“Thank you, my lord.” Ulric bowed, his forehead touching the ground, then he allowed the two knights to haul him to his feet. Three more of Sir Robert’s men clustered around Albi, and the baron’s smug certainty wavered for a moment.
The group rode out. Robert shifted his attention to the boar and nodded for the hunters to take it back to the castle kitchen, while the dogs busily licked up the last scraps from the ground.
“You’re not going to continue with the hunt?” Stephen’s voice rose in querulous complaint. “I was almost murdered, and you intend to play at sport?”
“Ah, but you were not murdered,” Robert said. “Thanks to the quick thinking of this squire here.”
“So you keep saying.” Stephen looked disgruntled. “Well, I might have escaped unharmed even if he hadn’t interfered. I daresay I would have survived. The crossbow might not have been wound very well and the bolt might have struck a tree. I might—”
Robert reached across and seized the reins of Stephen’s horse, making the animal toss its head and stamp its feet. “Brother,” he said softly, dangerously, “William Raven saved your life. The least you could do is thank him.”
“Yes. Indeed.” Stephen smoothed his velvet cloak with nervous fingers and deigned to glance at William. “Thank you.”
Uncertain whether he should laugh or be grateful, William settled on bowing a little in return.
“You should also offer him a reward,” Robert continued, his eyes gleaming with unholy delight as Stephen attempted to protest. “A nice fat purse full of silver coin, perhaps. Or a horse—a knight needs a horse, after all. You can afford dozens of horses, brother. Give William the means to buy his own mount, and the debt between you is paid.”
Stephen muttered as he snatched back the reins, making his horse shift sideways. His manner churlish, he finally snapped, “Oh, very well! I will give him the money for a destrier. Now lead me to the camp. I am exceedingly tired and in sore need of refreshments.”
“Thank you,” William called after him as Stephen and an escort of huntsmen rode off, but Stephen ignored him. Amused, William turned his gaze to Sir Robert. “And thank you, my lord.”
Robert mounted his own horse, turned it, and smiled down at William. “You deserved more, young lion, but my brother, like all churchmen, is sparing with his generosity. You will have your horse, and from my own purse I will pay for the equipage.” He paused, his expression becoming serious for a moment. “I dislike Stephen and his politics, but he is my brother. I am grateful for your actions.”
Tongue-tied, William could do no more than mumble a response.
“Still so shy, despite everything,” Robert teased, chuckling. “Perhaps later you will find the confidence to engage in another battle, my young lion. I will see you at the encampment.” He dug his heels into his horse, and the gelding sprang away.
William watched his lord leave, and then realisation hit him. Robert had demanded a horse for him. A horse as his reward from Stephen. A knight needs a horse.
A joyful whoop broke from his throat, and William punched the air in delight. He’d done it. He’d won his spurs—and now only the formal ceremony remained before he could call himself a knight.
Chapter Five
They hunted lesser game after this, stags and pheasants, doves and rabbits, merely to provide some variation for the feast table. The mood, however, was subdued, the wild exhilaration gone. The Frenchmen seemed thoughtful about what Baron Albi’s plot and its failure now meant, and the English discussed Ulric amongst themselves.
Robert, however, didn’t let anybody hear his thoughts and seemed entirely concentrated on the hunt, displaying his skill as time and again he brought down lesser game. He rode with the Viscomte de Murat, as if to show he bore his guests no ill will despite Albi’s treasonous actions, and the dark mood eventually lifted a little. The amount of spiced wine and heated ale had something to do with it, or maybe the fact that Stephen had retired to the castle to “recover from the insolence.”
William stayed in the background, too nervous and excited to think of much else but the knighting. And Robert’s touch. His taste. Desire raced through him whenever he thought of his lord, and he couldn’t wait for the time to pass.
When Robert led them back from the forest, he seemed just as calm as he’d been riding out, but his hair was tousled and a smile played around his lips, clearly satisfied with what the forest had yielded to him. Soon it was time for the servants and huntsmen to break camp and stow everything away.
On the way back to the castle, William stayed close to Robert, who rode next to the viscomte, but neither man spoke, just rode side by side in companionable silence. It seemed whatever needed to be said had already been said, and the two nobles were now in agreement.
At the castle they found the servants busy preparing the feast under Lady Alais’s direction. Robert gave further orders, then leaned against the high table, his gaze assessing the group of tired but excited squires who gathered around William. Gossip travelled fast, and everyone wanted to hear about Ulric’s betrayal, the traitorous Frenchman, and the events leading to William’s impending knighthood.
He’d thought he’d enjoy this more, boasting of his achievements in front of his peers, but William felt strangely dissatisfied. Restlessness stirred inside him, and he was all too aware of his lord’s attention.
“William,” Robert called, and motioned to him.
William joined him, lips suddenly dry just from Robert standing close. “My lord.”
“Prepare yourself. Have a bath and try to find some rest before the vigil tonight.”
William felt his heartbeat rise up in his throat. “Tonight?”
“I have reason to be impatient with you, young lion.” The way Robert’s voice dropped low only made William’s heart beat faster. Desire? It had to be.
“Why so…soon?”
“I may explain myself later. Go and prepare. Bathe, fresh clothes, rest, then seek out Father Andrew and confess your true sins.” The addition of “true” sat strangely there, and William thought Robert didn’t want the chaplain to know what he felt for him, what they’d done. What he still wanted his lord to do. “Then join us for the banquet. I don’t believe in making a lion fast, but you will want to be moderate with the ale.”
“Yes, my lord.”
William rushed off to fulfil the order, changing clothes encrusted with blood from boar and horse and washing himself. He remembered his lord’s pleasure in cleanliness and scrubbed himself vigorously before he put on fresh garments.
The smell of roasting meat hung deliciously in the air when he sought out the chaplain and confessed his sins. They were always the same, and William wondered if Father Andrew tired of hearing about his anger.
“At least, young William, you’re not given to lust.” The chaplain sighed and assigned him a light penance, obviously more interested in attending the feast than attending to the state of William’s soul.
Left alone in the chapel, William wondered about lust. Only now did he really understand it, the way a glance could stir him up, or the pitch of a voice, a touch, even something as innocent as marking him with boar’s blood. Did these feelings condemn him to hell? Was that a mortal, unforgivable sin? But it was all about his lord. He didn’t think of anybody else in those terms; he had no interest in other squires or knights. Was that lust, then? Wouldn’t a sin feel different? Dirtier? Or was he so far gone along the road to hell that he fooled himself into believing it wasn’t?
He wasn’t the man for these kinds of thoughts. He would be a knight, a man of arms, of war, sworn to loyalty to his master. Maybe it was simply a different form of loyalty, of the love he owed Lord Robert for his generosity and care.
He crossed himself and walked to the banquet, deep in contemplation. The noise and crowd in the great hall failed to rouse him from his ponderings, and even John left him in peace, as if everybody knew what would happen tonight. Nevertheless, William found himself toasted and patt
ed on the shoulder. He ate some of the boar meat and only sipped from the ale, glad when he could escape a little later.
When he stood, Robert followed him to the chapel. William slowed his stride, and his master walked beside him.
“Tonight, think about what you want to accomplish as a knight, William,” Robert said.
“The time passes faster that way.”
“My lord, what about Ulric? He taught me everything I know.”
“And he taught you well.”
“Will he hang?” The thought of his instructor being pulled up on a rope and dancing that terrible dance disturbed William. Killing a criminal was the right thing to do, but this was his instructor, and as unforgivable as the attempted deed had been, wouldn’t a father do everything in his power to protect his daughters?
“Don’t worry about him tonight.” He placed a hand on William’s shoulder as they stopped outside the chapel door. “Or even me.”
“I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Robert’s smile indicated he knew that William hadn’t meant Ulric. “You did when you aided in the kill.” His touch lingered. “I am impatient myself.”
William swallowed. “Can’t we just…”
“No, William. Did you hear what I said about lions? A lion seeks an equal. But I’m not a squire.” His lips curved in amusement. “I was, but a long time ago. When I take you to my bed, I will not take a squire.”
William’s breath caught at the promise. He wanted Robert desperately, hungrily, and yet was forced to patience. Right now, he’d have given the knighthood to wait no longer. Maybe this was the hardest lesson yet.
“Come.” Robert walked him toward the altar.
William knelt down on the bench, folding his hands in prayer. It was all he could do not to try to touch his lord. Two large beeswax candles were burning on the altar, illuminating the golden cross from the Holy Land and filling the room with their sweet fragrance of honey and warmth. Robert reached for a bundle near the altar and pulled out a sword in its scabbard, the belt slung around it. He drew the steel blank and placed the naked sword on the altar, crossed himself, and then stepped back, resting a hand on William’s shoulder.
“I will meet you on the morrow, William Raven.”
William nodded, gaze on the cross and sword, but aware of Robert’s closeness until he heard him walk away.
Knighthood. Was he even worthy? Just a little while ago, he’d have answered yes without a doubt, but now, facing the cross and his own desires, he wasn’t so sure. Courage, loyalty, obedience, faith. If even a man like Ulric could act against those virtues, then they were not something one possessed, but something to be constantly guarded and reclaimed. Maybe there would come a time when he’d be tested and found wanting, and that thought unnerved him. A trial like a charging boar…and he would only know if he possessed enough mettle when he actually faced the challenge.
What to accomplish now? He’d never dreamt of his future beyond attaining his knighthood until Sir Robert had returned. Then he’d desired to go on crusade and fight beside his lord.
William shifted on the hard wooden bench, his eyes blurring with tiredness. He blinked, looked back over his shoulder at the echoing silence of the chapel and the darkness pressing in on him. His feet in their black shoes, a symbol of death that came to all men, no matter how noble and brave, seemed to sink into the shadows. He shivered, lifting his gaze to the back of the chapel where the two conspirators had stood only a few days ago.
His mind cleared, and William faced the altar again. He knew what he had to do. Fight honourably and not engage in politics like Baron Albi, protect his master with his sword and his life, but also to touch and embrace him. Those images simply would not flee. Robert. A smile, a flash of pale eyes, that eerie calm that settled when other men lost their nerve.
William wanted to be Robert’s equal, yes, in virtues. And if what he felt and what they did in pursuit of physical pleasure was a true sin, then he wanted to be equal in this sin, too. Maybe such a sin would be forgiven if he possessed enough of the other virtues?
Yes, he would. He would have all that in abundance. He’d be the best knight any noble or court had ever seen.
When the grey morning came, William was cold and his body hurt from the lack of sleep and kneeling, and he only looked up when a warm, heavy hand settled on his shoulder. His lord.
“I know what I want,” William said. “I’ll be the best.”
Robert smiled. “Maybe you’ll even learn patience and humility on the way.”
The chapel doors opened, and the guests and members of the household filed in, taking their places according to rank. Robert retired to his usual spot close to the altar, and William shuffled farther back in the chapel. The Viscomte de Murat inclined his head as he passed, a flicker of acknowledgement on this, the most important day of any squire’s life. Stephen sailed in, his nose in the air and his gaze firmly fixed on anything but William. The senior and French knights followed, and then came the squires, for once not jostling and irreverent but hushed with respect.
Once all were assembled, the priest entered. William gave a brief prayer of thanks that Stephen hadn’t seen fit to conduct the Mass himself. Unlike his lord’s brother, Father Andrew knew the ways of knights and men-at-arms and kept his sermons brief, his instruction simple. This morning he spoke about the duties of a knight, using examples from recent events that all within the chapel could remember and understand.
William listened intently, absorbing everything as he tried to fix in his mind the details of this moment. He wanted to be able to recall this morning for the rest of his life, so that even at the end of his days, he’d be able to look back on his dubbing and feel again the pride and excitement, the sense of honour and awe.
As he glanced around the chapel, William wondered who would stand as his sponsors for the ritual. He’d always imagined Ulric presenting him to Sir Robert, but that was impossible now after all that had passed. A piercing sadness lanced through him, and William hastily hung his head and offered up another prayer for Ulric’s fate and the safekeeping of his daughters.
He jerked out of his reverie at the shuffle of feet and whisper of cloth as all present turned to look at him. William caught his breath as the Viscomte de Murat stepped forward and approached the altar.
William stared, realisation quickening his pulse so much he was sure those closest to him could hear his heartbeat. The viscomte was standing as his sponsor! Aware of this honour, he scarcely heard Father Andrew’s words of blessing over the sword.
The viscomte lifted the blade from the altar. He turned to face the assembly, joined by Sir Giles, one of the knights who’d accompanied Robert on his journey home. Together the two men walked the short length of the chapel to stand beside William.
Father Andrew performed a last benediction. The doors opened and the crowd followed the priest out of the chapel. William and his sponsors were the last to leave their places, and they walked with what felt like excruciating slowness across the adjoining rooms and into the great hall.
The rest of the household had assembled there, everyone from the smallest pot-boy to the kennel-men, and the sense of anticipation was palpable. William felt dizzy as he looked around, the familiar space now seeming new and wonderful. At the back of the hall, half concealed behind a door, Ulric stood between two men-at-arms. Pride and regret filled Ulric’s face as they looked at one another, and William fought back a swell of emotion. He would thank his lord for this boon, for this gesture of respect even toward a criminal.
The hum of conversation faded as the viscomte and Sir Giles led William to the centre of the great hall. Robert stood on the dais, dressed in rich velvets and fine Flemish wool, jewels flashing from the chain across his chest, the soft ermine on his cloak collar nestled against his throat. He wore his sword, and William stared at it, almost overwhelmed by what he knew would follow.
His sponsors formally presented him to Robert then stood back. Complete silence
fell over the hall. William remembered to breathe as he gazed up at his lord, his lover, and waited.
Robert lifted his hand. “Squire, kneel and say aloud your vows and swear your oath of allegiance. Be humble in your swearing and fearful in your heart, for those who do make these vows and take this oath answer to Almighty God if ever they are false.”
William sank down onto the stone-flagged floor, feeling an inappropriate flash of lust as he remembered going on his knees for Robert two nights ago. He shouldn’t be thinking such things now, and experienced a moment of panic. He stared up at his lord in mute appeal. Every squire knew what words to say. He’d recited the vows many times, but now it was happening for real, his mind had gone blank.
Robert smiled, his expression composed, his gaze amused and affectionate. William remembered the touch of his lord’s hands, the heat of his kisses, and he relaxed. Robert trusted him, and this realisation brought a surge of confidence. William began to speak.
“May it please my lord and our Heavenly Father, I do most humbly and solemnly swear never to have dealings with traitors. Likewise do I swear never to give evil counsel to a lady, but to respect and defend her against all foes. I swear I will observe the days of fasting and abstinence, and as I am able, to hear Mass each day. I do also swear to honour my liege lord and follow his example, and to honour and obey my king and his commands, and remain loyal to him even unto death. These things I do swear most solemnly within sight of God and all those assembled here.”
Robert drew his sword. The sound of the steel rasping from the scabbard made William shiver. He held himself still, his body tense for the first touch. Robert brought the flat of the blade down hard on William’s right shoulder, then again on the left. “I dub thee Sir Knight.” Robert’s voice rang clear and loud around the hall. “Rise, Sir William Raven.”