01 The Firedrake by Cecelia Holland

Author:Cecelia Holland [Holland, Cecelia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: E-Reads
Published: 1965-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Montgomery and Laeghaire took Mayenne to Le Mans. They went with a little escort. By the time they reached the city, William was holding court within its walls. They came into Le Mans late at night, and slept before they saw William.

The next day William took the homage of Geoffrey of Mayenne, and with his hands between William’s hands, Mayenne swore himself into vassalage. He commended all his men with him and the sour expression on his face made William smile. He sent him and Walter of the Vexin off to their quarters and had them guarded. He called for wine and beer, and when the captive steward said there was no beer, he told him to have some brought from Germany, or at least from Flanders.

“The finest beer is German beer,” he said, “Sir Laeghaire, isn’t that so?”

“German beer is better than any wine, my lord.”

William laughed. He was in a good humor. Laeghaire had never seen him so loose with his laughing. William’s head swung toward him. In his eyes was a peculiar glitter. Laeghaire stared into his eyes. They were like the eyes of the wolf in the dream. He cursed the dream. The eyes of drunken men glittered like that. Let this wolf bite him.

He sat on a low stool, with one leg stretched forward and one drawn up, so that he could rest his arm on the knee. He took the cup of wine and drank it off and caught the page before he could leave and poured another.

The other knights talked boldly. William talked with some of them. He called Laeghaire once and Laeghaire went over to him.

“I don’t think that your lord meant you to do me that service,” William said.

“He sent me no order.”

“He outtricked himself.”

“My lord.” Laeghaire could not think of anything to say. He looked straight into William’s eyes. William grinned, and Laeghaire felt himself grinning.

“You shaggy-headed Irish.”

“I’ll crop clean as a monk to please you, my lord.”

“My lord.” Fitz-Osbern stood up. The other men turned to watch him. Fitz-Osbern was a man of stature in Normandy. “I want no interruption in your triumph, my good lord, but this is an affair of my honor.”

Laeghaire stood up and went off a little to the side. He stood with one leg relaxed. He crossed his arms.

“Then tell it,” William said.

“It concerns the Irish knight,” Fitz-Osbern said.

“My lord,” Laeghaire said. “The Steward and I had some words. It seems he thought I should carve even more of his meat for him.”

There was laughter. William leaned forward. “When was this?”

“When we turned Walter back.”

Fitz-Osbern said, “This Irish knight, this wanderer, this sometime brigand to be sure, this landless fighting man for hire, this—bought man of the Count of Flanders, dared to tell me that I had mislaid my orders. Like a quick-tempered baseborn slave he took offense at the slightest comment I made, when I only meant to show him his, error, and he turned it against me like an insult, and then

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