added Roland, with a thin smile, âthat a Tirel would rut with doe and duck alike.â
Walter stood straight and stiff, and Simon did not like his icy silence. Instead of replying with a riposte of his own, or waving off the offense with a bored remark, Walter absorbed the insult with a bare shiver.
âWhy did I believe you, Roland Montfort,â said Walter at last, âwhen you said you knew a place where a warhorse could be purchased for a farthing?â
âBecause you are foolish, and I say it to your face,â replied Roland, âand bad company for our king.â
âEasy now, Roland,â said King William. âDear Walter is our friend of many years. And as for you, Walterâyou must realize that Marshal Roland finds your presence at court a corrupting influence, an encouragement for me to ride through the woods half drunk.â
Walter grew tall with unspoken resentment, not at the king, but at the monarchâs guardian.
âThe Tirel seed produces but braggarts and crookbacks,â said Roland, âwhile I, my lord king, rise each day simply to preserve your life.â
Walter took a shocked step back at this last lash of insults, turning to one side, and Simon could sense the great effort it took the nobleman to keep from dashing across the chamber and seizing Roland in his fists.
âYou are too earnest a servant, Roland,â said the king, fire in his voice. âAnd too blunt. Apologize to my dear companion this instant.â
Roland offered a handsome bow, and prayed for forgiveness from Walter before his king and before Heaven. Walter, however, glanced away, with an air of bitter reserve. Simon was sickened and troubled by the hurt he saw in Walterâs eyes.
And the anger. Simon felt that it was only right to interrupt what could only become an increasingly ill-humored exchange. âMy lord king,â said Simon, âI myself found the stagâs stately crown, and brought it to you.â
âEven as Simon Foldre here made a gift to you,â asserted Walter, giving Roland a further challenging glance, âof that high-kicking stallion.â
Roland licked his lips, preparatory to speaking further.
âThe roan,â inquired King William, âthat last night nearly killed my chief groom?â
âThe same horse, my lord king,â said the marshal.
Simon felt his plans, composed of hope and little else, falter.
âI ordered a breederâs nose cut off last month, did I not?â queried the king. âFor selling me a racing mare of poor disposition.â
âMy lord king,â said Roland, âGrestain used a paring knife to separate the breederâs visage from its prow.â
Simon had heard of the badly maimed Alnoth of Bodeton. His face had swollen, and a fever kept him to his bed. Word traveled that the manâs life was in doubt. For the moment, Simon wished he was far from the king and his marshal.
âA horse, like a kingdom, lord king,â Walter interjected, âneeds time in the bridle.â
Simon appreciated Walterâs remarkâexactly the sort of statement Simon should have practiced and had not.
The king gave a quiet, appreciative laugh. He took the antler into his hands and examined the points of the ivory rack, pursing his lips appreciatively. âBy the Holy Face, this stag must be a beauty.â
âWith many cousins,â said Walter smoothly, âbugling and sporting, fat with summer.â
âYou see,â said the king, turning to his marshal, âhow I am tempted?â
The marshal said nothing, his gaze clouded with concern.
âHow can I sit here, dear Roland,â said the king, âwith the eager faces of my friend Walter and this young man praying me to hunt today?â
âMy lord king,â said the marshal, like a man giving up a long-running argument, âI cannot promise that New Forest is in safe hands.â
âNo, and you
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