THE EARL (A HAMMER FOR PRINCES) by Cecelia Holland

most honored, my lord.”
    “An empty phrase, if one does not believe in honor. But you do. Thank you, my lord. Stafford , you know of the council tomorrow.”
    “Yes, my lord. Good night.” Fulk bowed and turned toward the door. Behind him, Rannulf spoke to Derby and Chester , polite and friendly, and they replied. Fulk went out into the little hall and sent one of the pages waiting there for his cloak.
    “My lord,” Rannulf said. “Are you feeling well?”
    “Not really.”
    “The way you spoke to Thierry, I’ve never heard you speak to any man,” Rannulf said. He took the cloak from the page and draped it around Fulk’s shoulders, and Fulk clasped it awkwardly with his left hand and started toward the door. A porter came forward to open it.
    Outside, in the dark, the midden stench filled his nose and made him sick to his stomach. Rannulf said, “Thierry tried to be generous to you—at first. He meant no harm to you. I was ashamed for you, the way you spoke to him.”
    “If my right arm were good, I would have killed him,” Fulk said. He stretched his legs, walking as fast as he could to keep Rannulf quiet. On the ramparts, torches fluttered in the wind like flags; he could still hear the voices of the men in the hall behind him.
    “All he wants is your friendship, and yet you hate him so much,” Rannulf said. “I don’t understand.”
    “I see in him the same wicked man I see in me.”
    They had come to the door in the courtyard wall. Fulk took hold of the iron ring and pulled it open.
    “How do you know he means you any harm?” Rannulf said.
    “Would he be here if he did not?” Fulk shook his head. “I’m tired, Rannulf. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”
    Rannulf frowned. “Good night, my lord.”
    Fulk went across the courtyard toward the door into the tower. A man was waiting just beyond the threshold, a candle in his hand, sheltering it from the wind with his other palm. It was Morgan; when Fulk reached him, he turned and without speaking went up the narrow stair, lighting his way.
     
     
     

 
    FIVE
     
    Rannulf said rapidly, “Did you arrange it? I wish I could go with you, I feel my duty is with you.”
    “Never mind your duty, you’ll learn more with the prince.” Fulk shifted up one step, out of the way of the men loading his gear into a wagon in the courtyard. The sun had already climbed above the castle wall; they were late. He looked for Thierry in the flocks of people inside the wall, but could not see him. “Remember that you need not answer every question put to you.”
    “Why is Thierry coming with you?”
    “I requested it.” There he came, walking toward them across the courtyard, with one of his men behind him leading two horses. One was packed with gear. Fulk said, “Anyway, the main army will be more interesting for you. The attack on Bedford especially.”
    “You have to take a castle, too,” Rannulf said. “There is my lord Chester . What do you think of him?”
    “Treacherous, and infinitely capable of cosmic explanation for it.”
    “Infinitely cynical, you mean.”
    “No.” The wagon was loaded, and horses drew it rattling away. Morgan went back into the tower. “He isn’t cynical at all. He’s innocent. Sometimes they look the same. We’re going, do you want to ride down to the camp with us?”
    “Yes.” Rannulf’s face was bright with excitement. He rushed down the steps into the courtyard and called to his squire to bring his horse; Roger rode up from the stables, with Fulk’s bay horse trailing behind him. Chester came over.
    “Leaving, are you? But you’ve always been hasty.” He laughed. “And there’s my namesake. Good morning, Rannulf.”
    Fulk stopped on the bottom step to talk to him; the height of the step brought them nearly eye to eye. “I named him Rannulf for my grandfather, Chester . I can promise that it was in spite of you.”
    Chester laughed again. His eyes veered toward Rannulf.