curtsied respectfully to her friend and champion.
‘Sing for us, Lady Alayne,’ the Queen requested. ‘Sing something sweet that will bring tears to our eyes and gladden our hearts.’
‘Yes, your Grace,’ Alayne said and, taking a lyre from one of the other ladies, began to play a haunting melody, the pure notes of her song catching the attention of all those gathered in the glade that warm afternoon in the year of Our Lord 1167.
It was a song of love unrequited, of a lover left to weep alone and die of a broken heart, and of a love so pure and tender that it touched the hearts of all those who heard it.
Her song was of a perfect knight, a man who chose death rather than bring harm to the lady he adored. But where, Alayne wondered, would she ever find such an honourable knight? She did not believe that he existed outside the songs of the troubadours.
‘His Majesty bids me visit the Queen at her court in Poitiers,’ Sir Ralph de Banewulf said to his cousin Harald of Wotten as they talked that afternoon in the great hall of Banewulf Manor. Banewulf had begun as a fortress in the days of William the Conqueror, but a new house had been built adjacent to the tower in more recent times for the sake of comfort. ‘I cannot refuse Henry’s request, though you know I have no love of the court these days.’
‘It will do you good to leave this place and seek company,’ Harald replied with a frown. His cousin had been in mourning too long for the wife he had married at nineteen and lost barely more than a year later. Berenice had died of a fever after giving her husband a son, Stefan, and the boy was now a sturdy lad of five years. ‘Besides, it is time that you gave me Stefan for his training as a squire. Most lads would have entered school a year since. You do him no favours by leaving him to the women, Ralph.’
Ralph was silent for a moment, his expression harsher than he realised. He was a man that others respected and feared, a strong, powerful man with stern principles and standards few could follow. Yet when he relaxed and smiled he was pleasant to look upon and had an unconscious charm. Women admired him, but he was often thought unapproachable, and it was said that his heart had died with his young wife. When he spoke at last, his words were just and considered.
‘You are right, Harald, and I know it. I have been remiss with Stefan. He grows too independent for his nurse. He must be schooled, for how else will he gain his knighthood? You shall take him with you this afternoon, my friend. I beg only that you will have a care for him for his mother’s sake.’
‘You had no need to ask. I loved Berenice dearly, though she was but a distant cousin of my mother’s.’ Harald hesitated. ‘You will not wish me to say this, Ralph—but you should think of marrying again. A man needs a wife to give him sons.’
‘Pray do not!’ Ralph held up his hand, a look of grief sweeping over his hard features. ‘My demesne is large enough for my ambitions and I have a son to inherit all my lands. Why should I need more?’
Harald refrained from giving him the answer he knew would be unwelcome. Children died all too often of virulent fevers or accidents. He himself had five sons and two daughters, having married for a second time within six months of his first wife’s death. It was the way of the world, for women were lost in childbed and there was no sense in repining. Life must go on and one woman was much the same as another in his experience.
‘I know you loved Berenice, but—’
‘Please!’ Ralph’s plea was a command, and a nerve twitched in his cheek. ‘Let us speak of other matters. What think you of this quarrel that rumbles on between the King and Sir Thomas à Becket?’
As Harald launched into a tirade against the King’s quarrel with the Archbishop, Ralph drew a breath of relief. He did not wish to discuss the fragile young wife, who had not been strong enough for childbearing. His hands clenched at his sides as he felt the familiar ache in his breast. He had grieved for a life needlessly lost. How could he ever think of marrying again when his unkindness, his thoughtless desires, had killed Berenice?
And there was the secret guilt that haunted him, because, though he had desired her, as a young man would for her beauty and sweetness, he had never truly loved her. She had proved too young and too foolish to hold his affections, and he feared that his reserve, his coldness, had destroyed her. She had known that he did not love her and because of that she was dead. It was a heavy sin for which he had done penance these past years.
He had let the women fuss over Stefan as they would, because his son was a permanent reminder of Berenice’s tragic death, but his weakness would reflect badly on the boy. He must be schooled and trained in the arts that would make him first a page, then a squire and then worthy to receive his knighthood. Harald of Wotten was a good man and just; he would look after Stefan and oversee his education and the boy would be sent home to spend feast days with his father. It was the end of one part of their lives and meant that Ralph had no ties to hold him to this place and must begin to think of the future.
The King’s request that he journey to Aquitaine and seek out Queen Eleanor at her court was one that he felt bound to honour, for he had received his own knighthood at Henry’s hands.
King Henry II was in Ralph’s estimation a worthy ruler of England. Henry had rescued the country from the chaos it had fallen into under King Stephen’s reign and instituted many reforms. He had subdued Wales and regained northern territories that had been lost to Scotland, but he had also brought in a law pertaining to the trial of churchmen who had transgressed, which had aroused the fury of many influential men. The most important of these was Sir Thomas à Becket, a stubborn man who had refused to bend in this matter of a law he felt unjust.
For the moment Ralph was not prepared to take sides. It was, he believed, a matter between the King and his Archbishop. Ralph’s loyalty was to the King and his mission to visit Queen Eleanor. The marriage between Henry and Eleanor, at first passionate and fortuitous for both, had deteriorated these past years, and Henry had heard rumours of his wife that displeased him. Some said that Eleanor meddled in matters of state that did not concern her, that she planted treason and sedition in the minds of her sons, turning them against their father. She had left England because of a quarrel with her husband and Henry was not altogether happy with her behaviour since. It was Ralph’s task to carry letters to the Queen at Poitiers and bring back her answer.
For the moment that was all that mattered; this personal unrest, this feeling of emptiness, must be put aside. Ralph had devoted his life to the welfare of his son and the people on his estate. In the future he must begin to look elsewhere for a purpose to his life. Once, when he was young and full of shining ideals, he had thought of taking up the cross and going to the crusades, but that was before his careless behaviour had killed Berenice… Now he knew that he was not worthy. He was, in fact, a most imperfect knight.
The court had spent the day hawking on the marsh-lands beyond the forest. Alayne’s peregrine had flown well, its speed, strong flight and tenacity much admired. Indeed, she had received more than one offer to buy the bird, but refused to part with it.
‘I love my sweet Perlita,’ Alayne said to one gentleman who persisted with his offer. ‘I shall never part with her for gold or jewels. She is far too precious.’
A party of ladies and gentlemen were riding close enough to hear her answer and one of the gentlemen asked what would buy the peregrine, if gold would not.
‘Why, nothing, my lord,’ Alayne replied, her azure blue eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘She shall never leave me unless I choose to give her.’
‘A wager! A wager!’ cried several voices.
‘I’ll
