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have to marry the girl. All in all it’s not a bad bargain.”
    “ What girl ?” Rolf exploded. “There is a girl? What’s her name? Is she pretty? Better yet, is she rich?”
    “She is Isabelle of Langston, the daughter of the previous tenant, and I haven’t the faintest idea if she is rich or pretty, Rolf.” He went on to explain the history of Langston to his friend, and the king’s concerns over his bride-to-be’s unwillingness to swear fealty. “The maid is probably frightened by the situation, and still mourning her father and brother. She is gently bred, and helpless in this matter. I’ll set things to rights in short order, and have the little bird singing a song of love by spring.”
    Rolf laughed. “The little bird will be closely chaperoned by her mama, my friend, and that good lady may prove a problem. She will have an influence upon her daughter that you will not, being a stranger.”
    “Once she is my wife,” Hugh Fauconier said seriously, “Isabelle has no choice but to answer to me first. If the mother proves difficult, I shall send her off to her stepson’s in Normandy, Rolf.”
    Bold words, and a bolder plan of action, Rolf de Briard thought, but then Hugh Fauconier had always been a direct man. Each had been sent to court at the age of seven to be raised there. Neither had any real prospects. Hugh was an orphan, and Rolf a younger son. They had immediately become fast friends. Queen Matilda had raised and educated them with her youngest son, Henry. They had traveled regularly back and forth between England and Normandy with the court, learning first as pages, then as squires; finally being knighted just before the first King William had died. The good queen, as she had been known, had predeceased her husband by four years.
    The court of the second King William was a totally different affair. William Rufus had little respect for overpious and pompous churchmen. He was a direct, forthright man who rewarded loyalty with loyalty and generosity; and disloyalty with a swift, harsh hand. His was a totally masculine court ofyoung men in splendid costumes. There were rumors, none of them proved, that the king preferred pretty boys to pretty girls. The king smiled and neither denied nor confirmed the rumors. As no one man emerged as favorite, rumors were all the Church had. Yet the king never married, nor sired any bastards.
    There were tales, Rolf thought, that he and Hugh could have told, but they never did. The king was simply a man’s man. He had no time for softness. Rolf and Hugh did their duty and bided their time. It was the only life they had. Now, however, Hugh was to have land of his own. Rolf, whose heart was a good one, was delighted by his friend’s luck.
    The two knights departed for Langston two days later, accompanied by their squires and Father Bernard, an older man of surprising vigor. They rode for four days, crossing Essex, and then went on into Suffolk. The January weather was cold, wet, and uninviting. They saw no one along their route but an occasional farmer driving his livestock from one pasturage to another. The priest had arranged for them to stay at night in the guest houses of the religious orders scattered about the countryside. A small coin gained them a hot supper, a safe bed, and oat stirabout, bread, and cider after mass before they left in the morning. There was no breakfast without attending mass, Father Bernard warned them.
    “I haven’t been so well-churched in years,” Rolf said with a grin as they rode along on the last morning of their journey.
    The priest and the squires laughed, but Hugh only smiled, more interested in the countryside about him. The area was said to be flat, but although it lacked the hills of his childhood home, there was a gentle roll to it. There were broad meadows, and fine stands of old trees. The buildings they saw were timber-framed and plastered, the roofs thatched neatly, for there was no building stone of note in the vicinity.