Earth Song (Medieval Song 3)

King Edward nodded decisively. “Aye, Robbie, you must needs go and inform de Fortenberry of his immense good fortune. The fellow probably has gaps in his castle walls, he’s so poor. His sire had not a coin to bless himself with either. Aye, I’ll have St. Erth repaired. I don’t want my sweet daughter in any danger, so mayhap I’ll have more men sent.”

Robert Burnell said, “But I thought you didn’t wish to acquire a son-in-law who would drain your coffers, sire.”

“Nay, not drain them, but we’re speaking of my daughter, Robbie, the product of my youth, the outpouring of my young man’s . . .” The king grinned. “He has but a young son? All Plantagenet ladies love children. She will take to the boy, doubtless, so we need have no worries there. After you’ve gotten de Fortenberry’s consent and endured all his endless thanks and listened to all his outpourings of gratitude, have Lord Henry bring our sweet daughter here to Windsor. My queen insists that my daughter be wedded here. Philippa’s nuptials will take place in a fortnight, no longer, mind you, Robbie.”

The king moved away from his chancellor, flexing his shoulders as he paced. “Aye, you must go now, for there is much else to be done. God’s teeth, so much else. It never ceases. Aye, we’ll soon finish this business, and it will end happily.”

Robert Burnell, accompanied by twenty of the king’s finest soldiers, left the following morning for Cornwall.

Not two days later, the king was sitting with Accursi, plotting ways of wringing funds from his nobles’ coffers for all the castles he wanted to build in Wales. Accursi, the son of a famous Italian jurist, was saying in his high voice, “Sire, ’tis naught to worry you. Simply tell the nobles to open their hearts and thus their coffers to you. Your need is greater than theirs. ’Tis their need you seek to meet! They are your subjects and ’tis to your will they must bow.”

Edward looked sour. He stroked his jaw. Accursi would never understand the English nobleman despite all his years in service with him. He thought them weak and despicable, sheep to be told firmly to shed their very wool. Edward was on the point of saying something that would likely send Accursi into a sulk when he heard a throat clear loudly, and looked up.

“Sire, forgive me for disturbing you,” his chamberlain, Aleric, said quickly, “but Roland de Tournay has come and he awaits your majesty’s pleasure. You gave orders that you wished to see him immediately.”

“De Tournay!” Edward laughed aloud, rising quickly. A respite from Accursi. “Send him hence. I wish to see that handsome face of his.”

Roland de Tournay paused a moment on the threshold of the king’s chamber, taking it all in, as was his wont, and Edward knew he was assessing the occupants, specifically Accursi. Edward saw the very brief flash of contempt in Roland’s eyes, an instinctual Englishman’s reaction to any foreigner.

Edward said, grinning widely, “Come bow before me, de Tournay, you evil infidel. So our gracious Lord saw fit to save you to return to serve me again, eh?”

Roland strolled into the chamber as if he were its master, but it didn’t offend Edward. It was de Tournay’s way. It did, however, offend Accursi, who said in his high, accented voice, “See you to your manners, sirrah!”

“Who is this heathen, sire? I can’t recall his face or his irritating manners. You haven’t told the fellow of my importance?”

Edward shook his head. “Accursi, hold your peace. De Tournay is my man, doubt you not, and I’ll not have him abused, save by me. ’Tis about time we see you in England, Roland.”

“That is what I heard said of you, sire, you who wandered the world for two years before claiming your crown.”

“Impudent dog. Come and sit with me, and we will drink to our days in Acre and Jerusalem and your nights spent wallowing in the Moslims’ gifts. I hear Barbars gave you six women to start your own harem.”

It was some two hours later when the king said to the man who’d done him great and loyal service in the Holy Land, “Why did you not come to my coronation October last? Eleanor spoke of your desertion.”

Roland de Tournay merely smiled and drank more of the king’s fine Brittany wine. “I doubt not the beautiful and gracious queen spoke of me,” he said. “But, sire, I was naught but a captive in a deep prison, held by that sweetest of men, the Duke of Brabant. He, in short, demanded ransom for my poor body. My brother paid it, afraid not to, for he knew that you would hear of it if he didn’t.” Roland grinned wickedly. “Actually, I think it was his fair wife, lusty Blanche, who forced him to ransom me.”

It took Edward only another hour before he slapped his knee and shouted, “You shall marry my daughter! Aye, the perfect solution!”

“Your daughter!” Roland repeated, staring blankly at the king. “A royal princess? You have drunk too much of this fine wine, sire.”

The king just shook his head and told de Tournay about Philippa de Beauchamp. “ . . . so you see, Roland, Robbie is on his way, as we speak, to de Fortenberry. I would rather it be you. You’re a known scoundrel and de Fortenberry is an unknown one. What say you?”

“De Fortenberry, eh? He’s a tough rascal, sire, a rogue, and worthy withal. I know naught ill of him as a man. But he’s wily and likes not to bow to anyone, even his king. Why did you select him?”

“ ’Twas Graelam de Moreton who suggested him. He’s a force in Cornwall, a savage place still. I need good men, strong men, men I can trust. As a son-in-law I could trust his arm to wield sword for me. But you too could settle there, Roland. I would deed you property and a fine castle. What say you?”

“Will you make me a duke, sire?”

“Impudent cock! An earl you’ll be, and nothing more.”

Roland fell silent. It felt strange to be back in his own land, sitting with his king, discussing marriage to a royal bastard. He wanted no wife, truth be told, yet the truth hesitated on his tongue. Doubtless the king would regret his hastiness. The flagon of wine lay nearly empty between them. Roland would wait until the morrow.

“ ’Twould enrage your brother, I vow,” the king mused. “Himself the Earl of Blackheath, and to have his troublesome young brother be made an earl also and the king’s son-in-law? Aye, ’twould make him livid.”

That it would, Roland thought. But he didn’t particularly like to rub his brother’s nose in dung, so he slowly shook his head.

&nbsp

; “ ’Tis a generous offer, sire, and one that must be considered conscientiously and in absence of your good drink.”