Standard of Honor

Andre’s relief was plainly evident to Sir Henry, who felt much the same way, and a moment later the boy was gone, obedient to his father’s wishes.

The Duke appeared not long after that, in company with de Sable, and both men greeted their host cordially, Richard asking immediately if Andre had yet appeared. Henry confirmed that he had and would join them when summoned, and then he led them into the anteroom, where Ector, showing remarkably few signs of having been awake for half the previous night, awaited them with a solid breakfast that he cooked personally for them, over a brazier set in the main fireplace, now swept clean of ashes from the previous night’s fire. As soon as they were ready, he served the three men fresh duck eggs whisked in a flat pan with goat’s milk and butter until they were solid, then salted and folded over fresh mushrooms and onions and accompanied by light, fluffy fresh-baked rolls straight from the kitchen ovens. They ate him out of stock, and after Ector had supervised the removal of the remnants of their meal and left the room, Richard turned to Sir Henry.

“Bring in young Andre and let’s hear what he has to say for himself. But before you do, let me warn you that, if my suspicions prove correct, you might hear things for which you are unprepared. If that should be the case, I want you to say nothing, is that clear?”

St. Clair nodded, not even curious about what Richard thought he might be unprepared for. In his estimation, nothing could surpass his relief at seeing his son’s name cleared. “It is, my liege.”

“WELCOME, SIR ANDRE ST. CLAIR. You look older … more mature than when we last met. But then you are … two years older, at least. As are we all. Stand easy.”

The young knight relaxed from the upright military stiffness he had maintained since marching in the door and coming to a halt before the table to salute his liege lord formally and ceremoniously, fist clenched upon his breast. He spread his feet more comfortably and placed his arms behind his back, gripping one wrist with his other hand, but continued nevertheless to stare respectfully at a spot somewhere slightly above the Duke’s head.

“Your father has been telling us about your recent misadventures, and I admit I am surprised to see you looking as wholesome as you do, after two months of living in hiding. You look remarkably well.”

He looks miraculously well, Sir Henry thought, hardly able to believe the change in his son’s appearance. You should have seen him but an hour ago.

Andre had made good use of his father’s stout wooden bath and had obviously used Henry’s short grooming shears and metal mirror to trim his hair and beard in the morning light from the window. Now he stood before them as a knight, complete in a suit of supple mail over which he wore a mantle the twin of his father’s own, the blazon of St. Clair embroidered finely on the left breast. He carried no weapons, however, and his mailed hood hung down at his back, leaving his head uncovered, for as an accused felon, he had no right to bear arms, especially in the presence of his Duke.

“Remarkably well,” Richard repeated, musingly. “And remarkably guiltless, for an arraigned priest- killer.”

Andre St. Clair did not even blink, and Richard, who had pushed his chair back from the table, waved a hand towards his companion. “This is Sir Robert de Sable, who rides with me for Paris, to meet with King Philip. He is a man of great wisdom and sagacity, for all his apparent youthfulness, and he is familiar with your situation, explained to us by your father … although I know not whether he be convinced of your innocence in this matter. You may greet him.”

The young knight swiveled his head towards de Sable and inclined it respectfully, and de Sable returned the nod, his face expressionless.

Richard crossed his long legs and locked his hands below the upper knee, then bent forward and spoke quietly to Andre.

“This is not a formal court, Sir Andre, but an inquiry into the details of your story, as one of my vassals. And I must tell you here and now that, irrespective of my own beliefs, my main concern is this matter of the vanishing woman. With her dead body to back up your tale, your allegations against the priests would be unshakable. But lacking her completely as you do, without even a name or a description, you cannot provide even a smidgen of proof that she ever existed. We have no complaints of a missing woman anywhere, no knowledge of who she was or where she came from, and no possibility, it appears, of that knowledge miraculously appearing. Look me in the eye.”

Andre did as bidden, and the two gazed at each other for long moments before Richard said, “It was the sodomy report that convinced me yours is more probably the true account of what occurred. But this other matter, your lack of evidence to demonstrate the truth of what you allege, could prove insurmountable. That, in itself, is likely to hang you … unless, by some miracle, you could conjure the woman’s name.”

“Eloise de Chamberg, my liege.”

“Eloise de Chamberg … And whence came she, this spectral Eloise?”

“From Lusigny, my liege. It’s nigh on thirty miles south of Poitiers.”

“I know where it is, man. I own the place. But why have you said nothing to anyone about knowing who she was?”

St. Clair shrugged. “I could not, my lord. I have spoken scarce a word to anyone in months. Jonquard, who knew my hiding place and showed it to me that first day, never came near it afterwards for fear of being followed. He would ride by every few days and leave provisions for me in a clump of bushes under a nearby oak, and I would collect them after he had gone. It was only last night, on my way here, that I learned from him the full extent of what has been going on. That may sound strange to you, knowing how much time has passed, but it is true.”

Richard sprang to his feet and began to pace the room with the irrepressible energy that Sir Henry, watching him closely, recognized from the Duke’s early boyhood. Even then, Richard Plantagenet had been incapable of sitting still in one spot for more than a few minutes, and as he paced he ground his palms together, pressing them firmly one into the other and twisting them constantly so that, when he was most intellectually engaged, the sound of his weapons-hardened calluses rubbing against each other was clearly audible.

“Strange it may be,” he growled eventually, “but no more strange than this: how come you, a knight of Poitou, to know a woman called Eloise de Chamberg from Lusigny?”

Andre accompanied his answer with the slightest shrug of his shoulders. “By accident, my liege. I met her by sheerest chance when I attended a tourney in Poitiers two years ago.”

“And fell in love, eh? But why so secretive?”

For the first time, a trace of color showed on the young knight’s face. “Because I had no choice, my liege. At first I seldom saw her, for my duties kept me far from Poitiers, and so I never spoke of her to anyone.”

The Duke stopped, almost in mid-stride, and looked Andre straight in the eye. “And later?”

The flush spread farther, suffusing Andre’s temples. “And later it became impossible to speak of her.”

“I see, and I can hazard why. She is from Lusigny, and yet you met her in Poitiers and visited her there later. Why was that?”

“She lived in Poitiers then, with her parents. But fifteen months ago … she was wed, by her father’s wishes.”

“Aha! For most men that would spell finis.”

Andre nodded. “True, my liege, it would. But hers was a loveless marriage from the first, with a man almost three times her age who lived in Lusigny. It was her father’s wish, not hers, and she was an obedient daughter.”

“But plainly not an obedient spouse. You continued seeing her.”

“I did, my liege, although we met far less often then.”

“And how came she to be here in Poitou at the time of her … misfortune? Need I remind you that, married or not, the lady is now dead and beyond the reach of clacking tongues, whereas you are very much alive and stand in need of her? Speak out, then.”

A swift, uneasy glance at his father preceded the younger St. Clair’s response, but then he raised his chin and looked directly at the Duke. “I received word from her, nigh on three months ago, that her husband would soon be traveling southeastward from Lusigny to spend a month visiting an aged, ailing brother in Clermont, and she had a plan, set in place months before, that would permit the two of us to meet. And so I arranged for an escort to conduct her on a prearranged visit to a distant cousin of hers, a recently bereaved widow who lives close by here, on the outskirts of our lands.”