The Shattered Rose Page 0,21

over all the records and discussed matters with every person in the castle of any importance.

When he found himself discussing bluing with the head laundry woman, however, he knew he'd gone mad. He handled it well enough, until he saw the line of white baby-cloths hanging out to dry. Then he left the woman in mid-speech.

He couldn't escape it, though. Now reminders of babies seemed to be everywhere.

He came across the record of the cradle made for Gallot by the carpenter.

He couldn't bring himself to ask whether the cuckoo was in that same lovingly crafted nest.

A small pony chewed hay in the stable, the animal bought by Jehanne within weeks of Gallot's birth to be trained ready for him. If he'd lived, he might have been ready to sit on its back.

In one ledger he saw the price of a small pair of shoes of soft leather, suitable for a child taking its first wavering steps.

These things almost broke through Galeran's control, but he pushed them away and concentrated on practical matters - new pens for the animals, supplies of arrows, last year's corn yield.

Not long after noon, Raoul, bearing bread, chicken, and wine, found him outside the walls near the pasture observing the mares in foal. "Your household is eating in the hall."

"I'm not hungry."

"Eat!" Raoul thrust a chicken leg into his hand. "Fainting won't solve any problems."

Without appetite, Galeran pulled meat from the bone with his teeth. "Are you my official nursemaid?" But he was feeling all the silliness of his impulse to escape.

"Just your friend."

Galeran turned to lean on the fence, watching the healthy horses. One of his best mares was in foal to his father's newest and finest war-horse, or so he'd been told. The product could be exciting, but excitement seemed beyond him. "As a friend, then, what would you do in my situation?"

Raoul gave a wry grin. "Go very slowly and keep out of the way of my wife. I think egg-laying must be fascinating."

Galeran surprised himself by laughing. He returned to the castle with Raoul and went to investigate the welfare of the poultry.

By evening he had achieved a certain balance. The sharp core of pain in his chest had not disappeared, but it had crusted over, possibly just because of the deadening effect of exhaustion.

As he'd expected, everything in Heywood was in order. Even Lowick's labors had been efficient, probably because he thought he was looking after his own property. He'd not been much liked, though, and the joy at Galeran's return seemed genuine. That helped.

Galeran had not asked anyone about Jehanne, but her presence had been unavoidable throughout the day, conveyed in casual but concerned comments. That told him the people here still cared about her, and he wanted that. He wanted her loved and cherished as she had always been.

He wanted her protected against himself.

He gained the impression that she had not been happy this past year, and welcomed that too. He could not have endured a picture of her glowing with radiance.

When the sun began to move toward the horizon, Galeran decided he could at last allow himself rest and headed for the keep. He stopped dead in the middle of the bailey when it occurred to him that a thorough bath was necessary if he wasn't to foul any bed he slept in.

Which brought the thought that Jehanne always bathed and shaved him.

Without trying to analyze his motives, he sent the order that she prepare to do so.

He then realized he was still in his mail. He must have looked ridiculous checking domestic matters in full mail, but he supposed he was going to look ridiculous no matter what he did. He went to the armory and had the smith help him out of the metal and quilted leather.

It felt remarkably good to be free of the weight.

When the hauberk was off and he was just in his filthy linen shirt and woolen braies, he stretched freely for the first time in days. "My skin is probably marked for life."

"Skin recovers, Lord," said the smith, "which is more than can be said of mail." He looked the armor over with a grimace. "I fear you'll need new."

"Probably. But cherish that. It's been to Jerusalem."

The man's disgusted expression gave way to one of reverence, and he handled the rusty mail tenderly. "Aye, Lord, I will." He looked up almost shyly. "Does it glow, Lord? The Holy City?"

Galeran sighed. "It's just a city, Cuthbert, with houses, inns, markets, and whores.