"No," Leah said slowly, unused to acting against her mother's advice but determined to have what was best for her lord. "I do not think that color would become him." She wandered around the booth with the merchant in anxious attendance.
"Ah," she cried finally, "there, that is what I want."
The merchant drew in his breath softly and lifted down a bolt of the heaviest and finest velvet made. If he sold this too, he could leave his apprentice to dispose of the rest of the lot and return to Italy for more stock. Never had Eardisley been so profitable. This was going to be a great wedding. The cloth spread on the trestle used for a counter glowed with the same color and life as Leah's great ruby. She lifted a fold and put it against her cheek.
"Leah," Edwina said sharply, "do you know the cost of such a piece of cloth for a man of Lord Radnor's size?"
"No," Leah replied with a little tremble in her voice, "I had not thought, but it must be very costly." She turned away to look at some fine wools.
"Madam," the merchant interposed, "I have only this one piece of value left. I will make a special price on it. You will benefit in the amount it would cost me to travel to London, for that much will I save. Look again. How perfect the weave. How light as a feather, not to be oppressive in summer. How warm for winter, still without weight. At what I will charge, it will be like paying nothing, for the cloth is so good it will last many, many years."
"How much?" Leah breathed.
"A pittance for such a piece of cloth—nothing for the value received."
"How much?"
"Ten marks."
Tears rose to Leah's eyes. She had never seen that much money, let alone spent it in opposition to her mother's will. "No. It is far, far too much."
"Well, what will madam pay?"
Leah looked at her mother. She knew that Edwina had many coins, gold and silver, in her saddlebags and that she had paid for the salt and spices from this hoard. What was left Leah did not know, nor if she had known would that knowledge have been of much value, since she did not really understand money. But Edwina would offer no help, and Leah turned again to look at the woolens. She touched a wine-red serge, and suddenly the mulish look that Edwina had seen several times in the past few weeks took hold of her face.
"What was the cost of the brocade?" she asked.
"Twelve marks, madam."
"Very well," Leah said, swallowing her disappointment. "Then I will have the red velvet and a plain silk of the same green color."
"Leah!"
"Madam!"
"I will have that," Leah said, setting her jaw, "or nothing at all."
"Ten marks is too much," Edwina said slowly. "I will give you half."
What the devil had taken hold of her daughter? she wondered. Could the stories about Lord Radnor be true? Could he have bewitched the girl? Most women would sell their eyes, not to mention their souls and their honor, for a dress like that.
"No, madam, I beg you. You will beggar me. I have a wife and children—"
"My daughter says she will have nothing if she may not have the velvet, and I will not pay that price."
"Nine marks then."
"Five and a half."
"Eight and a half. Madam, I paid more for the cloth than that. I can go no lower."
"I will pay seven and not a mil more." Edwina flushed with rage.
She was not angry with the merchant, of course, but with Leah. Yet she could not criticize her daughter for an act of self-sacrifice. Also it was growing late and Gilbert would be in a foul temper if they delayed him. It was she who would suffer too; Gilbert had grown very cautious about chastising Leah since his scene with Lord Radnor.
"Madam, I beg you—"
"Seven, I said. Quick, decide. My husband is waiting for us."
The merchant was beaten and nodded his acquiescence. He had not done as well on the velvet as on the brocade, but he had a fair profit and was well satisfied. Leah had watched and listened to the bargaining with bright eyes. That was how it was done.
As soon as the coins changed hands, Leah caught the bolt of cloth to her with a cry of joy. Edwina, completely out of patience, pulled her away roughly.
"If we are late, your father will be furious."
Leah came at once, a little pale at the thought of Pembroke's wrath. Edwina was a little pale too as she tried to think of explanations for the huge sums spent. Gilbert had told her clearly that he did not care what the cost was, but it seemed unlikely that he should have changed so radically overnight no matter what he said. She spurred her horse forward when he came into sight. Leah hung back at first when she saw her mother and father in earnest conversation, but she moved towards them again when she heard her father laugh.
"What do I care," he was saying. "It is a fine joke, for Radnor himself left the gold to pay for the chit's clothes. So he has paid for his own too." His face darkened momentarily. "He said he would ask for an accounting, so it might as well be spent as given back. Are you finished here?"
"As you will, my lord," Edwina replied submissively. "There are still ribbons and laces and such matters, but—"
"Well, go and finish your spending. I will return to the castle. But see that you are not late and that you are finished today. I will not have you running about at your own will every day only because a fair is in town."
Chapter 5
Edwina had no mind to linger at the fair. The huge task of preparations for the wedding had fallen largely on her, and two months was a very short time to prepare for the reception of about a hundred important guests, each of whom would bring his own retinue. All of these people had to be properly housed, fed, and provided with drink. Pembroke would see to the arrangements of the tourney and the hunts to amuse the male guests, but Edwina had to arrange to entertain the women.
Every serf in the area was impressed for extra service at the castle, and every animal that Pembroke could lay his hands on, legally or otherwise, was rounded up to be fattened and slaughtered when the time came. Leah too had been pressed into service, and she was responsible for every task that could possibly be delegated by her mother. It was just as well; had she been idle she would have worried herself sick over Cain's welfare. As it was, she was so busy that she scarcely had time to think. By the end of each day, Leah was so tired that she shook, but she forced herself to remain awake and she sewed, night after night, with tiny, careful stitches at the magnificent robe of red velvet, now fur-trimmed and jewel bedecked—her wedding gift to her lord.
For Lord Radnor, things were not going quite as smoothly as his letter indicated. The vassals were not easy to pacify, and their preparations for war had aroused the nearest Welsh tribes. Cain found it necessary to pursue groups of the rebels through the mountains. It was hard, dangerous going and even harder and more dangerous as they moved farther and farther into purely Welsh territory. He had not been wounded seriously and he fought as well as ever, but the joy of it was gone; his mind and heart were elsewhere. Radnor had personal problems. He was so tormented by his passions that he had turned aside in the middle of a day's march to ease himself with the first woman he could find.
To his horror, he could not take his pleasure of her. At a town still further off his road, he had sought out a prostitute, but this served his purpose no better. Nothing the woman could do would arouse his body, yet every night he tossed and groaned, awake or asleep, tortured by the lewdest visions. He was obsessed and terrified by the idea that he had become impotent, that this, just before his marriage, was his punishment for matricide and fratricide. His father had called it murder, although Cain tried to believe that accidents of birth could not be held against the newborn infant. If Gaunt was right, however, he was damned, and his line was meant to end with him.
Lord Radnor's second messenger arrived at the end of May. Leah came out into the courtyard with her arms and dress white with flour. She grabbed at the scroll held out, regardless of her mother's presence, for she had been seeing her lover with wide dead eyes for two weeks past.
"Stay," she bade the tired rider, as she read. "He says he is well." She turned to the man who stood leaning on his sweating horse. "Was he well when you left him?"
Cedric cleared his throat nervously; he was not accustomed to speaking much to highborn ladies. "If my lord says he is well—then—he is, I suppose."
"You suppose? Has he been wounded? Has there been fighting?"
"Fighting in plenty, my lady, but his lordship hasn't caught it. Only, he looks— His temper is mortal bad, my lady. No one don't dare say him a word but old Giles."
There was a little pause as Leah made, for her, a momentous decision. Then she drew a trembling breath. "Do you return to Lord Radnor?"
"Yes, my lady, as quick as I can."
"Before you leave, come to me and I will give you a message for him."
Cedric strode off to be refreshed in the servants' quarters and Edwina came up to Leah who was re-reading Cain's brief note anxiously. "He writes you his welfare?"
Leah started. "Yes. He offered to do so."
"You did not tell me. Do you reply to him?"
"I have not dared, but—but his man says that he does not look well. O God, I knew this would happen. I knew. O God, do not punish my sin by hurting him."
Edwina slapped her daughter's face. "Pray for him if you like, but do not question the ways of the Lord. Whatever Christ sends us is ultimately for our own good."
"Yes, Mother. Oh, Mother, I did not mean to … but I love him so."
"To love a man of flesh and blood can only bring you bitter sorrow."
"I know. But if the Merciful Lord will leave me my love, I will bear whatever other sorrow he sends with patience, I swear it."
Edwina shook her head furiously. Nothing she said seemed to penetrate her daughter's mind, and she had come to wish that Lord Radnor would hurry his return. Edwina had little enough faith in the ways of men and believed that Radnor himself would speedily cure Leah's doting.
To write, Leah found after she had obtained pens and ink from the chaplain, was not so easy. It was easy enough to pour out her hopes, her fears, and her prayers, but this she did not dare to do. She feared that her boldness in writing at all when she had not been bidden to do so would be offensive. Radnor's own terse lines also militated against freedom in her, and her short epistle, when finished, was a model of decorum. She prayed her lord excuse her boldness. She thanked her lord of his great courtesy for forgiving her weak fears. Only in the last lines did her terror peep through. A woman cares for foolish things, she wrote. Did he eat enough? Did he keep dry and warm? Did he have his wounds dressed? Humbly excusing herself for her presumption, she signed herself all obedience to him and affixed her name, for she had no seal.
The sun, that late June, was so hot that the dank rooms of the keep were a pleasure. Leah, however, was unconscious alike of heat or cold. Tomorrow was her wedding day, and neither message nor Lord Radnor himself had arrived. The Earl of Gaunt had come, laden with baggage, the day before. He had laughed at her anxiety and assured Edwina that he had heard on business matters from his son who was quite well.
"A little fined down, according to his man, but still worth marrying."
Leah could do nothing, and fortunately nothing much remained to be done. She paced the battlements, straining her eyes into the distance without avail until her mother, free for a moment from greeting guests, caught her and furiously confined her to the women's quarters. Even when news came that Lord Radnor's cavalcade was in sight, Edwina did not relent.
"Sit still," she hissed at her daughter. "Where do you go, you wanton. Will you show the whole world what you feel? Tomorrow you marry. You will see Lord Radnor enough after that, no doubt. Until then keep close. It is not fitting. Will you shame your father and myself and Lord Radnor too?"
Submitting, because she could do nothing else, Leah clung to her mother's hand. "See if he is well. His man said— You will bring me news of him?"
"You need have no fear," Edwina replied coldly. "I will take every care of my son-by-marriage."
Lord Radnor was just entering the courtyard when Edwina arrived there, and already a press of the younger male guests was waiting for him. As his troop pulled their horses to a halt and the clatter of hooves died down, a clear young voice rose from the waiting crowd of men.
"Lo! The bridegroom cometh!"
Radnor, who was in the painful act of dismounting, swung around with a black scowl on his face, but when his eyes fell upon the slight, fair youth who had spoken, his expression cleared and he held out his hand.
"Hereford, by all that's holy."
The Earl of Hereford pushed his way through the laughing group and held Radnor off with one extended finger. "No," he said positively, "I will not clasp your hand nor give you the kiss of peace. The last time I took your hand, mine was numb for a week, and the last time I gave you the kiss of peace you cracked two of my ribs. Man, you are too big."
The crowd roared with appreciation, for although Hereford was slight and pretty as a maid, he was as redoubtable a fighter as Lord Radnor and as well known. Hereford's blue eyes, so brilliant that they seemed lit by incandescent flames, flickered with merriment as he assured his friend that he would not for anything, including the assurance of admittance to heaven, have missed his wedding. As Radnor slowly unlaced and pushed back his mail hood to reveal hair plastered to his skull, rivulets of perspiration coursing down his cheeks and neck, and a face that looked like a death's head, however, the laughter gave way to an expression of concern.
"Good God, Radnor, what ails you? Are you sick too?"
The bloodshot, red-rimmed brown eyes suddenly fixed upon the blue ones in an agony of apprehension. "Too? What do you mean too? Who else is sick?" Radnor's hand closed on Hereford's arm in a grip that would have been excruciating had not his victim been made of bone and sinew like steel.