“You are talking about war!” she yelled. “A private war which will cause you all to lose your lands and the King—” She stopped. Everything seemed to go back to the King.
With tears in her eyes, she fled the room. Was she the only one who could possibly prevent a private war? She’d once told Jocelin she’d doanythingto keep Raine alive, that she’d rather see him with another woman than dead. Yet he’d been so very, very angry when she did what she felt she had to. He did not want her to interfere in his life and especially in what he considered his honor.
What if she kept quiet now, didn’t try to win a pardon from the King and there was a war? Would she be happy knowing Raine died with his honor intact? Or would she curse herself for all eternity for not at least trying to prevent the battles?
With quiet dignity, she stood, smoothed her dress and went downstairs to the winter parlor where Judith and Gavin sat over a game of draughts.
“I will go to the King,” Alyx said quietly. “I will sing with all my might and I will ask, plead, beg, whatever I have to do, to get him to pardon Raine and to arrange the marriage of Elizabeth and Miles.”
***
Alyx stood outside the King’s chamber, her body trembling so badly she feared her dress would fall off. What was she, a common lawyer’s daughter, doing here?
A shout from inside the chamber and a sound of something breaking made her gasp. After a moment, a slim man tiptoed out of the room, a red mark on his cheek, a flute in his hand.
He gave Alyx an insolent look. “He’s in a bad mood today. I hope there’s more to you than appears.”
Alyx pulled herself up to all of her small height and glared at him. “Perhaps it’s the music he hasn’t heard today that’s put him in a bad temper.”
The man grunted and left her alone.
Alyx adjusted her dress again, a wonderful concoction of deep green velvet with sleeves and skirt inset so heavily embroidered with gold thread that the fabric was stiff. The dress had been Judith’s design and the embroidery was a fanciful arrangement of centaurs and fairies playing many musical instruments. “For luck,” Judith had said.
“Come in and wait,” said a dark-clad man, just his head sticking out of the door. “His Majesty will hear you in a moment.”
Alyx picked up her cittern, a magnificent thing of rosewood and inlaid ivory, and followed the man.
The King’s chamber was a large room paneled in oak, richly done, but certainly no better than the rooms at Montgomery Castle. This surprised Alyx. Perhaps she’d expected the King’s rooms to be made of gold.
She took the seat the man pointed to and watched. The King sat on a red-cushioned chair and Alyx wouldn’t have known he was the King except that occasionally someone would bow before him. He was a tall, somber, tired-looking man, and as he drank from a silver goblet, she saw he had few teeth and they were blackish. He frowned at the singer before him, and the young man’s nervousness was apparent in every word he sang. The air was charged with tension as the musician tried to please him.
With the big room echoing as it did and everyone being so stiff, it was no wonder he was displeased, Alyx thought. None of the music made him forget for a moment his sadness. If I were in charge, I’d put the musicians together, challenge them with some new music. When they were enjoying themselves, the King would find pleasure.
Alyx sat still for a moment longer. There were eleven musicians auditioning for the King today. Lately, he’d been staying alone in his rooms, refusing even to attend the Queen’s funeral. Alyx had had to wait a week to get this chance to play and sing for him. And would she shake and quiver before him as these others were doing?
Think of Raine, she told herself. Think of all the Montgomerys.
She took a deep breath and stood, offered a silent prayer of hope, then let her voice take over.
“Here!” she said loudly to the singer. “You’ll have us all in tears. What we need is laughter and no more tears.”
Someone put a cautioning hand on her arm, but Alyx looked straight at King Henry. “With your permission, Your Majesty.” She curtsied, and the King gave her a nonchalant wave.
Alyx’s heart was in her throat. Now if she could just get the musicians to cooperate. “Can you play a harpsichord?” she asked a man who gave her a hostile look.
“Wait your turn,” he hissed.
“I have more to lose than you do. Perhaps together we can work some magic.” She cocked her head. “Or is your talent too limited?”
The man, after one considering look, went to the harpsichord.
As if they were all the choirboys she’d taught at Moreton, she began ordering the men about, giving them different instruments that were abundant in the room.
Once they were seated or standing, she flew about, giving melody here, rhythm there. About halfway through she began to sing and two of the musicians were immediately won to her side. Grinning, they picked up the melody and stayed with her.
It seemed to Alyx everything was taking so long and she only felt encouragement when the man on the harpsichord added his voice to hers. The man on the harp caught the melody and showed his talent with those heavenly strings.
Alyx had chosen an old song, hoping they’d all know it, but perhaps it was her rendition of it that made them awkward. The man she’d given a tambourine moved to a kettledrum hidden in a shadowy corner and the sound began to make the floor vibrate.
