Warrior's Song (Medieval Song 1)

“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 C

handra, 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.