The Prince and the Pilgrim Read Free

were eager to tell the king what had happened, and to praise the prince’s resourcefulness.
    “So where is my brother now?” asked March.
    “I saw him come in barely an hour before you, sir,” said the servant. “He went to his own chambers. The little boy was ailing earlier this week, and your brother’s lady wife was anxious.”
    “Hm.” The king betrayed no anxiety about his brother’s child. This was a boy just over two years old, and so far the only child of Baudouin and his young wife Anna. A lively, and normally a sturdy child, he served as another spur to the elder brother’s jealousy: March had no son, and though he was attentive – some said too attentive – to his Irish queen, she bore him no children, and he was too jealous of her youth and beauty to put her aside. The thought that his brother’s son Alexander seemed likely to be the sole heir to the kingdom only served to add to the bitterness that thinned his blood and put rancour in all his days.
    As was customary on the king’s return after an absence from court, March held a council that evening. It was an informal affair, merely a meeting of the Cornish nobles and officers held before supper in the great hall. The queen was not present. Baudouin sat, as usual, on the king’s right, and Drustan, his nephew and the king’s, on March’s left. While the men were still waiting for the king to enter the hall and open the proceedings, Drustan leaned across the empty chair to speak with Baudouin.
    “A word with you, cousin.” The two men were much of an age, so that between them the title of ‘uncle’ would have come absurdly. Drustan was a big man, brown-haired and fresh-skinned, with the look of a fighter. Which, indeed, he was. He was the son of King March’s sister by the lord of Benoic, and had the open nature and gallant bearing learned at the court of that splendid ruler. Of him, too, March was jealous, and in fact had good reason for being so; but suspicion was not evidence, and of that there was none. So Drustan was still, perforce, made welcome at the Cornish court.
    He had been with King March on his Welsh journey, so was eager, now, to hear Baudouin’s account of the adventure with the Saxon ships. He, too, had heard the rumours of a Saxon attempt to make landfall in the remoter parts of the west, and praised the other man’s action. “As,” he added with a grin, “you won’t hear yourself overmuch commended by our gracious lord. But never mind that. Less said the better till we see how the wind blows. So … They tell me that young Alexander was ailing while we were abroad? I trust he’s better now?”
    Baudouin, thanking him, assured him that all was well in the nursery, and then the king came into the hall, and took his place.
    “Ha, brother.” It was the first time March had seen Baudouin since his return. The greeting was loud, for all to hear, and hearty enough, if brief. “They tell me that you have been busy defending our shores. It was well done, and we thank you. Later, after we have examined the prisoners, and know perhaps a little more about the purpose of this raid, we will talk again. But for the present our business must concern what was said and agreed between myself and the Welsh king – and then, by the gods, to supper! Our lodging in Dyfed was well enough, but we fared thinly on the road home!” He gave his great laugh, and clapped Baudouin on the shoulder, but he was looking the other way, at Drustan, and there was no mirth in the pale eyes. “And there are other things a man is hungry for, after so many days and nights away!”
    At that council, no more was said to Baudouin, and once supper was over the king did not stay to speak with anyone, going straight to the queen’s rooms, but next afternoon a servant sought Baudouin to tell him that his brother would see him privately that evening, for supper.
    When he told Anna, his wife, she said nothing, watching with careful calm as her maids drew fresh