“That’s what I thought you said. No.”
“No? Why?”
“Just … no.” He brushed his hands together and rose to his feet.
“It looks simply dreadful, Piers,” Alys argued.
“What do you care what my hair looks like, eh?”
“It’s not entirely for my benefit,” Alys reasoned. “You can’t give audience to the king looking like … like—” She broke off when he turned to look back at her expectantly, and then she settled for waving her hand in the general direction of his head, and pulled a frightened face.
To her surprise, he gave her an amused grin. “Grendel, perhaps?”
She gasped, snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “That’s it exactly! Grendel!”
He huffed a laugh and shook his head, squatting down once more near his bag to retrieve the roll of bandages. He spoke as he pulled a length of the cloth from the ball which still held his ring tight in its center. “I had two men chop at my hair in a fortnight, neither with my permission. You’ll forgive me if I don’t allow you to do the same.”
“Why were two men cutting your hair? And so badly, at that?”
He sliced off a length of bandage with his blade, and seemed to think on her question as he draped the piece over his knee and replaced the roll in his bag. Alys waited while dusk crept quietly around their fire, as if to sit with them and share their company. She welcomed the dark, felt more safe with each tree across the river that was lost to her sight, consumed by the advancing, hungry night. Piers turned slightly away from her while he rewrapped his fingers where Layla had bitten him, and Alys realized he was not going to answer her without encouragement.
“Of course, the style of the day is for men to wear their hair rather long,” she commented nonchalantly. “But it’s most oft fashioned to be straight, and certainly no longer than the shoulder. Yours is much longer—in, ah,parts,that is—and quite, um … wavy. Ish.”
“Wavy-ish?” Piers teased.
“Yes. And I do believe I can see your scalp above your left ear. It’s not at all becoming to you, if you’ll forgive me for saying so.”
He pulled the knot of his bandage tight with his teeth.The tangy scent of cooking pork was blooming in a warm cloud around them.
“The last man to cut at my hair was the monk who saved my life,” he said quietly. “He did it while I was unconscious, in order to tend the wounds on my head.”
“And before that?” Alys prompted.
Piers sighed and looked to the ground between his knees. “Bevan. Before he tried to beat me to death.”
Alys swallowed, shocked, but unwilling to break the spell of the conversation by an exclamation of horror. “He thought you Samson?” she asked lightly.
“Perhaps.” Piers nodded absently. “He said I was always vain of my hair. It repulsed him, reminded him of the common trash I was. More likely he was envious of it, the bloody-headed bastard.” He looked to her suddenly. “Do you know him?”
“I have seen him on scant occasion,” Alys admitted. “His head is quite the nastiest part of him, I agree.”
“If only that were true, mayhap he would not be so evil.” Piers moved to the fire to adjust the meat, which was now sizzling in earnest. The wonderful smell of pork roasting over glowing coals seemed almost too pleasant, playing in accompaniment to Piers’s grisly anecdote. The wide blade of his smooth-edged knife caught the fire like a mirror as he prodded the fruit.
“Any matter,” he continued, “both were unpleasant experiences, to say the least.”
Alys nodded. “I’m sorry. But Piers, you can’t go into Edward’s court looking as you do now. You’re to request something of the king, are you not? That’s why you’re going?” She didn’t want to reveal her suspicions of his mission too soon.
Piers nodded, but said nothing.
“Then you must approach him with respect, for himand for yourself. No man worthy of audience with the king would dare enter his court looking less than his very best.” She waited. “Surely you can’t think to leave it like that … forever?”
He shook his head and sighed. “No. I’ve considered my appearance as well. You’re right.”
Alys’s heart leapt. She’d never thought to hear those words from his mouth.
He looked at her again, and in his eyes, Alys saw doubt bruised with distrust. “How much would you cut?”
Alys winced. “All of it, I’m afraid. There’s nothing else to do, Piers. If you could only see—”
