Chapter 25
Twenty-five
William had never had a wardship before, although he had trained several squires and mentored plenty of young knights.
The youth who stood before him now was his responsibility in every sense of the word.
Jean D’Earley’s parents were dead and his guardian, the Archdeacon of Wells, was recently deceased.
At fourteen Jean was still too young to administer his lands by himself.
Not too young though to be wearing a sword at his left hip and the long sheath of a hunting dagger at his right, William noticed, concealing a smile.
The sword was far too cumbersome for the youth’s light frame and from the somewhat outmoded style of the hilt was a family heirloom, probably passed down several generations.
William recognised the pride, the challenge, and the uncertainty.
“Jean,” he said pleasantly and extended his hand.
The youth gave him a wary look out of slate-blue eyes half hidden by a fringe of night-black hair, and after a moment responded.
His wrist bones were long and narrow, speaking of recent rapid growth.
His damp hand revealed his apprehension, but the strength of the grip showed that he was determined not to be overwhelmed.
“I assume you have been told that while the Crown will administer your lands, you yourself are to be trained in my household until you reach your majority.”
“Sir,” the boy said and compressed his lips.
“And you do not know whether to be resentful or pleased.”
The lad looked startled but said nothing—not that William had expected him to. “Let me see your sword.”
His charge drew the weapon and handed it over hilt-first, anxiety entering his expression. William examined the blade thoroughly, noting how the edge was keen and bright and how it had been oiled and looked after. “You care for this yourself?” he asked as he tested the balance.
“Yes, sir.” The youth reddened.
William handed it back to him. “Good,” he said. “Cleaning weapons is the first duty a squire learns, and you’re already competent. How much training in weapon play have you had?”
The youth’s flush deepened. “Only a little, sir.”
Probably next to nothing, William thought.
His father had died when he was eight, and the Archdeacon had been an elderly priest. Buried here, all the training the youth had likely received was some basic spear and shield work and the rudiments of swordplay.
Likely, the same applied to courtly skills.
The only thing polished was that great sword, which was entirely unsuitable.
Nevertheless, the lad clearly possessed ability, and was a hard worker if the shine on that steel was any indication.
“That doesn’t matter. As my squire, you’ll learn.”
“Your squire?” The slate-blue eyes widened in surprise.
“What else did you think I was going to do with you? You’re old enough to start full training and you won’t get that here, even it is your home. By the time you come of age, you’ll have all the skills you need and more.”
The boy looked at him, the surprise fading to be replaced by something more measured and thoughtful. William realised with amusement and a strange quirk in his gut that while he had been assessing the lad, he too had been under thorough scrutiny. “You have something to say?”
“Is it true that you were tutor in arms to the sons of King Henry?”
William inclined his head gravely. “It is.”
“And a great tourney champion?” A gleam entered Jean’s gaze.
“I was once.” Were. Was. With the boy’s young eyes upon him and those answers defining his past, William felt a surge of melancholy.
The last tourney he had attended had been near Saint-Pierre-sur-Dives before his pilgrimage and although he had taken the prize, the gloss had tarnished.
The boy had obviously been given a résumé of his new guardian’s past achievements.
Whether he had been given the scandal alongside them, William was not about to ask.
“I’ll teach you sword- and lance-play,” William said, “but don’t expect to attend any tourneys, and don’t believe half the tales you hear. ”
“But if half are untrue, that still leaves half that are,” Jean pointed out, shedding some of his awe to reveal a glimpse of the personality beneath. Reminded of Ancel, William smiled.
“Yes, and you’ll have a laborious task sifting wheat from chaff, but that’s part of the training too. Do your best for me, and I’ll do mine for you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You won’t be alone in your duties. My nephew will be joining my household as a squire too. He’s about your age and you’ll share duties between you. We’re fetching him on the morrow.”
Jean nodded, his expression a mingling of apprehension and eagerness. William gestured to the long scabbard at the lad’s hip. “Go and take that off,” he said, “and put it somewhere safe. Let’s start you off with something lighter and less precious to you.”
As the youth departed, William tried not to think of the one he had trained in the past who was sealed in a tomb in Rouen. Let sleeping princes lie. Jean D’Earley had a future, and so—he hoped—did he.
***
“Your son looks more like you than you do yourself,” William said to his brother as they watched Jack draw back his arm and hurl the spear towards a straw target. Jean D’Earley and some other boys were watching and waiting their turn. A lithe little girl with dark braids hovered on their periphery.
The men were seated on a bench outside the hall, enjoying the sun and catching up on the years apart before William collected his second squire and rode north to inspect his other, more lucrative wardship.
“People are always saying that,” said John Marshal. “It is good of you to take him on, but I still do not know if I am doing the right thing.”
William looked at him. “Because of me, or because of him?”
John snorted. “Because of his mother. She dotes on him and Sybilla.” His gaze flickered to the girl who was practising dance steps around the group of boys.
“There will be a vale of tears when he goes.” He folded his arms. “Oh, she knows she has to let go and that it is the best for all concerned. She puts a brave face on it, but it will be hard. Of course, she’ll still have Sybilla, but when the girl reaches betrothal age she’ll go to be raised by her in-laws.
I can’t settle a great dowry on her, but she’s pretty and related to the earls of Salisbury, so that counts for something. ”
It was Jean’s turn to throw the spear and William watched the lad take aim and hurl. He winced, for the technique was execrable, but there was potential. His niece patted Jean on the arm in consolation.
“I suppose in a way it is a boon that Alais is with child again,” John said, his expression wry. “It will take her mind off losing our son.”
“You are not losing him…”
“He will leave a boy and return a man, or I hope he will. It is a rite of passage and she cannot follow. The new infant will keep her busy.”
William gave his brother a sharp glance. “I would congratulate you, but you do not seem overjoyed at the thought of another child.”
John twitched his shoulders. “It came as a surprise, I admit. We have been careful, but plainly not careful enough…John and Sybilla are proof of that. I think it happened after our mother’s funeral.
That was a difficult time and we sought more comfort in each other than we had done in a long while. ”
William looked sombre. “I was in the Holy Land when she died,” he said.
“I lit candles for her at the Holy Sepulchre, even though I didn’t know then.
God rest her soul.” Feeling a wave of guilt and sorrow he crossed himself.
Since young manhood he had not visited his mother as often as he should, and now it was too late.
“No, you manage to avoid family funerals,” John said a trifle snidely.
“It’s not intentional,” William growled.
John must have sensed that he had stepped close to the mark for he swiftly changed the subject, although it too was a probe at William’s personal life. “What of this heiress you’re set to wed?” he asked. “Do you know anything about her?”
William eyed his brother obliquely. “Who said anything about wedding her? She’s only my ward at the moment.”
“The King intends her for you.”
William folded his arms. “Yes, he does.”
“But you’re not going to.”
“I have yet to decide, and that depends on the lady herself,” William replied and would not be drawn by further searching from his brother.
He had originally been of a mind to marry Heloise of Kendal whatever the circumstances, but on the sea crossing from Normandy to England Queen Eleanor had chosen to give the cauldron a quick stir, murmuring to him that he had accepted far too low a reward for his services.
“You can do better for yourself, William,” she had said, laying her hand on his sleeve. “My husband can give you much more than the meagre portion he has doled out to you thus far.”
“It is enough, madam,” William had answered, made uncomfortable by her knowing gaze.
She had nodded shrewdly. “Perhaps it is for now, but will it be enough in the future when you realise how much more you could have had? Think on it. There are more heiresses in my husband’s gift than Heloise of Kendal.”
He had been thinking ever since, his mind plodding like an ox on a treadmill.
He had been offered more than he had ever had in his life.
Lands to administer, the rents and produce of which would keep him solvent and allow him an entourage; a young wife, the chance of heirs; his own hearth instead of warming himself at the fires of others.
Yet Eleanor said he should risk asking for more.
Whether out of a genuine concern for him or a desire to make mischief he was not certain, although, knowing the Queen, it was probably a mixture of the two.
With an effort he broke the traces and shook himself free. “I’ll go to London and fetch my new charge,” he said to his brother. “And then I’ll govern the lands entrusted to me and bide my time. There is no need to rush into any decision.”