord Hugh asked.

    "Perhaps," Jerval said, "Prince Edward will finally tell us his real reason for his visit to Camberley."

    Edward grinned at him. "You know, Jerval, why I am here. I want you to come with me to Tunis, to join King Louis and fight the heathen in Outremer."

    "The Holy Land," Jerval said to Chandra.

    "A crusade?"

    "Aye, my lady," Edward said. "I have taken my vow before God, as have many others. It is a holy cause and we will not fail. But we must leave soon, before winter sets in and makes travel impossible. Join me, Jerval, and bring as many men as Camberley can spare."

    "How many men does Louis command?" Lord Hugh asked.

    "Well over ten thousand. Although our numbers will not be so impressive, together we can crush the Saracens."

    "I have heard it told," Jerval said, "that the Saracen sultan, Baibars, commands an army in the hundreds of thousands."

    "Aye, it is true. But I am convinced, as is King Louis, that our cause will bring the other kings of Christendom to our aid."

    "King Louis failed miserably in his first effort," Lord Hugh said sharply. "He was captured, ransomed, and released back to France, weak and old before his time."

    Eleanor said quietly, "But, my lord, his spirit inspires the most profound loyalty and admiration in Christendom, and fear in its enemies. The Saracens fear us, and our God."

    "It will be a costly venture," Jerval said.

    "Aye," Edward agreed, "but think of the glory and honor we will gain in serving God by ridding the Holy Land of its heathen."

    "It is a request that I must not answer quickly," Jerval said quietly, closing his hand over Edward's arm.

    The talk continued, but Chandra wasn't listening. She had never been out of England; indeed, the Scottish border was the farthest she had ever traveled from Camberley, and that journey was not a pleasant memory. She remembered her father telling her of the mighty Templars, a fierce military order as skilled in the art of finance as in that of fighting, and of the Saracens, who were threatening the very existence of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. If only she were a man, a knight, to be free to join Prince Edward. To go to the Holy Land— ah, it was a dream, a magnificent dream.

    Lord Hugh said suddenly, "My daughter-in-law is talented, sire. Would you care to hear her perform?"

    The talk of the crusade was over. Chandra looked briefly at Jerval and saw his brow furrowed in thought.

    Edward called out, "Aye, let Chandra play and sing, and then I can retire to my bed to dream about her."

    "You have eaten so much, my lord," Eleanor said, "I wager it is nightmares you'll have."

    Chandra's lyre was fetched and she settled it on her lap, running her fingers lightly over the strings. She sang of King Richard and his final battle with the great Saladin, a song she herself had written. Her eyes sparkled as the notes rose to a crescendo at Richard's victory, then fell muted and sad at the treachery that imprisoned him, far away from England, in the dark dungeons of Leopold of Austria.

    There was silence for a brief moment when she had finished; then Edward leaned forward in his chair and said, his voice low and serious, "My great-uncle taught the heathen that the Christian God would not be denied, that our Lord makes us strong and brave in battle. I thank you for your tribute."

    Eustace called out, "Ah, sire, she is a warrior, do you not remember?"

    Edward's Plantagenet-blue eyes lightened. "Tell me, then, my lady, what other talents do you possess?"

    "I joust, though I do not have a man's strength. I hunt. I am good with a knife. And, sire, I should not be surprised if I could best you on the archery range."

    Edward looked taken aback; then he threw back his head and gave way to booming laughter.

    "A soft, delicate girl best me?" Edward wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "I admire your wit, my lady."