The Lords of Arden by Helen Burton Read Free Book Online Page B

swear!’ His voice was clear enough to
reach the darkest, smokiest recesses of the hall, as if to deny any who might
later question the day's events. Then he raised his dark head and kissed Edward
full upon the lips in the age-old kiss of fealty. At sixteen years old he had
suddenly become his own master and one of the most powerful men in the kingdom.
As the King raised him, a hand on each shoulder, he could not decide whether he
wanted to laugh or cry.
     ‘That's over,’ said Edward,
matter-of-factly, ‘and I've something to show you. You're sixteen and we never
celebrated your name day, but I'm about to remedy the omission.’ He stepped
down from the throne, one arm flung easily across Beauchamp's shoulders as if
to acknowledge that the act of liege-homage had been no empty ceremony, that
his friendship for this young man was real enough. They turned to face the
assembled company.
     ‘My lords, Thomas de Beauchamp, Eleventh
Earl of Warwick. Will you welcome him to your ranks?’ The silence was broken,
they clapped enthusiastically and many cheered as the two boys walked the
length of the hall. The doors at the far end were flung open before them and
they passed out, finally, into the last of the light and the chill December
night.
     ‘My Liege,’ began the new earl - the cold
wind brought him back to earth, his feet no longer felt as if he trod upon
shifting sands.
     ‘Not a word! Now, close your eyes.’
     ‘Ned, what is this!’
     ‘Cover them properly! Now, are you
ready?’
     ‘Yes, yes of course.’
    The King clapped his hands and there was
no mistaking the clop of shod hooves in the cobbled yard. An ostler emerged
from the darkness of the stable-block, leading a black stallion, young and
mettlesome, who seemed to dance towards them through the river mist.
     ‘Now you can uncover!’ Edward watched his
friend's face, his own radiant with the pleasure of giving. ‘I chose him
carefully; he’s an Arab. I thought he would suit your temperament.’
     Beauchamp swallowed, ‘Ned, I've never
seen finer even in your own stables. I'm speechless.’
     ‘You must think of a name,’ said Edward
practically.
     Beauchamp put out a hand and cupped the
velvety muzzle, letting his other hand run over the arched neck. ‘From Araby,
you said? Then he shall be named for the bravest and wisest of the race; he
shall be Saladin, Black Saladin. Ned, you've given me so much today but how did
you do it! How in this world? To have persuaded Mortimer to give up the
wardship when he could have held on to it for another five years; and besides,
to give a man seisin of his lands at sixteen - it's unheard of!’
     ‘Call it a royal whim; I like to be
different. It's a simple tale. I struck a bargain with friend Mortimer, your
freedom for…’ He shrugged his shoulders.
     ‘For the French Homage,’ finished Beauchamp.
‘My freedom paid for with English humiliation. Why, Ned?’
     Edward was examining his own gift. Prowling
about the horse he faced him across the curve of its back. ‘We've been friends
for three years now but I know how you've fretted over this wardship. I wanted
to see you fly, to get a taste of freedom myself at second hand.’ But Beauchamp
had turned away to fondle Saladin's black neck, one hand clenched in the dark
mane, his face hidden. ‘Hell, you're supposed to be pleased!’ said the King of
England, moving round to his side.
     ‘You fool, I am! You've given me
everything I want in this world and I am not free Edward Plantagenet, nor ever
can be now. I gladly exchange the White Wolf's bondage for a greater
allegiance. Ned, I am your man from this day until the ending of my life, in
whatever you command. Wherever you send me I will go - to the ends of the earth
and back without question or hesitation, should you require it of me.’
     ‘Lord, man, don't be too humble, I'm not
used to it from you, and don't kneel, not here whilst we're alone.’ He took his
friend by the shoulders and