Page 31

He thought on this as he walked down the corridor and down a set of circular stone steps, picking up speed as he made his way to the ground-floor level, where the large banquet hall was set.

Servants milled about, the air smelled of rich food and wine, and he almost stepped on a page or two.

Women wore their best, the men strutted around chatting and looking important, and minstrels played quietly nearby.

The banquet hall was well-decorated, or as much as could be done in late February.

The fine walls hung with large tapestries, depicting battle scenes that must have taken skilled ladies months to make.

Great tables sat in the center of the room, with benches that stretched long.

Small torches dotted around the room, adding golden gusts of light that flickered with warm glows, and candles sat interspersed on the table.

There was a large grand fireplace that was so big, people could easily walk inside it.

Great logs cut down from some poor tree now added fuel to the healthy blaze there, and it made a room already warm from so many bodies even warmer.

Men and women chatted and laughed with good cheer, and Theobold found himself idly chatting with the other squires whilst keeping an eye on his master.

Sir Robert was present and had bathed after his travels as well, for Theobold had been the one to organize the wooden bathing tub and hot water for him.

That was one lesson he’d passed on during their time together.

Bathe at every opportunity. It bred good health and made any foul airs or miasmas they might have picked up on their travels depart.

Plus, the ladies didn’t seem to mind. Not all knights felt this way, and some, like Sir Bors, prided themselves on their manly odor, as a sign of their strength or virility, perhaps.

In any case, Theobold found himself smiling at one or two young women in the room, then blinked and made himself stop.

By all reasoning, he should inform the empress immediately that the crown had been found, and of Bronwyn’s involvement.

The fact that she’d put it back was a mark in her favor, a sure sign of her loyalty, and yet something made him pause.

A voice in his mind told him that the empress would not see it that way, and to speak of Bronwyn getting in the way at all would put her in danger.

His loyalty first was to God, then the empress, then his master, and to his family.

So why was he pausing? Why did his feet stop short, when his head demanded he report to the empress about the crown?

He knew what he should do. His loyalties required his action. And yet he couldn’t.

He was on a mission for Her Grace to find out what he could from Bronwyn, and he needed to get close to her, not flirt with the other young women. What would Bronwyn think if she knew?

Instead of going to report, Theobold helped himself to a cup of wine and winced at the taste.

It was a mix of sour and sweet, and it held sediment that filled his mouth.

If this was the work of the local brewer in the castle, he might go without.

He spat the sediment back into his cup and reached for pale ale instead.

Then the empress entered the room. A hush fell. The empress smiled, for she enjoyed being the center of attention and liked it when those present stopped what they were doing. She stood quietly, waiting for all to take notice. With her hands clasped, Empress Maud almost looked demure.

Once satisfied, she took her place at the head of the table, flanked by Sir Miles, Sir Robert, and Sir Ranulf, as well as the turncoat Sir Bors.

Theobold didn’t like the man, for he along with Sir Gilbert, Sir Baldwin of Clare, and Sir Grossetete had sided with Stephen’s court.

The three knights now sat imprisoned along with the rest of Stephen’s men, but Sir Bors was an opportunist and had been quick to switch sides back again.

Theobold didn’t trust him, especially since Sir Bors had been attacked in the tent where the crown had been stolen.

His recent return to the empress’s court, combined with him being in the tent at that time, seemed too much of a coincidence.

But the empress had welcomed Sir Bors back, and so the man strode into the room, boldly as ever, no doubt stinking of horse, sweat, and gritty wine.

Sir Bors wore a clean shirt and tunic, belted with his sword at his waist. He’d combed his hair, but his beard looked as scraggily as ever.

He was tall and barrel-chested, and he liked to challenge men to wrestling bouts to show off his skill.

Theobold had fought him once, and the man fought dirty. He didn’t wish to face him again.

Sir Bors took a place on the benches amongst the knights, many of whom ignored him.

Theobold stood back behind his master and brought him a cup of wine.

He disliked the stuff, but his master enjoyed a good vintage.

As Sir Robert turned and motioned to Theobold to bring him another, Sir Ranulf de Gernon, sat across from him and next to Sir Bors, eyed the cup of wine and said, “Here, boy, bring me one too.”

Theobold gave de Gernon a level look. “I’m not your boy.” He motioned to the nearest page to pour him a cup of wine. He noticed Rupert standing there, quiet. No doubt awaiting his moment to prove himself, the swine , Theobold thought. He ignored him.

Sir Ranulf’s timing was excellent. He glanced back ever so slightly, just in time to raise his hand and knock the cup from the page’s hands, sending it and the wine falling to the floor.

Amongst the noise from the people present, it was not so noticeable—spills and accidents happened all the time—but Sir Ranulf fixed a smile at Theobold. “Clumsy. Fetch me another.”

A page stepped in to help and Sir Ranulf said, “No. I want him to do it.” He motioned to Theobold.

Theobold held his gaze. People were starting to stare, and he knew it.

“Why are you ordering around my squire?” Sir Robert asked, his voice even.

Sir Ranulf glanced at his father-in-law. “Well, we’re family, so I don’t see why not. What’s the problem? I’m thirsty.”

“You’re clumsy and ordering around my squire. He serves me.” Sir Robert’s voice was calm, but authoritative.

Theobold stood at his master’s shoulder. Sir Robert was even-keeled, especially in the quiet before a fight.

“So what? He can serve me too. We are related, after all.”

“You know the rules. Squires serve their masters. He may help others if I say so.”

Theobold blinked. His master had never put his foot down like that before. He’d never needed to. Theobold had simply helped out where he pleased and he had trust from Sir Robert that it was a job well done. Any complaints or reprimands were done in private.

“Oh, for goodness’s sake, why are you two arguing over a mere squire?” the empress said. “Such rules and rigidness. I do not care who serves whom, as long as the job is done and my men’s bellies are full. You there, step in for these clumsy pages and assist de Gernon.”

A page stepped forward when Rupert moved in front of him. “Allow me, Your Grace.”

Empress Maud simpered. She watched as Rupert deftly took a pottery jug and poured a cup of wine, setting it by Sir Ranulf’s thick hands.

Sir Ranulf snatched up the cup and drank the wine, sediment and all, whilst gazing at Theobold. His eyes narrowed, and Theobold knew this wasn’t over.

Lady Alice glanced at Morwenna, who was taking her seat. “Why, Lady Morwenna, your hands. Were you sampling the honey? They look sticky.”

Lady Morwenna’s cheeks flushed as she reached for the tablecloth to wipe her hands clean. “Yes. You caught me. That’s what I was doing. How good of you, Lady Alice, to closely keep an eye on what all of us do in our off moments. I wonder, do you plan to watch me use the privy, too?”

Lady Alice looked away, and Lady Morwenna laughed. She wasn’t the only one. Lady Susanna tittered as well, her gaze darting between the two of them.

Empress Maud clapped her hands and stood.

“Welcome, everyone. I’m so glad to see so many of you here tonight.

We have had a long journey in coming here, and it has not been without its share of trials.

But now is a time to celebrate. So I ask you to eat, drink, and be merry.

Enjoy the meal and the wine—and laugh. Let this be a happy time. We have returned.”

The knights all clapped and thundered their feet beneath the table, some banging the table and bumping into platters, trenchers, and cups with the noise. It was like a drumming that grew into a frenzied roar, and the empress laughed and sat down.

A servant set a cup brimming with wine down before her, and she raised it to her lips. “To our return to Gloucester, and soon to Westminster. We will travel to London for our coronation and show the people of London what it means to have a real ruler to rally behind.”

At that moment, Sir Bors and Sir Edward came into the room. Sir Bors carried something on a pillow, covered with a silken cloth, judging from the folds and the way it caught the light.

“Ah, there you are. What kept you?” Empress Maud asked.

“This, Your Grace,” Sir Bors said. He whisked the cloth off the item with a flourish.

The crowd instantly ooh ed. It was the crown. Gleaming, polished, shining with great stones in the light. Instant applause and cheers filled the room.

Empress Maud’s face lit up with a broad smile. She clapped her hands and motioned them forward. Smiling benevolently, the empress inclined her head, waiting for the moment when the crown would rest on her scalp.

“Why don’t you do the honors, Sir Edward?” Sir Bors asked.

Sir Edward nodded and picked up the crown. “Ow.” He snatched his hand away. “That’s odd. It tingles.” He looked at his fingers. “Something scratched me. Like a needle.”

Blood dripped from his fingers. He sucked one, then he crashed to the floor.