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King Philip and compared his royal mace to his intimate bodily parts: they roared with laughter, and I gave a sigh of relief. Finally, I brought them all home with the well-known lay of Roland and Oliver – a tragic piece about brave warriors slain in the pursuit of their duty, dying nobly with a ring of dead Saracens at their feet. The cheering and stamping from the audience of mainly fighting men seemed almost to shake the massive stone keep itself. Then, wisely, I bowed out, refusing to play any more and claiming that my voice was sore and weak.
    ‘Oh, Alan, that was so moving, so infinitely sad,’ said Tilda afterwards, as I was receiving plaudits from the crowd of knights.
    ‘Did you really like it?’ I asked her.
    ‘It was … truly lovely,’ she said, and once again she put her burning hand on my arm and squeezed lightly.
    I felt as if I were walking two feet above the ground after hearing her words – and I believe that my status in the de Burgh household shifted significantly that day. Knights who had barely spoken to me before came and shook my hand or pounded me on the back and congratulated me on my skill. Even Hubert de Burgh offered his polite thanks and a few words of lukewarm praise. I felt accepted into the Falaise company, at last. And it was all Tilda’s doing.
    Sir Joscelyn Giffard approached after my performance. He praised me knowledgeably, even going so far as to compliment the Spanish-style fingering on the vielle that I had attempted during the Arthurian
canso
, and then, out of a cloudless blue sky, he said, ‘Sir Alan, do you have children?’
    I was slightly thrown by his question, but I admitted that I had a son, Robert, a lusty two-year-old.
    ‘You are fond of him,’ he asked.
    ‘I love him more than life itself,’ I said.
    ‘And if someone were to harm him, or to dishonour him in some way, what would you do?’
    ‘I would slaughter them.’
    ‘I, too, would kill anyone, absolutely anyone who harmed my daughter – or who dishonoured her in any way,’ he said. ‘She is a lovely girl, and very friendly, sometimes foolish and, dare I say it, a little forward at times. Doubtless I should have beaten her more thoroughly when she was a child. But her mother is dead, she is my only daughter, and I love her, I have no doubt, as much as you love your son.’
    He smiled at me, a little sadly. ‘I truly did enjoy your music,’ he said. ‘Thank you for that.’ Then he walked away.
    Well, I had been warned. Tilda’s father was not blind, neither was he a fool. He had just threatened me with death if I made any advances on his darling girl. But, strangely, given that I do not care to swallow threats of any kind, I could not think harshly of him. Indeed, the manner of his message – honest, firm but not hostile – caused me to respect him. I did not fear him, but he made me reconsider. What was I thinking? Tilda inflamed me, mind and body, I was mad for her, but she, too, was another man’s daughter. I vowed to myself, then and there, that I would never dishonour her. I would not let my lust master me. I would not seek her out, I would not pester her for favours. I would banish her from my mind. Indeed, for a good many days and nights, I did just that.
    For the next morning, I rode out to war.

Chapter Five
    Lord de Burgh mustered his knights and captains in the courtyard a little after dawn, all of us armed and armoured and ready to ride.
    ‘Arthur, Duke of Brittany, and several thousand of his men have crossed the border far to the south and are now ravaging the Loire Valley with fire and sword,’ de Burgh said briskly. ‘Our war has truly begun.
    ‘We have this intelligence courtesy of Sir Joscelyn Giffard.’ De Burgh nodded benevolently at the lord of Avranches, who was standing a couple of paces from me. ‘He is to ride to Rouen to reinforce the garrison there against the threat from the east. I must remain here to hold Falaise – but Sir Benedict Malet will lead a force