|
|
|
|
|
|
seamed with scars from a life full of tourneys and battles. The marks were startingly apparent because Simon was very hairy and, wherever he was badly scarred, the hair had not grown back. The hair, fair or gray, contrasted with the red of the new marksall except the public hair, which was, amusingly, bright red. That brought the single comment made during that dreadful half hour. The Bishop of Beauvais, who by chance had never seen Simon naked, remarked wryly that the flames of Hell knew where to congregate. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Impatiently, the King shoved Simon toward the bed. After sharing a bedroom or a tent with him for over two years he was well acquainted with Simon's physical form. "They are both perfect in my eyes," he announced. "I am witness, we are all witness that there is no cause upon the body of Lady Alinor Devaux or upon the body of Sir Simon Lemagne to break this marriage." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Simon and Alinor got into the bed, the curtains were drawn shut, the witnesses left them in peace. Simon closed his eyes for a moment and wet his lips. Now he would explain to Alinor how he had come to allow her to make so great a sacrifice. Instead of going to the Templars in the morning, Simon had spent all that day wandering about thinking what to do, and he had found a solution. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He was shocked at the loud harshness of his voice in the silent room. Alinor jumped like a startled deer and burst into tears. Ordinarily Alinor was no more sensitive or modest about physical things than a cow. She would not have been at all offended by the rough humor of an ordinary bedding ceremony, but something in the cold, indifferent appraisal of the King and the elderly prelates he had summoned as witnesses shamed her. And now Simon was angry with her for no reason at all. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"What is wrong? What is wrong?" Alinor wailed, |
|
|
|
|
|