Read Online A Tapestry of Dreams by Roberta Gellis - Free Book Online Page B

wondering what was troubling him. Sir Walter often fingered his beard when thoughtful or puzzled, but he only did violence to it when deeply distressed. Even odder, several times Sir Walter turned his head and seemed about to speak, only to grunt, growl, or hawk and spit—but never a word followed. Hugh would have said that his lord was showing typical signs of embarrassment, if it had not been impossible that Sir Walter should feel that emotion with regard to him.
    Inside the castle, the great hall was a scene of chaos. Some servants were scurrying about setting up trestle tables, others were bringing in sacks of day-old bread to serve as trenchers, still others dragging wooden cups, bowls, and spoons from where they were stored. At the head of the room, one table on the dais was draped with bleached linen and laid with several silver plates and one gold one.
    A blond squire with curled hair and a lavishly embroidered tunic was placing precious glass goblets near each plate. The butler, even more richly dressed than the squire—which was not surprising since he was an earl and one of the great men of the kingdom—kept one eye on the elegant squire and the other on the flagons of wine being readied to fill the cups. His shouted orders sometimes overrode, sometimes conflicted with, those of the chief steward, the sewer, and the pantler, creating a cacophony of sound and a swirl of bodies dropping one task to rush off in a new direction.
    Getting ready for dinner was always a busy time in any household, but this was like nothing Hugh had ever seen, and he paused on the threshold of the hall, startled by the chaos. Sir Walter thrust him forward with a hand between his shoulder blades and then passed him to weave a purposeful path toward a doorway at the rear. This led to a much smaller chamber with its own hearth, near which stood a canopied chair of state. The king was not seated there but was standing near the middle of the room within a loose half circle of men, flanked on one side by his brother, Henry of Blois, bishop of Winchester, and on the other by William Pont de l’Arche. Hugh knew neither of the men, but Sir Walter rumbled their names and the fact that they had been instrumental in getting Stephen crowned. Curiously, Hugh studied the expressions of the men as well as their faces with his bright, wide-set eyes, noting that neither man looked very cheerful.
    His intense scrutiny, although brief, did not go unnoticed. First the bishop’s head turned in his direction and then that of Pont de l’Arche. Both heads promptly turned back to Stephen, and both spoke eagerly, almost as if they did not want the king to notice who had caught their attention. It was too late to divert Stephen; he had already looked the same way, but his face broke into a pleased smile of recognition, and he beckoned Hugh and Sir Walter toward him.
    “You are well come, on the very moment I need you,” the king said genially. “Here, gentlemen, is the young man I mentioned, Hugh Licorne. And Sir Walter, you know.”
    Hugh bowed; Sir Walter nodded, receiving nods of recognition in return.
    “We are concerned—” Winchester began.
    Before he could say more, he was cut off by a peevish voice from one of the men who had been forced to move by their entry into the circle near the king. “Licorne?” the man cried. “Licorne? What sort of name is that? I do not believe it is real. The man is a Scot himself. Just look at him.”
    “Pembroke, do not talk nonsense,” Sir Walter growled. “Whatever his looks, Hugh has been in my household since he was eight, and his name is a name like any other. I have never known anyone but Sir William here to be called ‘bridge of arches,’ either, but I do not claim his name is false.”
    Gilbert de Clare, earl of Pembroke, a head shorter than Sir Walter and round as a barrel, glared up at him with red-veined, malevolent eyes. “So, he is your servant. And he rode all alone from the north to cry of King