Free Elizabeth Chadwick by The Outlaw Knight Page A

have already caused untold damage.”
    “Christ’s cods! You prate like an old woman!” John drew himself upright and affected an air of regal dignity. “Kneel and do your homage to me,” he commanded in a raised voice. “Then you can go.”
    After a long hesitation, Robert FitzAlan, one of the settler Normans, came forward to bend the knee and take his oath of allegiance. He spoke as if he had a constriction in his throat but somehow managed the declaration. But he was alone. To a man, the Irish lords turned around and walked out, their acknowledgment of John’s right to rule ungiven. They collected their weapons from the steward at the door, and they were gone.
    A cursing William de Burgh ran after them to try to persuade them to stay, but returned empty-handed. Expression thunderous, he strode toward the dais.
    John lurched to his feet. “Whatever you are going to say, you can keep it behind your teeth,” he said. “You forced me to attend on them. You take the consequences.” He swayed down the dais steps. “I’m retiring to my chamber and you will not disturb me again.”
    De Burgh stopped as if he had been struck with a poleaxe. The Norman lord who had sworn allegiance looked sick. Fulke eyed the flagon in his hand and thought of the one in Westminster, and how John had blamed him and ordered him to pay. And in the end he thought, everyone would pay for John’s willful conceit, perhaps with their lives. He was no longer playing petty games of chess and dice. The board was larger, the stakes higher, and the only way to win was by ruthless commitment.

5
    Theobald came down to the hall on the third evening following their arrival in Waterford. His stomach was still tender, but had settled sufficiently to allow him to rise from his bed, and he could consume bread and watered wine without being sick.
    The evening meal and festivities were marked by a significant absence of Gael lords, although there were a reasonable number of colonist Normans and their families. Theobald had been horrified when his squires had told him of John’s behavior toward the chieftains who had come to pay him homage. One of the barons, John de Courcy, had written to King Henry, informing him of the Prince’s conduct and other senior lords, worried at the behavior of the younger element, had signed the letter.
    Theobald was not so optimistic as to believe that a single letter would bring a solution. Henry was notoriously blind to the antics of his youngest son and unlikely to act until the situation became so damning that it could not be ignored.
    Breaking a morsel from a loaf, Theobald dipped it in the bowl of chicken broth at his right hand and, mindful of the lady Oonagh’s advice, ate slowly. John had invited her to dine at the high table and she sat not far from Theobald, her eyes modestly downcast.
    He had enjoyed her sickroom visits for she was as intelligent as she was alluring. Theobald was not married, but, looking at her, he thought he might like to be. So did every other male present. He cast an amused glance at his younger squire. The lad couldn’t take his eyes off her.
    It did no harm to dream. Fulke must know that she was not for him. Her wealth was here in Ireland and her next husband would be a man who intended to settle here, not a raw squire with a future rooted firmly on the Welsh borders.
    Below the dais, the trestles were being dismantled to make space for dancing and entertainment. Even as the musicians changed the tempo and cadence of their playing from soft accompaniment to toe-tapping jig, men were on their feet and seeking partners. Oonagh was immediately surrounded, but not for long as there was a sudden flurry of snaps and snarls from the protective dog. Oonagh sharply bade the hound lie down.
    John was laughing as he waved her admirers away. He murmured in Oonagh’s ear and, linking her hand in his, claimed her for himself. As he drew her to the cleared space in the main part of the hall, she gave him