Oliver made a dismissive movement. ‘My lord, I don’t need your assistance.’
‘I know that, lad.’
Oliver gave a little smile at the way his cousin addressed him. Geoffrey was but two years his senior, yet he made it sound as if he were Oliver’s grandsire.
‘Matthew’s done no harm, mon seigneur,’ Oliver said, jerking his head at Matthew’s white face. ‘You’ve terrified the boy.’
His cousin grinned. ‘He does right to be terrified. Anyone who doesn’t know their rightful place needs to be reminded of it. You may be acting as my squire, but you are of my blood and I won’t permit anyone to forget it. It’s not their place to mock you. Do you hear me, Matthew?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Good lad. Now – what about breaking our fast?’ he said, turning wide eyes on the trestles stacked around the wall. The boys sprang into action.
Oliver stared thoughtfully at his cousin. ‘Mon seigneur-’
‘Cousin, you know my name. Use it.’
‘My thanks. Geoffrey, you say it is not their place to make a game of me. It sounds as though you have plans in that direction...?’ Oliver arched a brow. He’d heard talk in the armoury – his cousin was known for his wicked sense of humour.
‘Aye, I claim that right. If anyone mocks you, it must be me.’ Geoffrey laughed. Turning for the dais where John was setting up a trestle, he sank onto a cushioned chair. It was Baron Geoffrey’s privilege to be seated in a chair, most people made do with benches. ‘Fetch me my ale, squire, and bring bread. I would break my fast.’
Geoffrey followed his cousin with his eyes as he left the hall. Thoughtfully, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Geoffrey was proud of his birthright. He couldn’t begin to comprehend the resentment that Oliver must feel at being mocked at for his illegitimacy, but he felt impelled to try. He liked the look of him and he hoped he’d become a loyal comrade. A friend. His cousin had a strong, upright bearing and, if the exchange he had just witnessed was anything to go by, he had command of his temper. In short, Oliver de Warenne seemed to have all the makings of a knight.
His fingers drummed on the trestle. The lads were ribbing his cousin to test his mettle – as they always did with newcomers. It was an initiation ceremony of sorts, and it was essential if de Warenne was to be accepted at Ingerthorpe. But, hell burn it, the man was of his blood. If anyone was to rib him, it should be Geoffrey – no-one else had the right.
If Oliver did have a flaw it was that he had too much pride, he took himself far too seriously. A man might almost think he thought himself above the sins and failings to which other humans succumbed. Was that his weakness? Perhaps.
Geoffrey scratched his scalp, it appeared that his cousin had forgotten the Fitz Neals were a bastard breed. It was there for all to see in their name. Fitz. That was what it meant. Some forgotten Norman baron called Neal had fathered a whelp out of wedlock, and their line sprang from that illegitimate child. Everyone knew it and no-one taunted him because of it. His family had proved their worth and Geoffrey was proud of his ancestry. It was up to him to remind Oliver of that small but vital point.
Geoffrey’s brows lowered. His cousin needed to be brought down a notch or two. He needed a lesson in humility. In touching on Oliver’s bastardy, Matthew had instinctively found a chink in his cousin’s armour. Oliver was sensitive about his birth. And he thought himself immune to human weakness...
The baron’s musings halted as the stair door grated open. There was a little flurry of activity as a tall, well-built lady of elderly years glided into the hall. She was closely followed by a female attendant so quiet and self-effacing that she might as well have been invisible.
With a gentility that sat oddly on his large, untidy frame, Geoffrey rose and went to kiss the lady’s hand.
‘Good morrow, Mother.’
‘Geoffrey.’ Lady Adeliza smiled, and let him lead her to her place on the high table.
Lady Adeliza never troubled to disguise the affection she had for her surviving son. She had two daughters still living, but her love was all hoarded for her son.
As he sat down again, Geoffrey’s scowl returned. His mother had been sister to de Warenne’s mother – a kinship so close that he could name him cousin. His lady mother had been pleased to ally herself with the Fitz Neal family, despite their descent from an illegitimate line. He would teach his arrogant cousin a lesson, once and for all, and it would also serve as his initiation to the Castle. A jest of some sort...
It would have to be large to serve its purpose. Spectacular. And then, after the game was played out, he would show his cousin he meant to do well by him. Good men were hard to come by.