To The Castle. Joan Wolf

almost equaled the brightness of the men’s armor. The summer day was breezy and the flag carried by the leading knight flew bravely. The jingle of the knights’ spurs and armor could be heard all along the road as they passed. Behind them came the pack horses carrying the household goods the earl considered necessary when he traveled: one horse was loaded with his dismantled bed, sheets, blankets and mattress, another with his wardrobe, another with the wine he favored and others still with the various items that contributed to his comfort.

      The old man turned to his twenty-two-year-old grandson and said, “It will be good to get home. We’ve been away a long time.”

      “It was early spring when we left and now it’s deep summer,” Roger replied. “But we had a good tour, I think.”

      “It is wise to show your face once in a while,” the earl advised. “Remember that, my boy. There’s nothing like a little inspection to keep a man honest.”

      “Yes, sir,” Roger said.

      “I’m looking forward to sitting in my own hall, though,” the earl said. “I’m getting too old to be putting in so many hours in the saddle.”

      Roger grinned. “You have more stamina than half of the knights, sir.”

      “I put up a good front,” the earl grunted. “When we get home we can turn our thoughts to your wedding.”

      Roger shifted his grip on the reins. “Ah, yes. The wedding. I still can’t believe you got the king to agree to it.”

      “It was an enticement. He knows he needs to keep me loyal. If Wiltshire should go over to the empress it would be a catastrophe for Stephen. We hold sway over too much land for him to lose us.”

      Roger shook his head in amazement. “But to join the earldoms of Wiltshire and Lincoln! The de Roches will be the most powerful family in the kingdom.”

      The earl gave his grandson a sly smile. “I know. We will control all of Lincoln, as well as Wiltshire. We will sit astride the kingdom, Roger, as powerful as the king, and the Earl of Chester will be furious.”

      “The present Earl of Lincoln is still very much alive, sir,” Roger pointed out. “The union of the two lordships won’t happen until he is dead. Only then will his daughter inherit.”

      “Raoul de Bonvile wants what we want. He wants his blood to be foremost in the kingdom. That’s why he agreed to the marriage.”

      They rode for a little way in silence, Roger’s thoughts on his upcoming union to this unknown girl. At last he said, “I hope Sybilla is pretty.”

      “It doesn’t matter what she looks like,” the earl said. “What matters is what she brings to us. Earls do not marry for a pretty face, my boy, and you are the future earl.”

      There was a little silence. Then Roger replied, “Yes, sir, I know. But it would help if she was pretty.”

      “There’s no reason why she shouldn’t be pretty. Her mother is a very good-looking woman.”

      They rode in more silence until the earl said with satisfaction, “There is Wilton.”

      Roger looked up from his thoughts to the castle that had just come into sight. The first thing one saw upon approaching Wilton was the massive stone battlemented curtain wall, with its twin gate towers. Four other towers were set at the corners of each of the outer walls, and from the crenelated crests of each of these towers flew a crimson flag displaying the de Roche signature of a leopard.

      “It’s impregnable,” the earl said with great satisfaction. It was a remark he made rather frequently. “The walls are fifteen feet thick. No siege artillery can breach them. Of all the castles we have seen in the past two months, nothing can match Wilton.”

      Roger nodded, sharing his pride. The home of the Earl of Wiltshire was the greatest castle, outside the royal castles, in the country. It was one of the reasons why his grandfather was so powerful.

      Within a few minutes the earl’s party passed over the moat, between the gate towers, under the raised portcullis and into the outer bailey. This courtyard contained stabling for the knights’ horses, as well as the usual storehouses and buildings for workmen and castle defenders. There was even enough room in the huge bailey to house additional troops, should they be necessary for the castle’s defense.

      While the knights dismounted in the outer bailey, Roger and his grandfather continued on horseback toward the inner wall, which was also built of thick stone, with a second gate barred by another iron portcullis. A square tower stood at each of the four corners of these inner walls.

      The knight on guard called out, “Welcome home, my lord,” as the earl and his grandson rode through the gate and into the inner bailey. This courtyard surrounded the keep, a square stone edifice, four stories high, with four towers that rose another two stories above the main building.

      Grooms came running to take the earl’s and Roger’s horses and the two men went up the steep stone ramp that led to the main door of the keep.

      The first floor of the castle was given over to store-rooms, the second floor to guardrooms, where the knights lived, and the third floor to the Great Hall. Roger and his grandfather climbed one set of narrow stairs and entered into the hall where most of the activity in the castle took place.

      The room was empty now, and no fire burned in the immense stone fireplace that was set on the far wall. The three other walls were hung with large wall hangings to keep out the damp and the floor was strewn with rushes and herbs. Two heavily carved chairs were placed on either side of the fireplace and in front of one of them a dog was sleeping.

      “Gawain!” Roger cried, and the dog lifted his head. “It’s me, fellow,” Roger said. “I’m back.”

      As he recognized the beloved voice, the dog stood up and raced across the floor to his master, barking excitedly as he ran. Roger squatted on his heels and the rush of the dog almost knocked him over. Roger laughed and tried to pat the dog, but Gawain was too excited to stand still. He circled Roger, still barking excitedly.

      The earl said indulgently, “You would never know he was eleven years old.”

      Roger laughed. “He’s like you, sir. He wears his age lightly.”

      Finally the dog calmed down enough to stand and let Roger pet him. “I’m sorry I had to leave you for so long,” Roger said into the adoring brown eyes of the black-and-white mongrel. “But you’re too old to come anymore. You couldn’t keep up, fellow.”

      “It’s just as well he doesn’t come,” the earl said. “I can imagine what my vassals would think when they saw that my grandson’s dog is a notched-ear mongrel.”

      “He’s the best dog in the world,” Roger said without heat.

      “He is a good dog,” the earl agreed. “He’s certainly devoted to you.”

      “He knows who loves him.” Roger stood up and pulled off his helmet, revealing his dark gold hair. “It’s still two hours before supper. Would you like a drink of wine, Grandfather?”

      “That sounds like a very good idea. My poor old bones are sore from so many hours in the saddle.”

      The two men moved toward the chairs in front of the empty fireplace. The shutters were pushed back on the high, narrow windows to let in the afternoon sunlight. The door to the hall opened again to admit two pages.

      “Come over here, lads, and disarm us,” the earl called, and the two pages hurried over to them. Both men stood patiently while the boys undid the laces on their mail hauberks and pulled them over their heads. Each hauberk was made of leather, with more than two hundred thousand overlapping metal rings sewn on it for protection. Neither man was wearing the long-sleeved mail shirt or mail leggings that made up full armor.

      When they had been stripped to the comfort and the coolness of their tunics, the earl and his grandson relaxed with their wine and enjoyed the comfort of their own hall.