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actually headstrong.’
    ‘Just so, Seigneur.’
    ‘No, not just so. Damnation! Don’t you understand what I’m saying?’
    ‘Yes, Seigneur. All in the seigneurie know that Mistress Alyx—’
    ‘Hobart, you are a foolish old man, and you know nothing of womenfolk.’
    ‘Yes, Seigneur.’
    Suddenly, Fitzalan recalled that Hobart was indeed a foolish old man who knew nothing of womenfolk. ‘Hobart, forgive me. I treat you ill, old friend.’
    ‘You do me too much honour, Seigneur.’
    Fitzalan smiled. ‘Because we are friends, I will confide in you. Mistress Alyx, Ludd bless her, has curious notions. She needs interests, diversions. And for women, Hobart, diversions come costly. This picture, now. You could do it in a week, could you not?’
    ‘Well, Seigneur, I—’
    ‘Could you or could you not?’
    ‘Yes, Seigneur.’
    ‘The very point. You will not do it in a week, Master Hobart. You will noteven do it in a month. You will take time, much time. You will require many sketches, many sittings or whatever. Many long sittings. I make myself clear?’
    ‘Yes, Seigneur.’
    ‘Mistress Alyx will scold you. I will scold you. But you will not hurry. I make myself clear?’
    ‘Yes, Seigneur.’
    ‘Mistress Alyx is burdened by time, Hobart. She does not know this, but it is so. Therefore you will consume as much of her time as possible, without appearing to so do … This prentice of yours – has he his wits about him?’
    ‘Ay, Seigneur.’ Here, Hobart felt on firm ground. ‘A most intelligent and resourceful young man, and of great talent also with brush, chalk, pencil, crayon, char—’
    ‘Enough. You need not declaim his battle honours. I have seen him about the castle, Hobart, and about the seigneurie. He is a pleasant young fellow … Yes, he is a pleasant young fellow. Have him attend Mistress Alyx, Hobart. Have him ride with her, have him walk with her. Have him make enough – what the devil do you call them?’
    ‘Preliminary studies,’ ventured Hobart.
    ‘Have him make enough preliminary studies, sketches, or whatever the fellow does, to take up a full two-month of the wretched girl’s forenoons, ay, and her afternoons also. Can this be done?’
    ‘What of Mistress Alyx, Seigneur? She may weary—’
    ‘Damn the Mistress Alyx! Women do not weary of being looked at nor of artists limning with devotion … Seven hundred and fifty schilling, Hobart, and not a penny more. You have heard my requirements. Go now.’
    Hobart began his retreat once more, hands clasped tightly, the sweat dripping from his forehead.
    Now he had two additional worries that would take much drowning in Scottish or French spirit. Mistress Alyx was a woman of some temperament. Also, Hobart realised with sad clarity that he had never been much good at horses.

6
    Mistress Alyx drove Kieron to distraction. She was a wild young lady. Wild, beautiful, imperious, bored. Also intelligent. She was intelligent enough to realise that Kieron had been sent to her as a propitiatory sacrifice, a kind of whipping boy. Nevertheless, it amused her to apply the whip – verbally, emotionally, physically.
    The first morning that Kieron presented himself with charcoal sticks, papers, drawing board, she allowed him to make a sketch while she offered barbed comment on his appearance, his dress, his accent, his ancestry, his lack of learning.
    Kieron set up his drawing board and went to work. But after a few minutes, his hand was shaking, and the lines were terrible, and he knew it. So did Mistress Alyx.
    Kieron’s mission had been explained to him carefully and apologetically by Master Hobart.
    ‘You see, my son,’ Hobart had begun to lapse into this form of address more and more, ‘there are diplomatic considerations in this commission. Seigneur Fitzalan was quite explicit. He requires Mistress Alyx to be distracted for a while. I am too old for such things. Therefore—’
    ‘Therefore I must play the performing monkey,’ said Kieron