The Black Lyon

now Lady Margaret’s false stories. But what of William de Bec? Why would Ranulf’s steward hate me?”
    Alice threw up her hands in disgust.
    Lyonene laughed. “I know what you say. It is hard for me to not believe them. Their lies are so logical.”
    Alice dropped to her knees before her mistress, taking the little hands in her own, her eyes imploring. She tapped her head with one fingertip.
    “Aye, I should think for myself. I am sure Ranulf … cares for me. He must, but there was so little time. He hated me for so long and it is not easy to believe he changed. Do not shake your head at me. I believe I know my own husband. Ha!” She frowned at Alice’s gestures. “I am sure I am smarter than my unborn babe. Why then has Ranulf gone to court? King Edward will not give him money for my ransom. The king wishes Ranulf to marry a Castilian princess.”
    She watched Alice. “You are right. Mayhaps Lady Margaret lies and Ranulf is not at court.” She smiled at Alice’s sigh of exasperation. “I am a countess, you know. At home there are servants who treat me with respect.”
    Alice put her head on Lyonene’s knee and the young woman stroked the coarse hair. “Whatever I say,” she whispered, “you are more than maid to me. Had it not been for you, for your long hours, days even, of listening to my endless stories I might have thrown myself from yon window. Would you like to hear more of the Round Table?”
    At Alice’s nod, she began, for she knew the woman loved to hear of the pageantry, the games, the food, the clothes, the powerful knights who wrestled and jousted with one another. There was not one second of the three-day tourney that Lyonene had not related to Alice, but they both loved to hear it again and both knew it kept Lyonene from thinking too realistically of the stone walls enclosing her or hearing the lies that surrounded her.
    Late in the afternoon, Lyonene slept and Alice went about her duties outside the castle. When she awoke, she lay still and thought of the time since she had been taken captive. Mostly her days were spent with Alice in the tower room. Ireland was warmer than England, but still the stones created their own dreary and oppressive atmosphere. She had never even been outside the castle walls since she had first entered them, and this lack of sun and exercise did not help her mood.
    Only lately, since the child had grown big in her stomach, had she dared leave the cramped little room, for Sir Morell always lurked near her, touching her hair, her shoulder, smiling in a way that left little doubt of his thoughts. She recalled with a shudder a conversation with him when she had first come to the castle.
    “Why? Why do you do this?” she had asked.
    He had sneered insolently at her. “Is not the great wealth I will receive from your husband enough?” His eyes raked her soft form. “Is not the person of the lovely Lady Lyonene enough?”
    She had raised her head and met his eyes steadily. “No, it is not. I have been a fool to not believe in my husband, but you I do not think are a fool. There is more behind this than gold.”
    He smiled slightly and looked into his empty chalice. “Such knowledge from one so young! Shall I tell you a story?”
    She had not answered and he had continued.
    “You did not know your husband as a young man. He has changed greatly since he has known you. I came to him as a squire, as one of several young men, soon after his wife’s death.” He did not notice Lyonene’s pained look. “Young Lord Ranulf! So strong, so ungiving, so black!”
    He refilled his cup. “It is a simple story really. I was a young man, eager to please, anxious to do the bidding of a lord no older than myself. It is strange how we hate the people who take and then discard our first innocence. I served him for four years, four years of life I gave to that man and then I was not chosen for his guard. Nay, he said all his men must have his devil’s blackness. So, for a bit of fair hair I was used and then tossed aside like so much rubbish.”
    He threw his cup violently toward the fire, hitting a glancing blow on the shoulder of one of the hounds, which leaped, yelping, and ran away.
    Lyonene sat quietly behind the shield of her four guards. “Could there have been another reason? Mayhaps he chose his men because he saw something in their character which he liked.”
    Morell stood and stared at her, unaware of the guards’ hands moving to their weapons. “I gave