The Black Lyon

We so seldom get visitors here at Lorancourt.” She held up her arm and Ranulf took it and led her to two chairs by the roaring fire.
    “But I understood that you have had many visitors lately.”
    She waved her free hand in dismissal. “They come to see Lyonene, to appraise our property and eat our food. They come to show their pretty forms to one another on the lists. No one has time to talk to an old woman hungry for news. But sit for a while and let me hear all.”
    William stood behind them feeling as if a bird’s breath could fell him. Melite, usually the most sensible of women, had taken the arm of the most fierce knight in England and had led him to a corner as if he were a gossiping old woman. And whatever had she said about their coming to see Lyonene and to appraise our property? This was too intimate a statement to make to a stranger. He must speak to her.
    “Describe this new thing, a button, to me,” Melite was saying.
    “It is a little ornament on a shaft sewn to the clothing, and lately the women have cut a hole on one side of the garment and inserted the button through it, making a fastening.”
    “I see. Then we would not have to sew on the sleeves of the tunic any longer.”
    William sank on a bench by the fire. The Black Lion, the greatest warrior in all of England, perhaps in all of Christendom, and his wife talked to him of women’s fashions!
    Melite turned to her husband and smiled sweetly. “Would you send Lucy to fetch Lyonene? I desire our guest to meet with our daughter.”
    “Oh, ’tis a handsome man, this Black Lion!” Lucy gushed to Lyonene. “His hair curls about his neck just as my boy’s did once.” Lucy, though proud of her son, who was now a monk in the Benedictine Order, was sad at times about him, too. “He is tall and strong, and your mother has him eating from out her hand. Great warrior he may be, but I would take an oath he is a gentle man.”
    “What of his black hair and eyes? Were you not frightened?”
    “For truth, I was, but your mother knew his character from the first moment, and it is she I trust.” She tilted her head and looked questioningly at Lyonene. “You would do well to choose such a man for a husband.”
    “Husband! Lucy, you have heard the stories of his character!”
    “Aye, stories. I know not one whiff of truth in them.”
    “He is an earl, and an earl does not marry a baron’s daughter. I do not know how you could have such a thought. Know you his reason for coming to Lorancourt?”
    “I did … happen to hear a bit of conversation.”
    Lyonene tried not to smile.
    “He has a brother who is squire to Sir Tompkin, and as that knight is soon to come, the earl wishes to visit a day or so with his brother.”
    “Well, I am glad this Black Lion is not above love for his own kin. You say my mother talks easily with him and he is handsome?”
    “Most terribly handsome, but if you dawdle longer he will be an old man before you see him.”
    Lyonene descended the stone steps slowly, touching the worn walls as they spiraled to the lighted hall below. She found her hand trembling and tried to still it. The stories of this man rang in her head as everyone’s opinions whirled together. She reached the bottom step, paused, and then smoothed her skirts and her hair, taking a deep breath to still the fluttering of her heart. From her vantage point on the dark stairs, she could view the scene in the Great Hall. The enormous fireplace roared with several logs blazing in it. At a small distance from the fire were two chairs, one occupied by the petite form of her mother, the other revealing only a mailed arm, the silver gleaming dully in the firelight.
    She succeeded in calming herself and looked toward the other end of the hall, to the other fireplace, which also was blazing. On low benches or squatted on the floor rushes were seven men, all in mail, all with tabards bearing the Black Lion’s coat of arms. Their voices were quiet and she heard one of them laugh. They did not seem to be the devilmen that Gressy spoke of. They looked rather tired, and Lyonene felt a desire to go to them to see that they were given what food and drink they needed. If the Black Guard were tame, mayhaps the Black Lion would be also. She stepped into the light.
    “Lyonene, my daughter, is come.”
    Lyonene kept her face lowered. She must control her urge to stare and remember her manners. Her mother spoke to this man as if they had known one another for many