Wild Wind Read Online Free Page B

makes a simple request—”
    “I’ll take care of it.” Picking up his master’s goblet, Gaspar set off in the direction of the wine barrel.
    A ponderous silence ensued, terminated to the relief of all when Alyce said to Nicolette, “He seems an agreeable sort, your Gaspar.”
    “He is that. And...well, he’s indispensable.”
    “So I understand,” Berte put in. “They tell me he exercises quite a firm command over Peverell. Does it never trouble you to have a man of such...humble origins acting as castellan in your husband’s stead?”
    With a sneer, Milo turned to Landric. “Tell me, old fellow, does it never trouble you to have a wife who’s got bigger ballocks than—”
    “We’re very grateful to Gaspar,” Nicolette said quickly, darting a warning glance toward her husband. Milo looked away pointedly, as if the conversation bored him. “He’s been of immense help to us.”
    “Yes,” Berte said, pinning the dissipated Milo with her wintry glare, “I imagine he has. I think it only fair to warn you, though, that people do talk. You know what they call this ‘indispensable’ Gaspar of yours, don’t you?”
    Nicolette met Berte’s gaze squarely. “Yes, I know.”
    “The apothecary castellan.” With a furtive glance toward Gaspar, muscling the cup-bearer aside to fill the silver goblet from the untested barrel, Berte confided to all, “He’s merchant stock. He grew up over a shop in St. Clair.”
    “That’s right,” Nicolette replied matter-of-factly. “He apprenticed as an apothecary to his widowed mother, but his heart wasn’t in the trade. When she died, he sold the shop and hired on as one of my uncle’s men-at-arms.”
    “Ah, yes. Henri de St. Clair—Peverell’s old castellan. I remember him well. What was he thinking, to take on a man with no military training?”
    “I gather Uncle Henri was impressed with Gaspar’s size and fighting skills. He was famous in St. Clair for his prowess with his fists. Also, his mother had taught him to read and write Latin—it’s a rare soldier who can read. Uncle’s instincts were excellent. Gaspar has proven himself a leader among his men.”
    “He’s coming,” Alyce whispered.
    Silence fell over the table as Gaspar returned and set the goblet, now full, before his master. “Here you go, milord. They tell me it’s the finest Bordeaux has to offer.”
    Milo lifted the goblet with a palsied hand and swiftly gulped its contents down. Handing it back to Gaspar, he said, “Be a good fellow and fill that up again.”
    * * *
    THE BANQUET’S FOURTEENTH course, in honor of the new knights, was a giant war horse sculpted of marzipan and spun sugar, which servants paraded between the rows of tables while myriad jugglers tossed lit torches into the air. Alex half-expected the canopy to burst into flame at any moment, and was relieved when the spectacle came to an end and the horse was chopped up and served.
    Milo refused any of the ludicrous confection, having consumed nothing but wine all afternoon—goblet after goblet of it. Upon draining his own goblet, he would reach for his wife’s and drink that, an appropriation that had the look of longstanding habit. His head wobbled slightly on his shoulders; his voice grew thick and slurred. The drunker he got, the more fixated he became on Alex, telling him over and over again how pleased he was to see him, and that they must talk—just the two of them—soon.
    King William and Queen Matilda, evidently having limited taste for marzipan horses, chose this opportunity to visit with some of their vassals, beginning with Alex’s table.
    “I’m so glad you could come, Lady Nicolette,” said the queen after the royal couple had been formally greeted—with Berte fawning obsequiously—and taken their seats. “I wanted to thank you in person for doing such a splendid job on that poem.” To the others she explained, “I had asked her ladyship for a piece about the search for the Grail—something a