neither was he handsome. He had eyes of a nondescript blue and a too-prominent nose. His lips were thin, shapeless, and could easily be cruel. His sandy hair was carefully curled into a tight little roll about his neck. "The girl, your daughter," he repeated. "Why didn't you offer her to me? I spent enough time with your sons. I'm not rich, but my estates rival those of Gavin Montgomery."
Robert shrugged, eating a wafer, the jelly oozing out between the crisp layers, and drinking deeply of the sour verjuice. "There are other rich women for you," he observed noncommittally.
"But not like her!" Walter responded vehemently.
Robert looked at him in surprise.
"Can't you see she is beautiful?" Walter asked.
Robert looked across the pavilions that separated him from his daughter. "Yes, I see she is beautiful," he said with disgust. "But what is beauty? It fades in no time. Her mother once looked like that, and you see her now."
Walter did not have to look back at the nervous, emaciated woman who sat on the edge of her seat, ready to spring should her husband decide to cuff her. He ignored Robert's remark. "Why did you keep her hidden?
What need was there to keep her from the world?"
"It was her mother's idea." Robert smiled slightly. "She paid for the keeping of the girl, and it made no difference to me. Why do you ask me these things now? Can't you see the joust is about to begin?"
Walter grabbed Robert by the arm. He knew the man well, knew him for the cowardice of his actions. "Because I want her. Never have I seen a woman more desirable. She should have been mine! My lands ajoin yours.
I am a fit match for her, yet you did not even show her to me."
Robert pulled his arm away from the young man. "You! A fit match?" he sneered. "Look at the Montgomerys that surround the girl. There is Thomas, nearly sixty years old. He has six sons, all living, and all producing more sons. Next to him sits Ralph, his cousin, with five sons.
Then Hugh with—"
"What has this to do with your daughter?" Walter interrupted angrily.
"Sons!" Robert bellowed in the man's ear. "The Montgomerys produce more sons that any other family in England. And what sons! Look at the family the girl married into. The youngest, Miles, won his spurs on the field of battle before he was eighteen, and already he has fathered three sons of the serf girls. Raine spent three years touring the country from one tournament to the next. He was undefeated and won a fortune of his own.
Stephen serves now in Scotland with the king, and already he leads armies though he is only twenty-five. And last comes the eldest. At sixteen he was left alone with estates to run, brothers to care for. He had no guardian to help him learn the work of a man. What other sixteen-year-olds could do as he did? Most of them whine when they are not given their way."
He looked back at Walter. "And now you ask why I give Judith to such a man? If I cannot produce sons that are strong enough to live, perhaps I can get grandsons from her."
Walter was furious. He'd lost Judith merely because the old man dreamed of grandsons. "I could give her sons!" Walter said through clenched teeth.
"You.'" Robert began to laugh. "How many sisters do you have? Five?
Six? I lose count of them. And what have you done? Your father runs your estates. You do little, except hunt and tickle the serf girls. Now leave me and don't cry to me again. If I have a mare I want bred, I give her to the best stallion. It will be left at that." He turned back to look at the joust, dismissing Walter from his mind.
But Demari was not a man to be dismissed so easily. Everything Robert said was true. Walter had done little of merit in his short life, but that was only because he had not been forced to as the Montgomery men had been.
Walter had no doubt that had he been forced, by the early death of his father, into a position of responsibility, he would have done as well or better than any other man.
He left the stands a
Robert shrugged, eating a wafer, the jelly oozing out between the crisp layers, and drinking deeply of the sour verjuice. "There are other rich women for you," he observed noncommittally.
"But not like her!" Walter responded vehemently.
Robert looked at him in surprise.
"Can't you see she is beautiful?" Walter asked.
Robert looked across the pavilions that separated him from his daughter. "Yes, I see she is beautiful," he said with disgust. "But what is beauty? It fades in no time. Her mother once looked like that, and you see her now."
Walter did not have to look back at the nervous, emaciated woman who sat on the edge of her seat, ready to spring should her husband decide to cuff her. He ignored Robert's remark. "Why did you keep her hidden?
What need was there to keep her from the world?"
"It was her mother's idea." Robert smiled slightly. "She paid for the keeping of the girl, and it made no difference to me. Why do you ask me these things now? Can't you see the joust is about to begin?"
Walter grabbed Robert by the arm. He knew the man well, knew him for the cowardice of his actions. "Because I want her. Never have I seen a woman more desirable. She should have been mine! My lands ajoin yours.
I am a fit match for her, yet you did not even show her to me."
Robert pulled his arm away from the young man. "You! A fit match?" he sneered. "Look at the Montgomerys that surround the girl. There is Thomas, nearly sixty years old. He has six sons, all living, and all producing more sons. Next to him sits Ralph, his cousin, with five sons.
Then Hugh with—"
"What has this to do with your daughter?" Walter interrupted angrily.
"Sons!" Robert bellowed in the man's ear. "The Montgomerys produce more sons that any other family in England. And what sons! Look at the family the girl married into. The youngest, Miles, won his spurs on the field of battle before he was eighteen, and already he has fathered three sons of the serf girls. Raine spent three years touring the country from one tournament to the next. He was undefeated and won a fortune of his own.
Stephen serves now in Scotland with the king, and already he leads armies though he is only twenty-five. And last comes the eldest. At sixteen he was left alone with estates to run, brothers to care for. He had no guardian to help him learn the work of a man. What other sixteen-year-olds could do as he did? Most of them whine when they are not given their way."
He looked back at Walter. "And now you ask why I give Judith to such a man? If I cannot produce sons that are strong enough to live, perhaps I can get grandsons from her."
Walter was furious. He'd lost Judith merely because the old man dreamed of grandsons. "I could give her sons!" Walter said through clenched teeth.
"You.'" Robert began to laugh. "How many sisters do you have? Five?
Six? I lose count of them. And what have you done? Your father runs your estates. You do little, except hunt and tickle the serf girls. Now leave me and don't cry to me again. If I have a mare I want bred, I give her to the best stallion. It will be left at that." He turned back to look at the joust, dismissing Walter from his mind.
But Demari was not a man to be dismissed so easily. Everything Robert said was true. Walter had done little of merit in his short life, but that was only because he had not been forced to as the Montgomery men had been.
Walter had no doubt that had he been forced, by the early death of his father, into a position of responsibility, he would have done as well or better than any other man.
He left the stands a
Similar Books
