“Your squire?” The slate-blue eyes widened in surprise.
“What else did you think I was going to do with you? You’re old enough to start full training and you won’t get that here, even it is your home. By the time you come of age, you’ll have all the skills you need and more.”
The boy looked at him, the surprise fading to be replaced by something more measured and thoughtful. William realised with amusement and a strange quirk in his gut that while he had been assessing the lad, he too had been under thorough scrutiny. “You have something to say?”
“Is it true that you were tutor in arms to the sons of King Henry?”
William inclined his head gravely. “It is.”
“And a great tourney champion?” A gleam entered Jean’s gaze.
“I was once.”Were. Was.With the boy’s young eyes upon him and those answers defining his past, William felt a surge of melancholy. The last tourney he had attended had been near Saint-Pierre-sur-Dives before his pilgrimage and although he had taken the prize, the gloss had tarnished. The boy had obviously been given a résumé of his new guardian’s past achievements. Whether he had been given the scandal alongside them, William was not about to ask. “I’ll teach you sword- and lance-play,” William said, “but don’t expect to attend any tourneys, and don’t believe half the tales you hear.”
“But if half are untrue, that still leaves half that are,” Jean pointed out, shedding some of his awe to reveal a glimpse of the personality beneath. Reminded of Ancel, William smiled.
“Yes, and you’ll have a laborious task sifting wheat from chaff, but that’s part of the training too. Do your best for me, and I’ll do mine for you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You won’t be alone in your duties. My nephew will be joining my household as a squire too. He’s about your age and you’ll share duties between you. We’re fetching him on the morrow.”
Jean nodded, his expression a mingling of apprehension and eagerness. William gestured to the long scabbard at the lad’s hip. “Go and take that off,” he said, “and put it somewhere safe. Let’s start you off with something lighter and less precious to you.”
As the youth departed, William tried not to think of the one he had trained in the past who was sealed in a tomb in Rouen. Let sleeping princes lie. Jean D’Earley had a future, and so—he hoped—did he.
***
“Your son looks more like you than you do yourself,” William said to his brother as they watched Jack draw back his arm and hurl the spear towards a straw target. Jean D’Earley and some other boys were watching and waiting their turn. A lithe little girl with dark braids hovered on their periphery.
The men were seated on a bench outside the hall, enjoying the sun and catching up on the years apart before William collected his second squire and rode north to inspect his other, more lucrative wardship.
“People are always saying that,” said John Marshal. “It is good of you to take him on, but I still do not know if I am doing the right thing.”
William looked at him. “Because of me, or because of him?”
John snorted. “Because of his mother. She dotes on him and Sybilla.” His gaze flickered to the girl who was practising dance steps around the group of boys. “There will be a vale of tears when he goes.” He folded his arms. “Oh, she knows she has to let go and that it is the best for all concerned. She puts a brave face on it, but it will be hard. Of course, she’ll still have Sybilla, but when the girl reaches betrothal age she’ll go to be raised by her in-laws. I can’t settle a great dowry on her, but she’s pretty and related to the earls of Salisbury, so that counts for something.”
It was Jean’s turn to throw the spear and William watched the lad take aim and hurl. He winced, for the technique was execrable, but there was potential. His niece patted Jean on the arm in consolation.
“I suppose in a way it is a boon that Alais is with child again,” John said, his expression wry. “It will take her mind off losing our son.”
“You are not losing him…”
“He will leave a boy and return a man, or I hope he will. It is a rite of passage and she cannot follow. The new infant will keep her busy.”
William gave his brother a sharp glance. “I would congratulate you, but you do not seem overjoyed at the thought of another child.”
John twitched his shoulders. “It came as a surprise, I admit. We have been careful, but plainly not careful enough…John and Sybilla are proof of that. I think it happened after our mother’s funeral. That was a difficult time and we sought more comfort in each other than we had done in a long while.”
William looked sombre. “I was in the Holy Land when she died,” he said. “I lit candles for her at the Holy Sepulchre, even though I didn’t know then. God rest her soul.” Feeling a wave of guilt and sorrow he crossed himself. Since young manhood he had not visited his mother as often as he should, and now it was too late.
“No, you manage to avoid family funerals,” John said a trifle snidely.
“It’s not intentional,” William growled.
John must have sensed that he had stepped close to the mark for he swiftly changed the subject, although it too was a probe at William’s personal life. “What of this heiress you’re set to wed?” he asked. “Do you know anything about her?”
William eyed his brother obliquely. “Who said anything about wedding her? She’s only my ward at the moment.”
