In a Dark Wood Read Free Page A

carts by groaning men. And everywhere a glance of respect.
    This was where he belonged, in the shadow of walls. The drawbridge resounded beneath him, and the stone-paved courtyard was so pleasing to him that he leaped unaided and strode across it to the chapel, where he gave thanks for his courage and for his fortitude in the face of his wife. His wife—that thought snapped his gratitude for a moment, and he turned aside from prayer, aware only of the forest round the city.
    He was filthy with dust and blood. His palms were sore where he had gripped the iron. He hated iron. He loved the grain of wood, flowing in one direction like barley after a wind. He loved the crackle of vellum in his hands, the muster of black numbers. He loved the shieldlike shapes of light on stone, as in the chapel now, the late afternoon spilling through the high windows.
    The candle shadows of the Virgin’s gown shifted as the door opened and a cheese-breathed deputy creaked at his side. The man’s wait was as insistent as a cat at a door. Geoffrey lifted an eyebrow.
    â€œThe king’s steward, my lord.”
    â€œWhat!” Geoffrey stood. “Where?”
    â€œHe’s waiting in the—”
    â€œHere!”
    Candlelight on chain mail. A frightened eye. “Waiting in the Meeting Chamber, my lord—”
    Why? Geoffrey nearly said aloud, but he strode across the alternating shafts of sunlight and darkness and blinked in the courtyard as he began to run.
    A surprise visit. A dove clattered through the air above the dovecot. Eyes acknowledging that yes, the king’s man was here, and yes, this was very unusual and something must be wrong. Even the smith’s rear end and his grunt as he lifted the hoof of a gelding seemed to indicate that word was everywhere.
    â€œIf you hadn’t been in such a hurry to—” The deputy who met him could not say “to pray,” because it was only proper a victorious hunter should offer thanks. Geoffrey threw a chair out of his way. “Find Hugh,” he began, but Hugh was at his side.
    Water sang into a bowl. Hugh’s white hands released a clasp. The pig stink, a stink like urine, was sharp. He splashed water onto stone. “He’s never sent a steward unannounced. Never!”
    He stood with dripping hands while Hugh toweled him. “I’ll wear my gown with the lilies—no, that would be stupid. Too sumptuous. And he’ll be all mud-freckled. Tell me, is he mud-freckled?”
    â€œSomewhat, my lord. Tired, but insisting on seeing you.”
    â€œOf course. Has he fed?”
    â€œHe wants to see you first.”
    â€œOf course,” Geoffrey said again, although a new kind of fear made him gaze upwards, into the tapestry of the knights crossing lances, one of them pierced through his eye slits, and slumping forwards, forever leaning, like a man looking for a coin on the ground.
    â€œPerhaps this one, my lord,” suggested Hugh, offering the green tunic with the gold trim.
    â€œYes, and the ornamental spurs. Good. And that sword, with the jet insets. We want to seem comfortable, but manly.”
    The mirror had a flaw, a rill, like a stone shelf under smoothly flowing water. The fold in the glass bent his reflection, and Geoffrey knew that this was how he must look to the Virgin, who saw him not as he looked but as he was.
    The sword swung comfortably at its chain, and Geoffrey withdrew it to test its gleam. “We want to seem capable of war but disdainful of rough play.”
    Hugh’s touch adjusted the cloth round him and tugged a wrinkle out of his stocking. “It’s a good thing I was out on a hunt. If I had been here, I would seem a clerk, a do-nothing. To make him wait makes him realize that I am a man going forth into the shire, breathing its air and surveying its cattle.” The deep hope that this was, in fact, what he would realize gave Geoffrey sudden confidence.
    He struck the hilt of his