“Not when it happened,” he said, “but after the battle when I had time to notice it burned like a hot coal. It’s still sore when my shield strap rubs on it.”
Her hazel eyes widened with admiration. “I think you were very brave.”
He chuckled. “Some of the others thought I was foolish.”
“I don’t.” Alais rested her chin on her hand and gave him a melting stare.
Amused, William thanked her and from the corner of his eye caught the brooding look that John was directing at the girl. He suspected that his older brother’s emotions were more involved than mere amusement, and that if their mother noticed, there would be trouble.
“I don’t either,” Ancel said with more than a hint of hero-worship in his cracking adolescent voice.
“Why have you come home?” John asked abruptly.
William’s survival in the Tancarville household had depended on his ability to read expressions and voices. “Aren’t you pleased to see me?”
“Of course I am.” John flushed. “You’re my brother.”
Which said everything, William thought. “And that makes you obligated.”
John shifted uncomfortably in the fine, carved lord’s chair, its arms polished from the wear of their father’s grip. “I was wondering if you were still with Guillaume de Tancarville, that is all.” He spoke as if it didn’t matter, but they both knew that it did.
William looked down at his cup. “He has chosen not to retain me in his household. It was a mutual leave-taking, but done while it could still be counted that.”
His mother made an indignant sound. “Surely he could see the advantage of keeping you as one of his mesnie?”
“Yes, but he could also see the disruption it might cause. Some of the knights believed that he showed me too much favour because of our kinship.”
“Then he should have dismissed them.”
William shook his head. “Not when I was his youngest and least experienced knight. He took a commander’s decision and, likely, in his shoes I would have done the same. Don’t worry,” he said to John, whose taut expression bristled with hostility, “I’m not going to ask you to retain me as a hearth knight when you already have Ancel in training.” He sent a wink towards his youngest brother and managed to keep his tone light.
“I wouldn’t have you,” John replied. “Keeping those horses in oats and stabling would beggar me in a season, and there are no tourneys in England where you could play to earn your silver. Besides,” he added defensively, “you would find life as my knight dull after Normandy. If you can stomach the advice of your older brother, you’ll go to Uncle Patrick at Salisbury. He’s hiring men to take to Poitou.”
The point was made with little finesse—there was no place for William at John’s hearth—although William had known as much ever since their father’s death. It would not have harmed John to make some provision for him out of their father’s revenues, but he had chosen not to. “That was indeed what I was intending to do,” he said evenly, concealing his hurt.
“And what if his knights think that he is showing you favour because of your kinship?” his mother wanted to know.
He shrugged. “At least I will come to my uncle’s household with horses and armour to my name and some experience of war. He won’t have to provide my equipment, nor have I ever served his knights as a squire and been taken for granted by them. It’s a clean slate.”
It was very late when William finally retired, for there had been many years of catching up to do on both sides. His mother and sisters retired to the women’s chamber, their way lit by Alais bearing a lantern. William marked how John’s eyes lingered on the latter’s slender form.
“Our mother will kill you if she sees you,” he said. His tongue fumbled the words for the mead had been strong and he had been drinking it slowly but steadily for most of the night. John was in a similar case and the candle flame inside the lantern he was holding wavered and guttered with the unsteadiness of his footsteps.
“Kill me if she sees me what?” John slurred.
“Looking at Alais the way a fox looks at a goose.”
John gave a contemptuous snort. “You’re imagining things. Must be your debauched life at Tancarville.” He staggered along the passage and into the lord’s bedchamber. A string-framed bed and feather mattress had been set up for William in the corner and his gear was deposited around it: sword, shield, hauberk, helm.
“Chance would be a fine thing,” William retorted. “The lady de Tancarville guarded the women of her chamber like a dragon coiled on a hoard of gold and the household whores weren’t interested in a lowly squire.”
“The Sire de Tancarville kept whores?” Ancel asked, eyes agog.
“A few.” William licked his finger and stooped to rub at a mark on the surface of his shield which still bore the Tancarville colours. “They were hand-picked by my lord.”
“Hand-picked?” John guffawed as he set the lantern down precariously on a chest. “Are you sure he didn’t use anything else?”
William laughed. “I meant that they were either barren or knew how to avoid getting with child. That way the place wasn’t overrun with bastard brats.” He looked hard at John. “She’s a maid of Mother’s chamber. If you touch her there’ll be hell to pay, especially when you consider the circumstances of her birth.”
