“What would you say to having a noble hobbyhorse of your own? Might that be fitting recompense for your bravery, a hobbyhorse to ride through the corridors and on the ramparts when you are better and no longer need to take the foul draughts? Will that suit, do you think?”
The boy grabbed Thomas’ hand in both of his and, with surprising strength, pulled himself into a sitting position. “When, Uncle? When? When?” Despite being weakened by the just broken fever, Richard began to bounce.
Thomas put his hands on the boy’s shoulders and settled him down. “Patience! The steed must first be trained so he will be worthy of such a valiant knight as you. I promise you will have him soon.”
“Will he be black as night?”
“I think that can be arranged.”
“Will he have fiery red eyes?”
Thomas paused. “Well, now, would Sir Gawain have a horse with red eyes or great brown ones like your Uncle Robert’s hunter?”
The boy thought for a moment. “Perhaps brown would be better.”
“And white mane?”
“Yes! And leather…”
Anne put her hand on Richard’s head. “Wouldn’t you like to have some surprises left, my son? Surely this will be a fine horse, whatever his trappings, and well worth the waiting.”
The boy wrinkled his forehead, trying as hard as he could to look older than his years. Failing that, he beamed with all the dazzling joy of youth. “I will wait, Uncle. It is right that I do so.” He hesitated but a second. “Will you tell me a story now?”
Thomas rose and gestured to Anne to follow him. “That I will, but first I must discuss some very dull matters with this good sister which would be of no interest to such a knight as you. Will you rest a moment while we step outside?”
“I will, Uncle, but hurry. Please?”
As they closed the door to the boy’s room, Thomas turned to Anne and grinned. “How am I doing as a new uncle?”
“Well, indeed!” Anne laughed. “I think our lady will be much surprised to find she has yet another brother, but she will approve of your new kinship.” Her smile turned gentle as she laid a hand on his arm. “The boy brightens when you visit him, brother. He heals all the better for your presence.”
“Then he continues to mend well?” Thomas asked.
“He grows stronger by the minute,” she replied, then listened to some muffled sounds coming from the boy’s room. “If you do not return soon with the story you promised, Richard will have bounced that bed to dust with his impatience!”
Chapter Seven
Eleanor rubbed her eyes. The verbal jousting with her father had left her exhausted, as had the long days of worried attendance on her nephew. When the news of Hywel’s death came, her father had left her alone at the high table but not before ordering some food brought so she might break her fast.
The morning was now fully born, although the young light was a feeble thing and the huge dining hall where she sat facing a cup of watered wine, a manchet of white bread, and a small portion of salted fish in butter was more gray than bright. Fatigue flowed over her with greater force than the sun’s light, and the exertion needed to slice bread or chew fish suddenly seemed overwhelming. She sipped at the wine and the warmth chased away some of that weariness. Perhaps a bit of that buttered fish might be worth the effort, she thought, and she reached out to retrieve a bite from the bowl.
“Alone, my lady?” There was a hint of supplication in the voice.
Eleanor looked up at sound of the once familiar voice. Juliana had entered the hall so quietly the prioress had heard no step. Her old friend was now standing, hesitantly, at the end of the long table, her thin face as colorless as the gray hood that framed it.
“Alone, indeed,” Eleanor replied. “I fear I have just my company to offer.”
“It is only your company that I seek.”
“Will you join me in…?” Eleanor gestured at the food in front of her.
Juliana shook her head,
The boy grabbed Thomas’ hand in both of his and, with surprising strength, pulled himself into a sitting position. “When, Uncle? When? When?” Despite being weakened by the just broken fever, Richard began to bounce.
Thomas put his hands on the boy’s shoulders and settled him down. “Patience! The steed must first be trained so he will be worthy of such a valiant knight as you. I promise you will have him soon.”
“Will he be black as night?”
“I think that can be arranged.”
“Will he have fiery red eyes?”
Thomas paused. “Well, now, would Sir Gawain have a horse with red eyes or great brown ones like your Uncle Robert’s hunter?”
The boy thought for a moment. “Perhaps brown would be better.”
“And white mane?”
“Yes! And leather…”
Anne put her hand on Richard’s head. “Wouldn’t you like to have some surprises left, my son? Surely this will be a fine horse, whatever his trappings, and well worth the waiting.”
The boy wrinkled his forehead, trying as hard as he could to look older than his years. Failing that, he beamed with all the dazzling joy of youth. “I will wait, Uncle. It is right that I do so.” He hesitated but a second. “Will you tell me a story now?”
Thomas rose and gestured to Anne to follow him. “That I will, but first I must discuss some very dull matters with this good sister which would be of no interest to such a knight as you. Will you rest a moment while we step outside?”
“I will, Uncle, but hurry. Please?”
As they closed the door to the boy’s room, Thomas turned to Anne and grinned. “How am I doing as a new uncle?”
“Well, indeed!” Anne laughed. “I think our lady will be much surprised to find she has yet another brother, but she will approve of your new kinship.” Her smile turned gentle as she laid a hand on his arm. “The boy brightens when you visit him, brother. He heals all the better for your presence.”
“Then he continues to mend well?” Thomas asked.
“He grows stronger by the minute,” she replied, then listened to some muffled sounds coming from the boy’s room. “If you do not return soon with the story you promised, Richard will have bounced that bed to dust with his impatience!”
Chapter Seven
Eleanor rubbed her eyes. The verbal jousting with her father had left her exhausted, as had the long days of worried attendance on her nephew. When the news of Hywel’s death came, her father had left her alone at the high table but not before ordering some food brought so she might break her fast.
The morning was now fully born, although the young light was a feeble thing and the huge dining hall where she sat facing a cup of watered wine, a manchet of white bread, and a small portion of salted fish in butter was more gray than bright. Fatigue flowed over her with greater force than the sun’s light, and the exertion needed to slice bread or chew fish suddenly seemed overwhelming. She sipped at the wine and the warmth chased away some of that weariness. Perhaps a bit of that buttered fish might be worth the effort, she thought, and she reached out to retrieve a bite from the bowl.
“Alone, my lady?” There was a hint of supplication in the voice.
Eleanor looked up at sound of the once familiar voice. Juliana had entered the hall so quietly the prioress had heard no step. Her old friend was now standing, hesitantly, at the end of the long table, her thin face as colorless as the gray hood that framed it.
“Alone, indeed,” Eleanor replied. “I fear I have just my company to offer.”
“It is only your company that I seek.”
“Will you join me in…?” Eleanor gestured at the food in front of her.
Juliana shook her head,
Similar Books
