The Falcons of Montabard by Elizabeth Chadwick Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Chadwick
Tags: Fiction, Historical
Ads: Link
the robe and his huge feet were encased in kidskin boots.
'Whether on floor or wall, they are very fine,' Sabin said diplomatically.
'Oh aye, you'll find nothing like them outside o' a Syrian fortress. Captured that one on the Tripoli campaign.' The apparition spoke in the act of flinging his arms wide. His large mouth caverned in an exuberant bellow. 'Edmund! By the saints, man, it took you long enough!' He threw his arms around Strongfist and hugged him ferociously. 'What have you been doing with yourself for a score of years?'
'Paying my family dues . . . raising a child . . . I—'
And a fine laddie he is too!' Their host disengaged from the embrace to slap an enthusiastic arm across Sabin's shoulder. 'Takes after his mother, does he?'
Sabin's lips twitched. 'I am told that in many ways I do.'
Strongfist scowled at him. 'Fergus, this isn't my son,' he said irritably. 'This is my travelling companion Sabin FitzSimon, son of the Earl of Northampton.'
'Bastard son of the Earl of Northampton,' Sabin qualified with a bow. 'And on crusade for my own good and everyone else's.'
Fergus hesitated while he assimilated the information. Then he belted Sabin's shoulder again. 'Well, whatever your parentage, you're welcome. Any companion of Edmund's is one of mine too. I assume you're escaping trouble at home, but you don't need to speak of it. Most of the youngsters who arrive here are on the run. You don't get many pious ones, and then they're usually raving mad.'
'I can assure you that I'm as sane as you are, my lord,' Sabin said gravely.
The Scotsman bellowed with laughter. 'That'll stand ye in
72
good stead,' he said and returned his attention to Strongfist. 'You said raising a child?'
'My daughter Annais. She was overcome by the heat. Your wife and her lady are caring for her.'
'Ah, the lassie I passed just now. Don't you worry. Margaret and Mariamne will sort her out. If I had even half a bezant for every newcomer who's dropped o' the heat stroke, then I'd be a rich man.' Fergus clapped his hands and a servant arrived, soft-footed, white-robed. 'Wine for our guests,' he said, 'and sherbet.'
Strongfist glanced around. 'You appear to be a rich man already. When I left for England, all you had were those poxy lodgings in Malquisnet Street and your sword.'
Fergus flashed a smile. 'You should have stayed. Why go home to toil for that ungrateful family of ours when you could have stayed and reaped the rewards? I have estates to administer in the north, fishing villages up the coast near Arsuf, and this house in the city. You could have had the same.'
'I made a promise to my father that I would come home if I lived,' Strongfist said defensively. 'I have never broken a promise in my life . . .'
'I suppose not. You swore you would return to Jerusalem and here you are.' Fergus rumpled one hand through the abundant red fluff on top of his head. 'It's not too late, mind, which was the reason I wrote to ye. Indeed,' he said with a sudden twinkle in his eyes, 'as it happens, you might just be in time. Mariamne's recently widowed and there are some fine lands lacking a lord and master. What's more, they are in my gift to appoint.'
Lady Margaret unbound Annais's wimple and in its place laid a moist citrus-scented cloth across her flushed brow. 'You need lighter clothing, child.' She plucked at the heavy linen gown, which was Annais's best summer one. 'This might do for an evening when there is a chill breeze, but it is no use in the heat of the day.'
'I have a gown that might fit,' said the other woman. Her
73
voice was cool and light, like pale wine. She moved with feline grace to a painted enamelled coffer standing at the side of the room, unfastened the brass hasps and threw back the lid.
A serving woman entered the room bearing a tray on which stood three goblets of green chalcedony. She stooped to Annais, who took one of the goblets and looked with bemusement at the semi-liquid mush floating within, pale dirty yellow
'Whether on floor or wall, they are very fine,' Sabin said diplomatically.
'Oh aye, you'll find nothing like them outside o' a Syrian fortress. Captured that one on the Tripoli campaign.' The apparition spoke in the act of flinging his arms wide. His large mouth caverned in an exuberant bellow. 'Edmund! By the saints, man, it took you long enough!' He threw his arms around Strongfist and hugged him ferociously. 'What have you been doing with yourself for a score of years?'
'Paying my family dues . . . raising a child . . . I—'
And a fine laddie he is too!' Their host disengaged from the embrace to slap an enthusiastic arm across Sabin's shoulder. 'Takes after his mother, does he?'
Sabin's lips twitched. 'I am told that in many ways I do.'
Strongfist scowled at him. 'Fergus, this isn't my son,' he said irritably. 'This is my travelling companion Sabin FitzSimon, son of the Earl of Northampton.'
'Bastard son of the Earl of Northampton,' Sabin qualified with a bow. 'And on crusade for my own good and everyone else's.'
Fergus hesitated while he assimilated the information. Then he belted Sabin's shoulder again. 'Well, whatever your parentage, you're welcome. Any companion of Edmund's is one of mine too. I assume you're escaping trouble at home, but you don't need to speak of it. Most of the youngsters who arrive here are on the run. You don't get many pious ones, and then they're usually raving mad.'
'I can assure you that I'm as sane as you are, my lord,' Sabin said gravely.
The Scotsman bellowed with laughter. 'That'll stand ye in
72
good stead,' he said and returned his attention to Strongfist. 'You said raising a child?'
'My daughter Annais. She was overcome by the heat. Your wife and her lady are caring for her.'
'Ah, the lassie I passed just now. Don't you worry. Margaret and Mariamne will sort her out. If I had even half a bezant for every newcomer who's dropped o' the heat stroke, then I'd be a rich man.' Fergus clapped his hands and a servant arrived, soft-footed, white-robed. 'Wine for our guests,' he said, 'and sherbet.'
Strongfist glanced around. 'You appear to be a rich man already. When I left for England, all you had were those poxy lodgings in Malquisnet Street and your sword.'
Fergus flashed a smile. 'You should have stayed. Why go home to toil for that ungrateful family of ours when you could have stayed and reaped the rewards? I have estates to administer in the north, fishing villages up the coast near Arsuf, and this house in the city. You could have had the same.'
'I made a promise to my father that I would come home if I lived,' Strongfist said defensively. 'I have never broken a promise in my life . . .'
'I suppose not. You swore you would return to Jerusalem and here you are.' Fergus rumpled one hand through the abundant red fluff on top of his head. 'It's not too late, mind, which was the reason I wrote to ye. Indeed,' he said with a sudden twinkle in his eyes, 'as it happens, you might just be in time. Mariamne's recently widowed and there are some fine lands lacking a lord and master. What's more, they are in my gift to appoint.'
Lady Margaret unbound Annais's wimple and in its place laid a moist citrus-scented cloth across her flushed brow. 'You need lighter clothing, child.' She plucked at the heavy linen gown, which was Annais's best summer one. 'This might do for an evening when there is a chill breeze, but it is no use in the heat of the day.'
'I have a gown that might fit,' said the other woman. Her
73
voice was cool and light, like pale wine. She moved with feline grace to a painted enamelled coffer standing at the side of the room, unfastened the brass hasps and threw back the lid.
A serving woman entered the room bearing a tray on which stood three goblets of green chalcedony. She stooped to Annais, who took one of the goblets and looked with bemusement at the semi-liquid mush floating within, pale dirty yellow
Similar Books
