Read Online The Greatest Knight by Elizabeth Chadwick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Chadwick
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when Salisbury clapped him on the shoulder and pressed him forward, he took up the challenge, choosing a lay written by the Queen’s famous and infamous poet grandsire Guillaume, Count of Poitou: a song of springtime after winter and the frustration and pain of unrequited love. Lest folk think him too bold, he sang then of the virtues of the Virgin Mary and finally a child’s ditty for Marguerite and the little ones, which involved hand-clapping at certain parts. Throughout the singing, he was aware of Eleanor’s eyes on him, watching, assessing, peeling back the layers until he felt as exposed and vulnerable as a newborn infant.
“No talents that I would find worthy indeed!” she said to William, teasing laughter in her eyes as she finally chose to retire and bade goodnight to her guests. “Either you do not realise your own skills, or you are a shameless liar.”
William’s face burned. “Madam, I have never been called upon to sing in such exalted company before. I would not presume to know what you deem worthy, but if I have entertained you, that is the most I can hope.”
“Oh yes,” Eleanor murmured. “I have been most diverted, and who knows what hope might bring you, Messire Marshal.”
With a parting smile, she moved away to bid farewell to the next guest. William bowed, straightened, and then bowed again as Princess Marguerite held out her hand for him to kiss.
“I’m glad you came,” she said, “and I liked your songs. Will you sing again tomorrow?”
“If you command it, my lady.” He brushed his lips against the back of her small, soft hand, playing the role of courtier to the hilt for her amusement.
Returning to the great hall, William lay down on his pallet, his head light with wine and his thoughts whirling. The restless stirrings of the other sleepers in the hall, the coughs and snores, the wandering of dogs, the drunks lumbering for a piss in the corner, prevented him from falling immediately into slumber even though he was tired. The image of the Queen of England lingered in his mind’s eye. Behind his lids, he pictured her turning from the barred door, gesturing to servants, dismissing the children into the care of their nurses. He envisioned her maids removing her veil, unbraiding her hair, and combing it down around her shoulders in a heavy dark waterfall.
He did not for one moment believe that Eleanor had singled him out for special attention. She had spoken to her other guests in similar wise; she had laid her hand on his uncle Patrick’s sleeve and smiled at him as if he were the only man in the room. William knew there was a difference between play and pragmatic reality. Queen Eleanor was inhabiting the role of the lady worthy of courtly love for her own diversion and amusement, and the men she attracted, himself included, were her victims, albeit willing ones.
His imagination took him to her bed. How big it was for one person, and how small she looked inside the shadows of the wool brocade hangings. She was lying on her side, facing towards him, her elbow bent, her head propped on her hand, a beguiling smile on her lips. He swallowed, his throat dry and his heart pounding. His body was light except for the area of his groin which was beating like a lead drum. Eleanor continued to smile, but she beckoned him no closer and he was aware of a reluctance to go forward. It was as if a line were drawn on the floor, and he knew that if he crossed it and approached the bed, he would be destroyed.
William twisted restlessly on his pallet and opened his eyes, trying to banish the image. He was met by the sight of the man beside him copulating with one of the castle whores. They were rolled in the knight’s cloak; there was little to see, but the stealthy sounds they made and the increasingly rapid movements told their own tale. William turned over and clenched his jaw. There was always a lack of privacy for hearth knights and servants and at a great gathering like this where even
“No talents that I would find worthy indeed!” she said to William, teasing laughter in her eyes as she finally chose to retire and bade goodnight to her guests. “Either you do not realise your own skills, or you are a shameless liar.”
William’s face burned. “Madam, I have never been called upon to sing in such exalted company before. I would not presume to know what you deem worthy, but if I have entertained you, that is the most I can hope.”
“Oh yes,” Eleanor murmured. “I have been most diverted, and who knows what hope might bring you, Messire Marshal.”
With a parting smile, she moved away to bid farewell to the next guest. William bowed, straightened, and then bowed again as Princess Marguerite held out her hand for him to kiss.
“I’m glad you came,” she said, “and I liked your songs. Will you sing again tomorrow?”
“If you command it, my lady.” He brushed his lips against the back of her small, soft hand, playing the role of courtier to the hilt for her amusement.
Returning to the great hall, William lay down on his pallet, his head light with wine and his thoughts whirling. The restless stirrings of the other sleepers in the hall, the coughs and snores, the wandering of dogs, the drunks lumbering for a piss in the corner, prevented him from falling immediately into slumber even though he was tired. The image of the Queen of England lingered in his mind’s eye. Behind his lids, he pictured her turning from the barred door, gesturing to servants, dismissing the children into the care of their nurses. He envisioned her maids removing her veil, unbraiding her hair, and combing it down around her shoulders in a heavy dark waterfall.
He did not for one moment believe that Eleanor had singled him out for special attention. She had spoken to her other guests in similar wise; she had laid her hand on his uncle Patrick’s sleeve and smiled at him as if he were the only man in the room. William knew there was a difference between play and pragmatic reality. Queen Eleanor was inhabiting the role of the lady worthy of courtly love for her own diversion and amusement, and the men she attracted, himself included, were her victims, albeit willing ones.
His imagination took him to her bed. How big it was for one person, and how small she looked inside the shadows of the wool brocade hangings. She was lying on her side, facing towards him, her elbow bent, her head propped on her hand, a beguiling smile on her lips. He swallowed, his throat dry and his heart pounding. His body was light except for the area of his groin which was beating like a lead drum. Eleanor continued to smile, but she beckoned him no closer and he was aware of a reluctance to go forward. It was as if a line were drawn on the floor, and he knew that if he crossed it and approached the bed, he would be destroyed.
William twisted restlessly on his pallet and opened his eyes, trying to banish the image. He was met by the sight of the man beside him copulating with one of the castle whores. They were rolled in the knight’s cloak; there was little to see, but the stealthy sounds they made and the increasingly rapid movements told their own tale. William turned over and clenched his jaw. There was always a lack of privacy for hearth knights and servants and at a great gathering like this where even
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