Fire Song (Medieval Song 2)

“I am not surprised, if he has his father’s oily tongue and your cunning, sister.”

Graelam chewed thoughtfully on his meat, watching the two of them spar. At least, he thought, it appeared that Lady Felice had all but forgotten him. He cast an eye about for the wench Glenna as he drank his ale.

“If only,” he heard Felice say angrily, “I had not been born a female, Belleterre would be mine! And you, Maurice, you would sell your homely daughter’s hand to the devil to keep Belleterre from its rightful heir!”

“You are never satisfied, sister. ’Twas you who insisted upon wedding Gilbert de Lacy. His was the bed you wanted, so now you may lie in it.”

“Where is Guy?” Graelam asked Maurice in a brief moment of silence.

Maurice said absently, “The little slut Glenna found the fair Englishman much to her taste. She is likely teaching your knight a thing or two.”

So much for that, Graelam thought, and downed the remainder of his ale. He rose and laid his hand on Maurice’s shoulder. “We’ve a long ride tomorrow, and I, for one, am ready to take my rest.”

Maurice shot a snide look toward his sister. “If you don’t mind, dear sister, my lord Graelam and I will sleep in Geoffrey’s chamber. As an Englishman, he is too polite to protect himself!”

Felice gave Maurice a venomous look and Graelam a small, disappointed smile.

“I thank you, my lady,” Graelam said, “for your hospitality. The bath was most refreshing and the meal sits well in my belly.”

“And he wants nothing else sitting on his belly, sister!”

Felice hissed a retort, but Graelam could not make out her words. He found himself wondering if the two of them had argued and baited each other all their lives. He was mildly disappointed that Geoffrey had not been present. He would have liked to take the man’s measure himself.

The rain, thankfully, had stopped during the night, and the sun was fast drying the muddy road by the time they left Beaumanoir.

“ ’Tis a relief to be away from that viper’s nest,” Maurice said.

Graelam cocked a thick black brow. “You gave as good as you got, Maurice. Indeed, I fancied that you were much enjoying yourself.”

“Aye,” Maurice said. “Felice has never bored me. I gave her two casks of wine for her hospitality and her . . . disappointment.”

“She is a most insistent woman,” Graelam said only.

As for Guy, Graelam found the young knight heavy-eyed, but he forbore to mock him.

They passed through hilly forests of oak and beech, cut through by gorges, ravines, and tumbled rocks. Untilled moors dotted with yellow gorse and purple heather stretched to barren summits, giving views of tilled green valleys beyond. Maurice grew more excited as they drew closer to Belleterre. “We are near the Morlaix River,” Maurice said. “You can nearly smell the sea. The soil is rich here, fortunately, and our wheat crops are plentiful in most years. We also have cattle and sheep aplenty, and their noxious smell and loud baas fill the air in the spring.”

Graelam nodded. “ ’Tis much like Cornwall,” he said. “The beggers also abound there. It is a difficult task to keep them out of the crops. God be praised that we grow most of our wheat and barley in a valley, protected from the salty air and the sea winds.”

Twilight was falling when they crossed the final rocky rise. “There”—Maurice pointed proudly—“is Belleterre.”

Belleterre was not a sprawling pile of stone, as was Wolffeton. Nor did its aura of strength lessen its beauty. Graelam’s military eyes took in its battlements and its prominence in the countryside and the river. Belleterre was a fortress of no mean value.

As Graelam turned to tell Maurice some of his thoughts, Maurice shouted, dug his heels in his destrier’s sides, and rode like a wild-eyed Saracen up the steep path to Belleterre. The rest of his men, save those driving the wagons, fell into line behind him, all of them shouting and waving.

Graelam said to Guy, “When you are within the walls, I want you to examine the fortifications. Wolffeton is in need of repairs. Perhaps you will learn something useful. As for me, I fear that I will be drinking a lot of wine and smiling at Maurice’s precious daughter until my mouth aches.”

“The girl Glenna told me that Kassia de Lorris is a gentle girl and possessed of considerable beauty.”

Graelam grunted. “I care not if she be as winsome as Queen Eleanor or a crone with no teeth,” he said.

As he rode under the iron portcullis into the inner bailey, he noted the winching mechanisms and the thickness of the inner walls with approval. The inner bailey itself surprised him. It was flawlessly clean and orderly. Even the cobblestones were set into the earth on a slight incline so that rainwater would not collect. He was examining the outbuildings and the stables when he heard Maurice shouting at the top of his lungs, “Kassia! Kassia!”

There was something wrong. The many people who were in the inner bailey were strangely quiet, staring toward Maurice or talking in whispers to each other behind their hands. They had the look, Graelam thought suddenly, of sheep who had lost their shepherd. He dismounted from Demon and handed the reins to one of his men.

He looked upward at the huge keep, and the winding thick oak stairs that led to the great hall. Suddenly he heard an anguished cry. “Kassia!”

Graelam galloped up the stairs and found himself in a huge, high-vaulted chamber. He was vaguely aware of the smell of lemon, and sweet rosemary from the thick rushes that covered the stone floor. There were exquisite tapestries covering the walls next to a cavernous fireplace. He saw Maurice stride toward an old woman and begin to shake her shoulders.