The Black Lyon

servant poured scented water over his hands from a dragon-headed aquamanile, and another boy gave him a clean linen towel. The priest blessed the meal, and they all sat. They watched silently as a boy cut a long, thick piece of bread and set it on the white tablecloth before Lyonene and Ranulf. The trencher was to be shared by every two diners. Each person had his own cup, and the honored guests’ and family cups were silver, encrusted with uncut jewels.
    The first courses, the heavy meats, began to arrive: stag, boar’s head, pork, mutton.
    “Your men are well-mannered. I like it that they do not make eating noises. My father’s men are not so considerate.” She nodded to the left lower table.
    They both watched as the men grabbed huge pieces of meat, stuffing them into their mouths, not waiting to use their knives for cutting.
    “I have a name for each of them. Would you like to hear them?”
    Ranulf nodded.
    “The two on the end are Hen and Rooster. Can you guess which is which? The next is Cat. See the way he moves his hands and eyes? Next is Bear. Once, when I cut my leg as a girl, there were tears in his eyes. Then Pigeon; his head moves so. And the last is Hawk. He is my favorite.”
    Ranulf studied this man who was Lyonene’s favorite. “Why do you care for him?”
    “He is kind. He thinks well, he can sing, and he is quite good to look at, do you not think?”
    Ranulf stared at her. “I would not know when a man is such as you say, good to look at.” His voice was stiff.
    She studied his black eyes, the thick curling hair, which he left uncovered. “I should think you would know.”
    Ranulf, to his consternation, could feel the blood rushing to his face. Confused, he looked at his men and saw that they had paused in their eating to stare at him. He turned back to Lyonene, who smiled up at him mischievously. He returned her smile slightly. “You are an imp. What man is going to follow a knight who blushes?”
    Lyonene’s laugh rang out, a pretty sound which was infectious. She put both hands on his arm and touched her forehead to his shoulder.
    Ranulf tried to ignore the fascinated stares of his men. No one else in the hall seemed to think Lyonene’s laughter anything out of the ordinary. With relief he saw the next course arrive—capons, pigeons, pies of small birds.
    Lyonene took a spoon and lifted half a fat capon covered in mustard sauce, placing it on the trencher before them. Never had she felt so at ease with a man before, yet there was a sense of excitement through her, as the few times she had touched him had shown her.
    “I am sorry. I did not mean to laugh so. My father says I laugh at aught, and I fear he is right. You are not angry with me? I will give you the best part of the chicken.”
    “I am not angry.” He smiled in earnest now. “And if I get any of the chicken, it will be better than the meat, for you ate all of it, sparing none for me.”
    “Not so!” she cried, and then laughed again but covered her mouth. “You tease, Lion!” she whispered.
    “Yes, Lioness.” He leaned close to her and wanted greatly to kiss those full, soft lips that had a smear of mustard on the corner. The tip of her tongue licked it away, and he felt cheated. He wondered if it were the wine, for he could swear the room was as hot as a tent in summer.
    There were several people who watched the Earl of Malvoisin and Lady Lyonene. The Black Guard had never seen their lord act this way with anyone. The only person who made him smile was Queen Eleanora and sometimes Geoffrey or Dacre. Yet this young girl had transformed him into a knight’s page.
    Melite sat next to Lyonene; she had arranged the seating herself. She did not wish her guest to feel he should divide his attention between the two women. At each laugh from her daughter, her resolutions set more firmly.
    Father Hewitt, the castle priest, also looked on. Although many marriages were made for property, the church frowned upon that and encouraged marriages between people who cared for one another. He smiled now as he watched Lyonene with this great warrior knight. When he had seen the man with his seven Black Guards early this morn, they had seemed a formidable group and he had dreaded their presence, but Lyonene had so tamed the Black Lion that, when her head was turned, he looked upon her with the lovesick expression of a young squire gazing at his chosen lady.
    “There are no swans at this meal, but Cook has promised one two days