“After all this time?” Aliena was saying. She was suppressing some emotion. It might have been anger, but William had a sneaking feeling it was laughter. “After all the trouble, and anger, and scandal; just when it’s dying down at last, now you tell me I made a mistake?”

When she put it that way it did seem a bit implausible, William realized. “It hasn’t died down at all-people are still talking about it, my mother is still furious and my father can’t hold his head up in public,” he said wildly. “It’s not over for us.”

“This is all about family honor for you, isn’t it?”

There was a dangerous note in her voice, but William ignored it. He had just realized what the earl must be doing with all these knights and men-at-arms: he was sending messages. “Family honor?” he said distractedly. “Yes.”

“I know I ought to think about honor, and alliances between families, and all that,” Aliena said. “But that’s not all there is to marriage.” She seemed to ponder for a moment, then reach a decision. “Perhaps I should tell you about my mother. She hated my father. My father isn’t a bad man, in fact he’s a great man, and I love him, but he’s dreadfully solemn and strict, and he never understood Mother. She was a happy, lighthearted person who loved to laugh and tell stories and have music, and Father made her miserable.” There were tears in Aliena’s eyes, William noted vaguely, but he was thinking about messages. “That’s why she died-because he wouldn’t let her be happy. I know it. And he knows it too, you see. That’s why he promised he would never make me marry someone I don’t like. Do you understand, now?”

Those messages are orders, William was thinking; orders to Earl Bartholomew’s friends and allies, warning them to get ready to fight. And the messengers are evidence.

He realized Aliena was staring at him. “Marry someone you don’t like?” he said, echoing her final words. “Don’t you like me?”

Her eyes flashed anger. “You haven’t been listening,” she said. “You’re so self-centered that you can’t think about anyone else’s feelings for a moment. Last time you came here, what did you do? You talked and talked about yourself and never asked me one question!”

Her voice had risen to a shout, and when she stopped, William noticed that the men on the other side of the room had fallen silent, listening. He felt embarrassed. “Not so loud,” he said to her.

She took no notice. “You want to know why I don’t like you? All right, I’ll tell you. I don’t like you because you have no refinement. I don’t like you because you can hardly read. I don’t like you because you’re only interested in your dogs and your horses and your self.”

Gilbert Catface and Jack fitz Guillaume were laughing aloud now. William felt his face reddening. Those men were nobodies, they were knights, and they were laughing at him, the son of Lord Percy Hamleigh. He stood up. “All right,” he said urgently, trying to stop Aliena.

It was no good. “I don’t like you because you’re selfish, dull and stupid,” she yelled. All the knights were laughing now. “I dislike you, I despise you, I hate you and I loathe you. And that’s why I won’t marry you!”

The knights cheered and applauded. William cringed inside. Their laughter made him feel small, weak and helpless, like a little boy, and when he was a little boy he had been frightened all the time. He turned away from Aliena, fighting to control his facial expression and hide his feelings. He crossed the room as fast as he could without running, while the laughter grew louder. At last he reached the door, flung it open, and stumbled out. He slammed it behind him and ran down the stairs, choking with shame; and the fading sound of their derisive laughter rang in his ears all the way across the muddy courtyard to the gate.

The path from Earlscastle to Shiring crossed a main road after about a mile. At the crossroads a traveler could turn north, for Gloucester and the Welsh border, or south, for Winchester and the coast. William and Walter turned south.

William’s anguish had turned to rage. He was too furious to speak. He wanted to hurt Aliena and kill all those knights. He would have liked to thrust his sword into each laughing mouth and drive it down each throat. And he had thought of a way to avenge himself on at least one of them. If it worked, he would get the proof he needed at the same time. The prospect gave him savage consolation.

First he had to catch one of them. As soon as the road ran into woodland, William dismounted and began to walk, leading his horse. Walter followed in silence, respecting his mood. William came to a narrower stretch of track and stopped. He turned to Walter and said: “Who’s better with a knife, you or me?”

“Fighting at close quarters, I’m better,” Walter said guardedly. “But you throw more accurately, lord.” They all called him lord when he was angry.

“I suppose you can trip a bolting horse, and make him fall?” William said.

“Yes, with a good stout pole.”

“Go and find a small tree, then, and pull it up and trim it; then you’ll have a good stout pole.”

Walter went off.

William led the two horses through the woods and tied them up in a clearing a good way from the road. He took off their saddles and removed some of the cords and straps from the tack-enough to bind a man hand and foot, with a little over. His plan was crude, but there was no time to devise something more elaborate, so he would have to hope for the best.

On his way back to the road he found a stout piece of oak deadfall, dry and hard, to use as a club.

Walter was waiting with his pole. William selected the place where the groom would lie in wait, behind the broad trunk of a beech tree that grew close to the path. “Don’t shove the pole out too soon, or the horse will jump over it,” he cautioned. “But don’t leave it too late, because you can’t trip him by his back legs. The ideal is to push it between his forelegs. And try to stick the end into the ground so he doesn’t kick it aside.”

Walter nodded. “I’ve seen this done before.”

William walked about thirty yards back toward Earlscastle. His role would be to make sure the horse bolted, so that it would be going too fast to avoid Walter’s pole. He hid himself as close to the road as he could. Sooner or later one of Earl Bartholomew’s messengers would come along. William hoped it would be soon. He was anxious about whether this was going to work, and he was impatient to get it over with.

Those knights had no idea, while they were laughing at me, that I was spying on them, he thought, and it soothed him a little. But one of them is about to find out. And then he’ll be sorry he laughed. Then he’ll wish he had gone down on his knees and kissed my boots, instead of laughing. He’s going to weep and beg and plead with me to forgive him, and I’m just going to hurt him all the more.

He had other consolations. If his plan worked out, it might ultimately bring about the downfall of Earl Bartholomew and the resurrection of the Hamleighs. Then all those who had snickered at the canceled wedding would tremble in fear, and some of them would suffer more than fear.

The downfall of Bartholomew would also be the downfall of Aliena, and that was the best part. Her swollen pride and her superior manner would have to change after her father had been hanged as a traitor. If she wanted soft silk and sugar cones then, she would have to marry William to get them. He imagined her, humble and contrite, bringing him a hot pastry from the kitchen, looking up at him with those big dark eyes, eager to please him, hoping for a caress, her soft mouth slightly open, begging to be kissed.

His fantasy was disturbed by hoofbeats on the winter-hard mud of the road. He drew his knife and hefted it, reminding himself of its weight and balance. At the point, it was sharpened on both sides, for better penetration. He stood upright, flattened his back against the tree that concealed him, held the knife by the blade, and waited, hardly breathing. He was nervous. He was afraid he might miss with the knife, or the horse might not fall, or the rider might kill Walter with a lucky stroke, so that William would have to fight him alone… Something bothered him about the hoofbeats as they came closer. He saw Walter peering at him through the vegetation with a worried frown: he had heard it too. Then William realized what it was. There was more than one horse. He had to make a quick decision. Would they attack two people? That might be too much like a fair fight. He decided to let them go, and wait for a lone rider. It was disappointing, but this was the wisest course. He waved a hand at Walter in a wiping-out gesture. Walter nodded understanding and sank back under cover.