And Alice? His hopes, that had seemed so sure and shining, had vanished like mist while the two of them were talking. The duke had been kind, but what father would accept his suit, after those weeks in the Dark Tower? Honour had required the confession, and now honour was all he had.
The duke was speaking again.
“It seems that March’s kingdom of Cornwall might be rightly yours, if you were ever to claim it. Would you?”
Alexander hesitated, then spoke the truth. “I hardly know. I don’t think so. My mother told me something of it, a hard kingdom, with hard neighbours. And after all these years, a foreign land to me.”
“Then you will go back to this Craig Arian and care for your lands there?”
“I suppose so. Though with Barnabas and my mother there, there’s not much need of another master.”
“That being so, I could use your sword, Alexander,” said the duke.
His tone was casual, almost flat. It took several slow seconds for the sense of what he had said to get through to the young man’s brain.
“You mean on your journey home? Or – or at Castle Rose itself? Serve you there?”
“Both. What did my daughter tell you about her home?”
“Only that it was the most beautiful place on earth, and that it, with you, my lord, had all her heart.”
“And that I am soon to retire into the life I long for, of prayer and solitude. The holy life?”
“She said something about it when we first spoke, but, not knowing you then, I paid little attention.”
“Then listen now. Before I can accept your service, there are things you must know. I have an heir, the younger son of a cousin who is dead. The elder brother keeps the estates in the north, and this man is landless. Before I left for Tours I sent him a letter suggesting that we meet and talk over the idea of a marriage. He was abroad at the time; I was not told where, but now I think I know. Well, I planned to proceed with the matter once I got home.” A pause. “You may have heard what has happened. A few days ago I got news that this man is already at Castle Rose, with some of his fighting men, and sees himself already – according to my servants – as lord of the estate.” Another pause. “And, though nothing yet has been settled, or even spoken of, counts himself as plighted and soon to be married to my daughter.”
“No!” It burst out, a violent protest. Alexander would have caught it back, but the duke merely cast him a swift, amused look.
“No. No indeed. Though he is distant kin of mine, his name is not one I would want my daughter to bear. You know it, I understand. Madoc of Bannog Dun.”
A gasp from Alexander. “The same?”
“The same.”
“Then that was the business that took him north from the Dark Tower?”
“Presumably. You told me that Madoc been sent north on some business of the queen’s, and Count Ferlas brought word back that he ‘was already in possession, and all was well’. That, I think, would be the marriage, and with it the disposition of Castle Rose.”
“And the queen’s interest in it? To have one of her people established there, in command of a stronghold, a central point in Rheged?”
“We can only guess at it. But I think we must suppose so.”
“And he’s there already, in possession! Tell me, sir, could Count Madoc hold your castle against you? Could he prevent your return?”
“That I doubt. He has only a few of his own men with him, and none of mine would help him against me. And as yet he has no idea that I know of his plans. He must still be expecting to be received as my daughter’s promised husband. But if he were to refuse to go when I bid him, and if he called his allies in – well, I am an old man, and ailing a little now, and I am afraid of what may happen to my people.”
“So you want my sword. Of course it’s yours!” Alexander spoke with a kind of impatient violence. “But this of the Lady Alice. A marriage arranged for her, spoken of, you say, but never agreed? She said nothing of it, even though – I mean, would she – did she consent?”
“Yes, she consented. She saw it as her duty. But one,” said the duke, smiling, “that she has abandoned without regret. Another marriage has been spoken of, by Alice herself. She tells me that she is going to marry you. With your consent, of course? No, don’t answer, boy. Get your breath back, and have another drink.”
34
They were married two days later in the monastery chapel, on the morning of another lovely summer’s day. Abbot Theodore himself married them. It was the duke’s first excursion from his bedchamber since his seizure, but though slower than before in his movements, he was steady enough, and the relief of the occasion, with the sight of his daughter’s happiness, brought an almost youthful brightness back to his eyes. The couple were attended to the altar by a solemn child in the white robe of a novice, whom Alexander had not met before, but who, he was given to understand, was Chlodovald, the Frankish prince who had come from Tours with the duke’s party, bringing the relic he called the grail for safe keeping here in St Martin’s.
After the ceremony there was a brief service of prayer and thanksgiving, then the young couple broke their fast with the abbot, the duke and Prince Chlodovald in the abbot’s dining-parlour, while outside the duke’s party made ready to leave that day for home. This rather against the hospitaller’s advice, but the duke was anxious now to go, and had agreed to travel in the litter that Alice had used. She in her turn was happy to ride beside her new husband on the all-too-long journey home.
All-too-long, because it had been agreed, almost without saying, that the consummation of the marriage, the bride’s bedding, must wait until they reached Castle Rose. A monastery was hardly the place for a wedding night, and the inns along the road were few and none of them good. The journey, for Ansirus’ sake, would have to be taken slowly, with at least one night’s halt on the way, and it was far from certain how many miles the party would be able to cover before the duke needed to stop and rest. To Alice, moreover, it seemed wholly right that the future lord of Castle Rose should take possession of her, and with her her beloved home, in that home itself.
A message had been sent ahead to the castle to warn of their coming. Nothing more; no word of the marriage; just enough to ensure that all the castle’s retainers, with some of the folk of the estate, would, as they usually did, assemble to welcome their duke home. To them he intended immediately to announce their lady’s marriage, and then publicly present their new lord.
Though this would be a severe blow to Count Madoc, Duke Ansirus did not feel himself bound by the exchange of messages made in the spring. Neither party had been committed, and the Count’s arrogant pre-emption of mastership made it doubly certain that the estate people and the duke’s neighbours would support him in ridding himself of the pretender. However disappointed and angry Madoc was, there was little that he, as a guest in the castle, and with only a handful of his own men, could do. Ansirus, who had never feared any man in his life, had no fear now of his young relative. Angry words there might be; talk there might even be of broken promises; but that could be countered by a more dangerous word, treachery, and after that, what was there for Madoc to do but accept the fact, tell Queen Morgan of his failure, then go back to his own country, there to hatch his plots against the kingdom’s peace, aware that his plotting, and the queen’s, were known, and might at any time be reported to the High King.
What Queen Morgan might think, when she knew that her plan for Castle Rose had been foiled by her own dupe Alexander, that young man neither knew nor cared. The lure was broken. A different magic held him. His own quest was almost accomplished, his own grail won.
So the party set out on the road north with laughter and gaiety, and with nothing in view but happiness and fulfilment.
The weather stayed fine and they went safely, with no mishaps – a true wedding journey, said Alice happily – and came at length over a gently wooded hill to see the valley of the Eden curving below.
The sun was just
on setting, in a floating veil of thin, saffron-coloured cloud. No less brilliant were the trees and water-meadows of the valley, their summer richness lit to green-bronze and golden-bronze, with here and there the black glint of holly or fir, and everything, forest and hedge and dry-stone dyke, sharply outlined by the low sun with shadows of violet and deepest indigo. And glimpsed here and there as it curved through meadow and richly billowing woodland was the cool shine of the river.
“Castle Rose is over there,” said Alice, pointing. She and Alexander were riding a little ahead of the rest of the party.
“How far?”
“Another ten miles or so. We’ll be there in good time tomorrow. I’m glad we managed this far today.” She pointed again. “Once past that beech-wood yonder, and on the valley floor, there’s a small foundation that will be glad to house us for the night. They’ll be expecting us, too. We told them we would come there on our way home, and I sent Berin ahead an hour ago.”
“Another monastery!” This time his voice, not so carefully schooled, was very clearly that of a disappointed lover, and a dimple showed as Alice answered.
“Indeed. In a sense, our own – your own, now. My mother is buried there.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need. I made my first pilgrimage there – so I am told – at the age of two. My father goes there always on special days – their wedding day, her birthday, and mine, which was the day she died. To him, I think, it’s a place where they still meet.”
“Then I’d have thought that he would retire there, near your mother, and nearer home, not away at St Martin’s.”
“This is a place for women only.” She laughed at his look. “Yes, I’m afraid it’s the outer dark for you and the rest, my dear lord!”
“While you and your women sleep warm on a goosefeather bed. I will put up with this,” said Alexander clearly, “for this one night only. And after that, my dear wife, if anyone, abbot, nun, or the High King himself, attempts once again to stop me sleeping in your bed –”
“No one will. And there’s the convent, see? Isn’t the rosy stone beautiful, set like that among the trees? That’s how Castle Rose is built, too. Shall we ride back and see how my father does? Oh, and Alexander –”
“My love?”
“When we do get to Castle Rose, I promise the bed is goosefeathers.”
He wheeled his horse beside hers to ride back to the duke’s litter. “No more than I expect,” he said, laughing, and added, but not aloud, “But I don’t expect to sleep very soundly, Alice my darling.”
35
When at length they came in sight of Castle Rose, they found that Count Madoc, in some state as kinsman of the duke, was awaiting them at the gate. With him was a group of his own men who, it was to be seen, went armed. But behind him, in the courtyard near the steps that led to the great door, was the castle’s own keeper, Beltrane, recovered from his ailment, and standing, keys in hand, with a crowd of the castle’s people near him. A rather larger crowd even than usual; there were farm tenants with their labourers, and estate workers and stablemen as well as house servants, as if Beltrane, feeling somehow threatened, had gathered as many of the duke’s own people as he could. And close behind him stood Jeshua, in a robe of office (somehow conjured up, it could be assumed, by the castle’s women) like the one he had worn as domesticus to Queen Clotilda.
The duke’s litter was carried at the head of his company, with Alice and Alexander riding to either side of it. After they had stopped to eat at midday, Ansirus had tried to insist on riding for the final stage; to avoid alarming his people, he said, though Alice suspected that he did not want to show any sign of weakness to Madoc. But in the end, for the journey had really tired him, he had let her persuade him to finish it as he had begun, though making the litter into a carriage of state rather than of sickness. He rode sitting straight against the cushions, with the litter’s curtains drawn back to show him fully, even grandly dressed, with a jewelled collar sparkling against the breast of his gown, and the great ducal ring, a rose of rubies, on his hand.
Madoc came forward as the litter approached the gate. He threw a quick glance of curiosity at the prince, with no sign of apprehension or even interest (so no rumour’s got through yet about the marriage, thought Alice), then with the barest of salutes to Alice, he hurried to the side of the litter.
“Cousin! Be welcome!” It was the greeting of a kinsman and of an equal, rather than that of a guest to his returning host. The duke, with some formally courteous reply, held out his ringed hand, and Madoc, after the briefest of pauses, bent his head and kissed it, then asked with a look of keen anxiety, and a voice raised to reach into the farthest corner of the courtyard: “But you are ill? Injured in some way? Your messenger gave us no news of this. By the gods, dear cousin, it’s as well I have been here to see to things for you –”
“Neither ill nor hurt in any way, I thank you.” The cool tones carried just as far. “Only older, and more easily tired than I was used to be. If you will lend me your hand?”
So it was that the duke, showing no sign of his recent weakness, walked steadily and in stately fashion into the courtyard on the arm of his kinsman, closely followed by his own party. Count Madoc’s men had perforce to bring up the rear. And when the duke came to the great steps and freed himself to receive the smiling greetings and enquiries of his people, Madoc could only fall back as the welcoming crowd pressed forward, and watch while the duke, with Alice and the young stranger, mounted to the head of the steps and turned to face the thronged courtyard.
There was no need to ask for silence. Not a man there but was eager to know who this young stranger was, with the travel-stained clothes and the bearing of a prince, and the sword of a prince glittering at his hip. And not a woman there but had already seen the ring on Alice’s hand, and noted the brightness of her eyes, and had come to the correct conclusion.
The duke spoke easily, as one would to friends. “Forgive me for being brief, but it’s true I have ailed a little recently, and a journey is tiring for a man of my years. But now that I am here, in my home, and with you all, I need fear no evil. The more so as I have great news for you.” He took Alexander lightly by the hand and brought him forward a pace, with Alice, to stand beside him. “Let me present to you the man who, after me, will rule here at Castle Rose. He is the husband of your lady, my daughter Alice, and his name is Alexander. He is Prince Alexander, only son of Prince Baudouin of Cornwall and of the Lady Anna of Craig Arian in the valley of the Wye … No, a moment more, good people! A moment more! The first to kiss my daughter’s cheek and to welcome the bridegroom must be my dear kinsman, Count Madoc, who has ruled in my place while I was gone. Madoc?”
It was as skilfully done as his homecoming had been. But Alice, receiving the ritual kiss and watching Madoc greet Alexander, felt a tiny thread of fear crawl up her spine, as if the hairs had brushed up like the fur on a wary cat.
Then all was laughter, and calling out, and greeting, and joy. Alice managed, through the kisses and happy tears of her women, to come near enough to her father to urge him to go to his bed and rest, but the duke had one more thing to say, and in time a hush was called and he could say it.
“Thank you, thank you, my friends! I think it’s time, now, for us all to go about our business. Count Madoc, let me bid you once more welcome. If you had hoped for a different outcome to your journey, I am sorry. I hardly expected to find you here before me, I would have written to you with this news, and so spared you some trouble, but now –” a smiling gesture – “I’m afraid that the arrows of love, striking at random as they do, have left us nothing to discuss, and me nothing more to say except to thank you for your care of my people during my absence, and to hope that you and your men will join us in our celebration of this happy homecoming.”
Madoc, pale with anger, but holding himself firmly in, began to say something, but the duke, still smiling, lifted a hand.
“Later, my dear cousin, we’ll talk l
ater, but now, by your leave, I must rest.” He turned back to the throng in the courtyard. “Listen, my friends! When my daughter and Prince Alexander were wedded at the monastery of St Martin they vowed, both of them, that their real wedding must be here at Castle Rose. So tonight, so please you, we will hold the wedding feast, which you will all share, and after that the bride will go to her bedding here in her own home, with God’s blessing and the love of us all.”
At this the noise broke out again, but briefly, as the duke turned to go indoors, and Alice, blushing now and laughing, led Alexander in after him, while cooks and house-servants bethought themselves suddenly of how few hours were left in which to prepare the bridal chamber and a wedding feast that would do honour to their lady and to themselves.
And through it all Count Madoc smiled and smiled and watched with cold eyes, and his men stood like soldiers with no battle to fight, until he spoke with their captain and they withdrew from the cheerful bustle into their own quarters by the tower where they had been lodged.
36
As if nothing of beauty and joy were to be omitted that night, there was a full moon, which rose late, the colour of apricots, into a sky full of bright stars. Nor moon nor stars were even noticed by Alice or Alexander, though their bedchamber window was open to the sky. Not even when, in the dead hours towards dawn when the lovers, like the rest of the castle, slept, a beam, fading to silver, slanted across the bed to touch Alexander’s eyes.
For that alone he might not have wakened fully. He stirred, murmured something, and the arm that circled Alice drew her closer, but then a sound, faint but persistent, broke through his sex-drugged sleep and brought his eyes, protestingly, open.
The sound was there still. There was someone at the door. And now a voice, soft but urgent, was added to the tapping.