Geoffrey Condit by Band of Iron Read Free Book Online Page B

sheaf of papers from the desk, turned and clapped Robert on the shoulder, disappearing as silently as he’d come.  Catharine sucked in her breath.  She could feel his chill, his anger.  She looked over at Bess.
        The girl stared back.  “Do you always attack what you fear?  Why do you fear him?  What has he done to deserve this?”
     
        Wiggly bundles of blond fur squirmed single-minded toward the waiting mother, and attached themselves greedily to her teats.  “This is Mary, Peter’s wolf hound bitch.”  Bess petted the mother, who licked her out  stretched hand.  The mother lay contentedly on her side in the hay.  Catharine glanced around the large stall in the extensive stable.  No expense had been spared. 
        A nicker sounded above her head.  A giant grey horse stared down at her over the side of the thick stable wall.  She stood uncertain while they eyed each other.  She could have sworn she was being sized up.
        “Grey Harold, Peter’s battle stallion,”  Bess explained.  “His favorite horse.”  Bess walked toward the Great Horse.
        Catharine caught her by the arm, alarmed.  “Wait, destriers, war horses, kill.”
        Bess smiled and gently released her arm.  “Not Grey Harold.  He’s something else.  Gentle.  You ought to see them together.”  The war horse nuzzled her hand affectionately.  “They put on riding demonstrations for the castle folk and his soldiers.”
        “He knows a lot about horses?”  Catharine kept her distance from the horse.
        “They are one of his passions.”
        “And Mary?”  Catharine let the female wolf hound smell her hand.
        “He’s giving half of the puppies to the castle folk.  Three go to his noble friends,”  Bess said, pleased.
        “The puppies must be worth a great deal of money.”
        “He likes his people to prosper.”  Bess stroked the Great Horse’s nose.  “You must understand that Peter believes that people who live below the salt have dreams and hopes too.  So he finds those dreams and feeds them.  He doesn’t give the dream.  But he makes it so they have the ingredients to create the dream.  That is why his people love him.”
        “But isn’t he afraid of his people leaving?”  Catharine remembered his father’s anger when his tenants fled the manor for the city to live a year and a day to gain freedom.
        The girl chuckled when Grey Harold raised his upper lip and nickered.  “His people don’t flee his manors.  They are welcome to leave whenever they wish,” she said.  “But they don’t.  Peter pays much better than anyone else.”
        “And if a man commits a crime?”
        “If it’s not a crime of violence, he gives a second chance.  The next time he’s turned off the lands forever.   Everyone knows this.  Come,”  Bess said leading the way out of the stables. “I want to show you the King’s Chamber.”
        “King’s Chamber?”
        “Where King Edward used to stay when he visited.”
        “King Edward stayed at Trevor’s Mist?”
        “You’ve seen the flocks of sheep.  His Grace was a wool merchant.  Peter used to help.”  They were mounting the wide staircase to the second floor.
        A merchant for a King.  The darkening idea carried a bad taste in her mouth.  But she wasn’t surprised.  Edward kept the merchants of London happy, she knew, even at their suggestion once trying to evict the Henseatic League from their freehold in the Steelyard, in the heart of London.  He failed, but bore no grudges, and business continued as usual.
        The chamber, heated with a massive tile stove from Germany, dwarfed any chamber in the palace.  A great four poster bed, now bare of hangings, dominated the room.  Four giant chests lined one side of the wood paneled room.  “His Grace visited us six times during his reign.”  Bess said.
        They moved to the balcony