London - Edward Rutherfurd [174]
The coronation had taken place without interruption. Sampson Bull had attended the service in Westminster Abbey; then, while King Richard feasted with his court in Westminster Hall, the rich merchant had returned home for a more modest meal, to which he had invited his brother.
The conversation was cheerful. Though several times Brother Michael saw his nephew staring at him anxiously, he was in no hurry; and he found his gaze returning to Ida. What did she make of this marriage to his coarse brother? Could she be happy? It was hard to know what she was thinking, he decided. Only when the meal was nearly over, and he could not put it off any longer, did he finally broach the subject of the crusade. And held his breath.
To his surprise, however, Bull showed no sign of anger. Instead, he leaned back, closed his eyes for a few moments and smiled.
In truth, Bull had half expected it. The crusading fever was at its height. He knew that boys of David’s age often conceived a passion for religion that usually passed, and if the boy had a desire for adventure, so much the better. Opening his eyes again, therefore, he remarked: “So you want to go to the Holy Land.” Then, turning back to the monk, he mildly enquired: “Are you so anxious, Brother, that this boy should die?”
Brother Michael flushed. “Of course not.”
“Yet many who go to the Holy Land,” the merchant truly observed, “do not return.” The monk was silent. “But you want the boy to save his soul? Which is hard to do in London, I suppose.”
The merchant sighed. How was it, he often wondered, that men ran after ideals and ignored reality? Some who went on crusade were honest pilgrims, some were seeking adventure, some profit. Many would never even reach the Holy Land, dying first of disease or even, as with the last crusade, fighting other Christians. Nearly all would be ruined. Where, in all this, was the ideal? Lost in the journey.
It was at just this moment that young David gained an unexpected ally. The more Ida saw him, the more she liked the boy. The thought of losing him on a dangerous crusade horrified her, but as the daughter of a knight she understood him. Only the day before he had confided his secret to her, and when she had replied, “You’re rather young,” and seen him flush with shame, she had cursed herself. Now, therefore, she calmly intervened:
“I think you should let him go.” It was the first time she had crossed her husband. She wondered what would happen.
Bull did not respond at once, frowning while he considered how to deal with this new development. Finally he observed with a trace of cruelty, “You were sold against your will, madam, because of a crusade, yet you still support them?”
“It’s the principle that matters,” she proudly replied. Then, very calmly, she smiled at Brother Michael.
How beautiful she was, he thought, how noble. With her pale white face, her large brown eyes, how sublimely above this merchant’s house she was. He noticed with approval that young David was also gazing at her admiringly.
It was seeing their admiration that tempted Ida to make a foolish mistake, for now, turning to her husband with a trace of contempt, she remarked: “But since it concerns principles, you would not understand.”
Deserved or not, it was an insult, and at once she realized she had gone too far. For a moment Bull was silent. Then he began to redden.
“No,” he replied dangerously, “I wouldn’t.” She saw the veins beginning to stand