Lords of the White Castle Read Online Free PDF Page B

imprecations, Jean ducked his head into the wind and hurried along beside him.
    The door to the royal apartments was closed and a soldier stood guard outside. Flickering light from a wall sconce played over his mail and coif, turning the iron rivets to gold. It also caught the wicked edge of his spear tip.
    He fixed the youths with a stern eye. 'What are you doing here, lads?'
    Fulke had a retentive memory and knew all the guards who did chamber duty. Roger's bark was worse than his bite. 'I left my shield earlier,' he said. 'I'd like to fetch it—sir.'
    'I heard all about "earlier". 'The guard scrutinised Fulke's injuries. 'Good thing I wasn't on duty then,' he said sourly. 'The man who was is to be whipped for not investigating the commotion.'
    'He wouldn't have heard, we weren't near the door,' Fulke said. 'Besides, there had been a commotion all afternoon.'
    'Well, someone has to take the blame, don't they?' He gestured with the spear. 'Go on, get you gone before there's more trouble.'
    Fulke drew himself up. At fifteen, he stood almost two yards high, taller than many a grown man, and he matched the guard easily. 'I have come for my shield,' he repeated. 'Once I have it, I will leave.'
    'Now listen here, I don't take orders from a shaveling like—'
    'My lord Walter sent us to fetch it,' Jean interrupted, stepping forwards. 'Master FitzWarin is in his charge for the nonce.'
    'Lord Walter sent you?' The guard raised his brows.
    'Yes, sir. As you know, he's responsible for training the squires attached to Lord Glanville's retinue. He wants to see the shield.'
    'Well, why didn't you say so?' the man growled. He opened the door and gestured Jean to enter. 'Not you,' he said to Fulke. 'It would be more than my life is worth. I've no intention of hanging for a boy's petty squabble.'
    Moments later Jean returned. He was holding the shield in a curious fashion so that the blazon faced inwards and all that was visible was the wooden backing and arm straps.
    'Satisfied?' The guard closed the door and stood foursquare in front of it, making it clear that he would not budge again.
    'Thank you, my lord,' Jean said, bowing and using the inflated form of address to flatter the man's vanity. He started to walk rapidly away.
    Fulke hurried along beside him. 'What are you hiding?' He grabbed for his shield. 'Give it to me.'
    Very reluctantly, Jean let him have it. 'There's no sense in losing your temper.' He laid a restraining hand on Fulke's sleeve.
    Fulke gazed mutely at the shield he had been so carefully tending that afternoon. The smooth, painted leather had been scored repeatedly with the point of a knife, completely obliterating the wolf's teeth blazon. So strong was the malice in the knife that several deep grooves had been cut into the underlying wood.
    Rage rose within Fulke like a huge, red bubble. It throbbed behind his eyes, his hatred threatening to blind him. Within that hatred was the knowledge that this was what John must feel for him. To destroy a man's blazon was to insult not only him, but also his entire family and bloodline.
    'Whatever you are thinking, he is not worth it,' Jean said, his gaze darting between Fulke's expression and the shield. 'We can have one of the armourers put a new skin on this and no one will know the difference.'
    'But I will,' Fulke said in a voice strangled with bile. 'This changes everything.'
    'Look, we have to go back to my lord's lodging. We've risked enough as it is.'
    Fulke looked at him blankly for a moment, then, with a shudder, controlled himself. He walked stiffly into the adjoining hall, his fist clenched tightly upon his shield strap. There he stopped and stared like a hound spotting its prey. King Henry was talking to a cluster of officials and courtiers. And John was with him, a little pale around the gills, but showing few other signs of damage. His older half-brother William Longsword stood at his side, and their cousin, Aline de Warenne.
    'Don't do anything foolish,' Jean