The whole layout presented a formidable series of obstacles to the attacker. That was the point, of course, but now that William was trying to work out how to get past the obstacles he saw the function of the different elements of the design very clearly. Even if the attackers gained the lower circle, they still had to pass another bridge and another gatehouse, and then assault the sturdy keep. They would have to get to the upper floor somehow-presumably by building their own staircase-and even then there would be yet another fight, in all probability, to get from the hall up the stairs to the earl’s bedroom. The only way to take this castle was by stealth, William realized, and he began to toy with ideas of sneaking in somehow.
He mounted the stairs and entered the hall. It was full of people, but the earl was not among them. In the far left-hand corner was the staircase leading to his bedroom, and fifteen or twenty knights and men-at-arms sat around the foot of the stairs, talking together in low tones. This was unusual. Knights and men-at-arms formed separate social classes. The knights were landowners who supported themselves by rents, whereas the men-at-arms were paid by the day. The two groups became comradely only when the smell of war was in the wind.
William recognized some of them: there was Gilbert Catface, a bad-tempered old fighter with an unfashionable beard and long whiskers, past forty years but still tough; Ralph of Lyme, who spent more on clothes than on a bride, today wearing a blue cloak with a red silk lining; Jack fitz Guillaume, already a knight although hardly older than William; and several others whose faces were vaguely familiar. He nodded in their general direction, but they took little notice of him-he was well known, but he was too young to be important.
He turned and looked around the other side of the hall, and saw Aliena immediately.
She looked quite different today. Yesterday she had been dressed up for the cathedral, in silk and fine wool and linen, with rings and ribbons and pointed boots. Today she wore the short tunic of a peasant woman or a child, and her feet were bare. She was sitting on a bench, studying a game board on which were counters of different colors. As William watched, she hitched up her tunic and crossed her legs, revealing her knees, and then wrinkled her nose in a frown. Yesterday she had been formidably sophisticated; today she was a vulnerable child, and William found her even more desirable. He suddenly felt ashamed that this child had been able to cause him so much distress, and he yearned for some way of showing her that he could master her. It was a feeling almost like lust.
She was playing with a boy three years or so younger than she. He had a restless, impatient look: he did not like the game. William could see a family resemblance between the two players. Indeed, the boy looked like Aliena as William remembered her from childhood, with a snub nose and short hair. This must be her younger brother Richard, the heir to the earldom.
William went closer. Richard glanced up at him, then returned his attention to the board. Aliena was concentrating. Their painted wooden board was shaped like a cross and divided into squares of different colors. The counters appeared to be made of ivory, white and black. The game was obviously a variant of merels, or ninemen’s morris, and probably a gift brought back from Normandy by Aliena’s father. William was more interested in Aliena. When she leaned forward over the board, the neck of her tunic bowed out, and he could see the tops of her breasts. They were as large as he had imagined. His mouth went dry.
Richard moved a counter on the board, and Aliena said: “No, you can’t do that.”
The boy was put out. “Why not?”
“Because it’s against the rules, stupid.”
“I don’t like the rules,” Richard said petulantly.
Aliena flared up. “You have to obey the rules!”
“Why do I?”
“You just do, that’s why!”
“Well, I don’t,” he said, and he tipped the board off the bench onto the floor, sending the counters flying.
Quick as a flash, Aliena slapped his face.
He cried out, his pride as well as his face stung. “You-” He hesitated. “You devil-fucker,” he shouted. He turned and ran away-but after three steps he cannoned into William.
William picked him up by one arm and held him in midair. “Don’t let the priest hear you call your sister such names,” he said.
Richard wriggled and squealed. “You’re hurting me-let me go!”
William held him a little longer. Richard stopped struggling and began to cry. William put him down, and he ran off in tears.
Aliena was staring at William, her game forgotten, a puzzled frown wrinkling her brow. “Why are you here?” she said. Her voice was low and calm, the voice of an older person.
William sat on the bench, feeling rather pleased about the masterful way he had dealt with Richard. “I’ve come to see you,” he said.
A wary look came over her face. “Why?”
William positioned himself so that he could watch the staircase. He saw, coming down into the hall, a man in his forties dressed like a high-ranking servant, in a round cap and a short tunic of fine cloth. The servant gestured to someone, and a knight and a man-at-arms went up the stairs together. William looked at Aliena again. “I want to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“About you and me.” Over her shoulder he saw the servant approaching them. There was something a little effeminate about the man’s walk. In one hand he carried a loaf of sugar, dirty-brown in color and cone-shaped. In his other hand was a twisted root that looked like ginger. The man was obviously the household steward, and he had been to the spice safe, a locked cupboard in the earl’s bedroom, for the day’s supplies of precious ingredients, which he was now taking to the cook: sugar to sweeten a crab-apple tart, perhaps, and ginger to flavor lampreys.
Aliena followed William’s gaze. “Oh, hello, Matthew.”
The steward smiled and broke off a piece of sugar for her. William had a feeling that Matthew was very fond of Aliena. Something in her demeanor must have told him that she was uncomfortable, for his smile turned to a concerned frown and he said: “Is everything all right?” His voice was soft.
“Yes, thank you.”
Matthew looked at William and his face registered surprise. “Young William Hamleigh, isn’t it?”
William was embarrassed to be recognized, even though it was inevitable. “Keep your sugar for the children,” he said, although he had not been offered any. “I don’t care for it.”
“Very well, lord.” Matthew’s look said that he had not got where he was today by making trouble for the sons of the gentry. He turned back to Aliena. “Your father brought back some wonderful soft silk-I’ll show you later.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Matthew went away.
William said: “Effeminate fool.”
Aliena said: “Why were you so rude to him?”
“I don’t let servants call me ‘Young William.’ ” This was not a good way to begin wooing a lady. William realized with a sinking feeling that he had got off to a bad start. He had to be charming. He smiled and said: “If you were my wife, my servants would call you lady.”
“Did you come here to talk about marriage?” she said, and William thought he detected a note of incredulity in her voice.
“You don’t know me,” William said in a tone of protest. He was failing to keep this conversation under control, he realized miserably. He had planned a little small talk before getting down to business, but she was so direct and candid that he was forced to blurt out his message. “You misjudged me. I don’t know what I did, last time we met, to make you dislike me; but whatever your reason, you were too hasty.”
She looked away, considering her reply. Behind her, William saw the knight and the man-at-arms come down the stairs and go out through the door, looking purposeful. A moment later a man in clerical robes-presumably the earl’s secretary-appeared from above and beckoned. Two knights got up and went upstairs: Ralph of Lyme, flashing the red lining of his cloak, and an older man with a bald head. Clearly the men waiting in the hall were seeing the earl, in ones and twos, in his chamber. But why?