The Poisoned Serpent Read Free Page B

the slightest injury and they never forget it.”
    Alan gave a half smile in response, then turned back to the procession.
    The three knights who followed the earl were passing in front of him now. Behind them, two more horses paced sedately abreast. Seated on a fat gray palfrey was a middle-aged woman dressed in an elaborate headdress and wearing a fur-lined blue mantle. But it was not the woman who caught and held Alan’s wondering eyes. It was the girl riding next to her.
    She was riding an elegant dark gray horse, sitting as light and easy in her saddle as if she had been born there. Even from a distance, Alan could see how beautiful she was. As she drew ever closer, her lovely features and fine white skin became more clearly visible. Spilling out of her fur-lined hood and falling over her shoulder was a great braid of red-gold hair.
    “That must be the Lady Elizabeth, Lord Gilbert’s daughter,” a woman next to Alan said.
    “Aye. And she’s as pretty as she is rich,” agreed another.
    The two women on horseback passed by directly in front of Alan, and for a moment he could have sworn that the Lady Elizabeth looked directly into his eyes. He blinkled, utterly dazzled.
    Her eyes were a brilliant green.
    Behind the ladies came a procession of grooms who were in charge of two deerhounds and two hawks. More servants led eight fully loaded pack ponies. Bringing up the rear of the procession were three more knights.
    Alan stared at the deerhounds and the hawks, and thought that it looked as if the new earl had come to Lincoln more to entertain himself than to inspect the shire’s defenses.
     
    The earl and his daughter were lodged in the bishop’s guest house, while their knights and the rest of the entourage were housed at the castle.
    The evening of the earl’s arrival, the Bishop of Lincoln hosted a welcoming party for Lord Gilbert and Lady Elizabeth in the comfortable dining hall of the bishop’s own residence.
    Alan attended with his master, Richard Canville, the sheriff’s only son. At a dinner such as this one, a server was required for every plate.
    The tables had already been set when Richard’s party arrived. Alan cast an awed look at the immaculate cloth that covered the high table. Each of the places had been set with a salt cellar, a trencher, a knife, white rolls, and a spoon resting on a folded napkin. The required basins and ewers for washing the hands were ready on a table along the wall. As most eating was done with the fingers, cleanliness was a rule strictly observed in good company.
    The sheriff was to sit at the high table, but Richard was assigned to one of the trestle tables that had been set up on the floor of the hall. Alan followed his master to his seat and took up his place behind him. Shortly afterward the bishop came into the room, followed by the earl and his daughter. Once more, Alan gazed with dazzled eyes at the exquisite figure of Elizabeth de Beauté.
    She wore a long-sleeved tunic of shimmering green samite. Her sleeveless surcoat was a deeper green, and lined with a rich dark fur that to Alan looked like sable. Her glorious red-gold hair was covered with a gauzy wisp of a veil.
    Alan thought she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. The knights seated at his table seemed to agree.
    “God’s bones,” said the man sitting next to Richard. His voice was reverent. “Will you look at that?”
    “She’s to be betrothed, I hear,” the older man on the other side of Richard said.
    Richard Canville’s head swung around. “Betrothed? To whom?” A sharp surprise could be heard in his deep, mellow baritone.
    “To Hugh de Leon,” Bernard Radvers answered with perceptible satisfaction.
    “Hugh de Leon?” the other knight, William Rotier, said. “Do you mean our Hugh? Hugh Corbaille?”
    “At one time he was Hugh Corbaille,” Bernard agreed. “Now he is Hugh de Leon.”
    “Jesu,” said William, who had known Hugh when he was the foster son of Lincoln’s