Elizabeth Chadwick (12 page)

“A pity you did not come to me with that offer when you had the chance, Reinfred!” jested Maude’s father. “I’d have let you have her for that sum!”

He probably would at that, Maude thought. She felt the eyes of the men upon her like horse traders assessing the points of a young brood mare at market. Their salacious curiosity as the women unfastened the heavy cloak and lifted it from her shoulders filled her with unease and fear. She could not even hide beneath the cloak of her hair because her grandmother gathered it in her hands and lifted it up to show that there was no flaw concealed under its silken heaviness.

“See,” said her father proudly, “not a blemish on her.”

“I am satisfied,” Theobald said in a somewhat congested voice and gestured at Mathilda de Chauz. “Let her put the cloak back on.”

Maude threw him a grateful look and was not slow to answer his bidding.

“And you, my lady?” asked the priest who was present to bless the couple and the bed. “Are you satisfied?”

Given his age, it could not be said that Theobald was without flaw, but such as existed were minor and not a barrier to the marriage contract. His body, although not lean and narrow through the hips like a younger man’s, was still firm and the muscles of his upper arms were powerful. His teeth were sound and his hair, although well mingled with gray, was thick and strong.

“Yes, she is,” said le Vavasour with an impatient wave.

Maude lifted her chin, determined to answer for herself, her courage enhanced by the protective presence of the cloak around her shoulders. After a swift glance at Theobald’s nakedness, she kept her eyes on his face. “I am.”

The priest bade them stand side by side and sprinkled them with holy water from a vial in his hand. He intoned words of blessing in Latin, asking God that the marriage be long, prosperous, and fruitful. Then he instructed Theobald and Maude to get into bed. Again they were sprinkled, and the bed itself was blessed.

“Remember your duty, Daughter,” le Vavasour said as he leaned over and kissed Maude’s cheek in parting.

“Yes, Papa.” The words emerged cold and stilted. Her father had always been a stranger, but never more than now.

“God bless you, child.” Her grandmother embraced her tightly, a hint of moisture glinting in her eyes, as if she were making a final farewell.

Perhaps she was, Maude thought. Between tonight and the morrow, there surged a vast sea of experience, and once it was crossed, there was no return. Either she would know what her grandmother and her unfortunate mother had known, or she would gain the knowledge that made Hawise FitzWarin smile and squeeze her hand.

“I wish you joy,” said Hawise, and was one of the few female guests to speak to Theobald too and kiss his cheek.

There were a handful of parting jests consisting of weak innuendo about plowing furrows, sowing seed, and sheathing swords, but finally the door closed behind the last guest and Maude and Theobald were alone.

“I swear never to tease a bride and groom again in my life,” Theobald said in a heartfelt voice. “Wine?” Donning his cloak, he left the bed and poured spiced morap from the flagon that had been left on the coffer.

Maude nodded. She had already drunk beyond her limit. One more measure was not going to make a great difference and it would stave off the moment of dread for a while longer.

Returning to the bed, Theobald handed her a brimming cup of the mulberry wine. He climbed in beside her but did not attempt to touch her or press close. “I don’t know what you have been told, either in jest or a genuine attempt to help you tonight,” he said, “but I have no intention of leaping on you like a wild beast.” His lip curled with distaste. “Rape appeals to some men, especially when sanctioned by marriage, but it has never appealed to me.”

“No, my lord.” Maude looked down at her cup.

“Call me Theo. Formal address is for formal places.” He touched her then, but only to tilt her chin on his forefinger and make her look at him. “You need not fear me. I don’t want a wife who cowers from my voice and is afraid to speak out lest she is chastised.”

Maude met his gray eyes doubtfully. Such fair words sounded too good to be true. No one, man or woman, had ever dared contradict her father’s wishes. “I do not fear you my…Theo.”

“I am glad that you do not.” He removed his finger and drank his wine. Then he cursed softly. “Jesu,” he said and she saw that his hands were trembling. “If I were still unwed, I would not dream of seeking out a girl so young for my pleasure.”

Maude did not know how to respond to that; probably he did not expect her to do so. To try and dispel the unbearable tension she said, “Was Prince John’s news bad?”

He gave her a distracted look. “What?”

“The messenger. He looked as if he had ridden far and hard. And the Prince was not among the guests at the bedding ceremony.”

He shook his head and at first said nothing. Maude wondered if she had overstepped her bounds. Her father said that affairs of state should not concern women, whose occupation was the keeping of the hearth and the bedchamber. Unfamiliar as she was with Theobald, she had small inkling of his opinions.

“I did not mean—” she began, but, as she started to speak, he let out his breath on a long sigh and answered her.

“The news was a setback, yes,” he said. “And the Prince has retired to his chamber to consider its implications. Also he is leaving at first light, so he needs to rest.” He looked at her somberly over his cup and she received the impression that he was measuring her character, delving beneath the physical surface and the shallows of wedding-night anxiety to the underlying backbone.

“The messenger brought a letter from King Philip of France, telling John to beware—that the ‘Devil is loosed.’”

Maude wound a tendril of hair around her forefinger. “Does he mean that King Richard has been freed?”

“Not quite. But the terms of his ransom have been agreed and he will be released as soon as a substantial installment has been paid.”

“Is that bad news for you too?”

Theobald finished his wine in several long swallows. “For better or worse I am John’s man. I hold lands by his will, and he has entrusted me with the security of this keep. But I am Richard’s man too, for he is the King, and he has the ultimate authority.”

“Then you are torn both ways.”

He nodded. “Whatever I do, I cannot win. If I hold out for John, I am guilty of treason. If I yield to Richard, I am guilty of betraying John’s trust. Our wedding was not the reason he came to Lancaster, but the excuse. He wants to bind me more tightly to his cause, to make me renew my oath to him. I was supposed to do it on the morrow in the great hall, but I had to take it tonight, because at dawn he will be gone.” Theobald lifted his cup again, stared at the dregs, then rose to replenish it. “I knelt and put my hands between his and swore him fealty, which means that I will defend this place come hell or high water…but come Richard…” He swung round and rubbed his hand over his face. “Not only torn both ways, but torn apart. Murdered honor is never a pretty sight.”

Maude hugged her knees and watched him, wishing she could offer comfort or wisdom, and possessing neither. Wishing too that she had not been presumptuous and asked the question in the first place. “Can’t John be persuaded to yield to Richard?”

Theobald returned to the bed and eased in beside her. She moved slightly, as if making room for him, but also preserving the distance between them.

“There is that hope,” he said, “but while Richard remains imprisoned, John will scheme to strengthen his own position. He will try and delay the ransom and likely even offer payment to Emperor Henry to keep Richard under lock and key. He will do all in his power to keep the power that he has.”

“And yet you serve him?”

The note of censure in her voice caught him on the raw, for he turned on her a look that was fierce and defensive. “Yes, knowing him for what he is, I still serve him. He lies, he cheats, he is petulant, lecherous, and would not know the meaning of honor if it walked up to him and hit him over the head. But that is only the dark side of the coin. He has a fine mind beneath the mire; and when he is not engaged in a self-destructive war with Coeur de Lion’s shadow, he is perhaps the most able statesman amongst all of Henry’s sons.” He drew a ragged breath.

Maude accepted his defense but could not prevent an instinctive shiver of distaste when she thought of the way John had mauled her at the wedding ceremony.

“There is no one else,” her new husband said wearily. “Arthur of Brittany is a child and has never set foot on English soil, whereas John knows England and likes it well.” He rotated his cup and gave a snort of grim humor. “I cannot believe that I am sitting here on my wedding night talking affairs of state with a sixteen-year-old girl.”

Maude felt a rush of panic. If he stopped talking then he would snuff the night candle and they would set about the bloody act of consummation. “But I am interested,” she said, wondering how much longer she could postpone the inevitable. “I want to learn these things. The more I understand, the more I will be able to help you.”

“You, help me?” He smiled, but the grimness remained. Carefully he set his cup aside and turned to her. “How could you do that?”

“If I know things, then I won’t speak out of turn in my ignorance.”

“Some would say that knowledge is dangerous.” He took a coil of her hair and twined it around his fingers, admiring the shine in the candlelight.

“So is ignorance, my lord.” She bit her lower lip, wondering if she had gone too far, but Theobald did not seem annoyed. His breathing had quickened and there was a heavy look in his eyes, but it was not anger.

“Well then,” he said softly, and wound the coil of hair tighter, bringing her toward him. “If you desire to learn, I suppose I must teach you.” His other hand lightly cupped her jaw. “My knowledge and your ignorance.” Theobald’s breathing shook and he gave a tremulous laugh. “Lord, girl, there lies danger indeed.”

The pleasure of riding through the cool of the early morning birdsong was only small compensation for the heat that would later stew the men inside their armor. At least, Fulke thought, being grateful for small mercies, they should reach Lancaster before the full burn of the sun’s midsummer rays hit them. The last few days had been a purgatory of sweat-chafed skin and permanent thirst as he took his troop northward under cloudless skies. The country lay quiet but uneasy beneath the rule of Queen Eleanor and her justiciars, and wise men took the precaution of traveling in their mail, despite the discomfort.

Having successfully delivered the letters from the German court to Hubert Walter, Fulke and Jean were traveling to Lancaster, this time with missives from Hubert to Theobald, together with the Archbishop’s wedding gifts for the couple. On the return journey, Fulke was to bring his mother safe to Alberbury, then return to his brothers in Normandy.

“I wonder what Maude le Vavasour looks like now,” Jean mused. He had opted for folly and wore a bright red tunic which would have been garish had not his dark coloring suited it so well. His lute was slung on a leather baldric across his back and his dark curls were crowned with a dashing red hat sporting a peacock’s tail feather. He was a minstrel today and overflowing with the joys of summer.

Fulke shrugged and studied the road. It had been empty for some time, but now he could see a puff of dust ahead. “I had not thought,” he said.

“Mark me, with those eyes and that hair, she’ll be a rare beauty by now.”

Fulke grunted. His mind filled with the image of a little girl, striking rather than pretty and full of volatile contrariness as she held his brother’s ball to ransom. He remembered her willful curiosity as she peeked at Richard’s coronation banquet, and then thought of her standing beside Theobald Walter in the abbey, her expression glassy with fear and her spine rigid as she sought the courage not to run. By turns, he had been amused, irritated, and pitying. To imagine her as a beautiful young woman was beyond him.

The cloud of dust was greater now, and suggested a horseback troop of some size. Fulke drew rein and signaled his own small conroi to pull aside into the dusty verge.

The first horseman into view was a knight riding a pied stallion and bearing a spear crowned with a rippling red and gold banner. The Angevin lions snarled in appliquéd silk across the background and the knight’s surcoat was red and gold too. Then came more knights, similarly accoutered and riding at a rapid, mile-eating trot. In their midst, astride a Spanish stallion, was Prince John, his expression furious. On seeing Fulke and his troop, the fury became thunder. He jerked on the reins, sawing his horse to an abrupt halt that almost caused a collision among the knights at his back.

“Sire.” Fulke inclined his head in grudging obeisance.

“Off your horses and kneel to me!” John ground out. “I will have proper respect.”

For a long moment Fulke stared at John, making it clear what he thought of the command. Behind him, not one of his men moved.

“I said off your horses, you gutter sweepings, and kneel!” John’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

Without taking his gaze from the Prince, Fulke swung from the saddle and bent his knee. At a brief gesture, his men dismounted too, but it was clear that it was at Fulke’s command, not John’s.

The Prince glared. “One day your insolence will destroy you.”

Fulke raised his head. “Were you the anointed King of England and my sovereign, I would have knelt immediately, sire. As it is, you claim that which is not yours.”

John made a choking sound. His horse sidled, its hide twitching, and then began to buck and plunge. Girard de Malfee quickly reached to grab the reins and steady the beast.

John drew a breath through his teeth. “I will show you what I can and cannot claim,” he hissed. “If I give you your life, FitzWarin, it is only so that you will learn to rue this day.” Jabbing his spurs into the gray’s flanks, he surged forward, causing de Malfee to lose his grip.

The royal troop clattered on its way and Fulke slowly stood up. His legs were suddenly weak and he had to grip his mount’s bridle.

“Well,” said Jean de Rampaigne, “there is not much difference between you and your brother William after all. You both go stamping roughshod over ground where angels fear to tread. What are you going to do when John wears the crown of England?”

“If and when, I will kneel to him because it is his right.” Fulke scowled at Jean. “You did not have to follow me. You could have knelt of your own accord.”

“Then I suppose I must be at least as foolhardy as you,” Jean said and remounted. Waiting for Fulke to swing into the saddle, he studied the settling cloud of dust. “It looks as if the news of Richard’s release has reached him.”

“I scarcely believe that he is rushing south to organize a ransom,” Fulke said grimly. “Hinder it, mayhap.” He slapped the reins on the chestnut’s neck.

***

Maude turned over, thrust her hand beneath the soft feather pillow, and courted the deep slumber that moments ago had been hers. Stealthy sounds intruded on her vague consciousness and although she kept her eyes closed, they grew louder and the dark peace of sleep receded.

A hand touched her bare shoulder; the palm, the fingers were warm, broad, and masculine. “Good morrow, my lady wife. Your women are here to tend you.”

She raised her lids to find Theobald leaning over her. He was dressed and, beyond the haven of the bed curtains, it was full, glorious morning. “Good morrow, my lord.” Her voice emerged on a dry croak and her mouth tasted of stale wine. A headache thumped behind her lids and a sensation of raw discomfort twinged within the cleft between her thighs. “What hour is it?”

“Nigh on terce,” Theobald said, an anxious expression in his eyes. “I left you to sleep as long as I could, but the guests are all assembled in the hall. Are you well?”

Maude wanted to cover her head with the pillow and groan at him to go away. “Yes, my lord.” She struggled upright. The light hurt her eyes and made her squint.

“Your women are here to tend you.” He gestured over his shoulder toward the sound of whispering and cleared his throat. “I am sorry if I hurt you last night.”

“It was only a little, my lor…Theo.” She remembered what he had said about using his name in the informal setting of their chamber, and saw his gaze soften with tenderness.

“Even so, I would not have hurt you at all.” He stroked her cheek. “I am afraid, sweetling, that you will have to make haste. The wedding sheet is needed in the great hall so that the guests can bear witness.”

Maude made a wry face at the thought of having the proof of her virginity hoisted aloft for all to see.

“I’ll leave you to your preparations.” Awkwardly, Theobald backed away from the bed, murmured to the waiting women, and made himself scarce.

Immediately Maude’s grandmother and the maids surrounded the bed. One of the women handed her a hot herbal tisane. Maude cupped the steaming brew and gratefully sipped.

“You have done well,” Mathilda de Chauz said with a brusque nod that was as close to praise as she was capable of giving. “Your husband seems very pleased.”

Maude continued to drink the tisane. The act of consummation had not been the pleasure of which Hawise FitzWarin had spoken, but neither had it been the dreadful ordeal that her grandmother had hinted at. There had been pain, for which Theobald had gasped an apology while he was still capable of speech. There was still pain now, but not beyond bearing, and after last night, Maude realized that she now had power and influence beyond anything she had possessed in her father’s household. She was Lady Walter, and Theobald had entrusted his thoughts to her. It was that, as much as anything else, which compensated her for the physical discomfort he had inflicted.

“Here’s water to wash yourself, Lady Maude,” said Barbette, one of the maids assigned to her at Lancaster. “And some soothing balm if you have need.”

Maude shook her head. “Lord Walter was good to me,” she said.

Immediately her grandmother looked anxious. “He did consummate the marriage?” Throwing back the covers, she gestured Maude to leave the bed and heaved a sigh of relief when she saw the blood-smeared sheets and the red streaks bedaubing Maude’s inner thighs. “I am proud of your bravery,” she said. Turning to the maids, she ordered them to strip the sheet and take it to the great hall.

“I wasn’t brave,” Maude admitted. “I drank so much I scarcely knew what was happening, and now my head aches.”

Barbette laughed, the sound quickly smothered as Mathilda scowled.

“You need willow bark powder, my lady,” the young woman said. “I’ll fetch you some.” She whisked out of the door, and the two remaining maids set about stripping the bloodied sheet, proof of Maude’s virginity. Should she bear a child nine months from now, it could be none other than Theobald’s.

Maude washed the blood from her thighs. When he had penetrated her, she had clenched her teeth to hold back the scream. Theobald had apologized, but pushed deeper, whispering raggedly that to withdraw again would only cause her worse pain. The first time was always difficult. It would grow easier. She had to trust him. And trust him she had, throwing her arms around his neck, clinging to him for dear life as he hurt her twice more and then shuddered in her arms like a dying man. In those sticky, bloody moments as she held him, the vulnerability had been transferred and she had been given an inkling of the power a woman might hold over a man.

With her grandmother’s help, Maude donned an under-tunic and gown of pale and dark green linen. Mathilda braided Maude’s heavy blond hair in two thick plaits and dressed it with a veil of light silk. The tug of the plaits, the tightness of the silver circlet securing the wimple, intensified her headache. Barbette returned with another steaming cup, this time containing an infusion of powdered willow bark.

Maude drank it down, grateful for the sweetening of honey that took away the bitter aftertaste. She risked a glance at her reflection in her new mirror. The ravages of the night showed in the dark rings beneath her eyes, but otherwise her face was unchanged. To look at her, no one would know the bridge she had crossed last night.

Down in the hall they were waiting for her. Some of the younger men, still gilded from the wedding feast, raised a cheer when she appeared, her arrival preceded with great ceremony by the wedding sheet. She affected to ignore them but was betrayed by a blush. She knew that they were looking upon the bloodstained linen and imagining her defloration—not necessarily by Theobald.

The wedding sheet, as custom demanded, was opened out and pegged on the wall behind the high table like a banner. After a single glance, Maude averted her eyes and took her place at Theobald’s side. He kissed her hand and greeted her formally, addressing her as “my lady wife.” He too avoided looking at the sheet.

His squire served her with bread and cheese. She declined to drink wine and settled instead for a cup of buttermilk. Her head still throbbed but the willow-bark potion was slowly beginning to take effect. She noticed that Theobald drank sparingly of the wine and surmised from the way he occasionally rubbed his brow that he too was suffering for last night’s indulgences.

Once they had eaten, Theobald stood up and called for silence. “As you know,” he declared in a powerful voice, “it is customary for a groom to give his bride a gift on their wedding morn in token of his esteem. This is a true gift, hers alone, and cannot be given or sold without her yeasay.”

Turning to Maude, he presented her with a vellum scroll, tied with red ribbon and sealed with his device. “I call you all to witness the gift I bestow upon my new wife, namely the incomes from five manors, two fisheries, and two mills in my honor of Amounderness, and in Norfolk, these incomes to be disposed of as she chooses.” With a flourish he presented her with the scroll, adding to it a small ivory casket containing a rope of seed pearls and, suspended from it, a gold cross set with rubies to match the one in her wedding ring.

Maude was overwhelmed. Despite her noble status, she had never been showered with as much largesse as in these last two days. In addition, Theobald had chosen wisely and kindly. The jewelry was a symbol to all of the store he set by her and the grants of income gave her a source of personal independence. “Thank you, my lord,” she said breathlessly.

“It is little enough.” His tone was gruff. Taking the pearls, he set them around her neck, arranging the cross so that it hung straight.

“She is overly young to be entrusted with such wealth,” her father said from her other side where he had been observing the proceedings with a critical eye.

Theobald turned to his father-in-law. “But not overly young to become a wife or be entrusted with the well-being of myself and everyone in this keep,” he replied. “If she is ready for one, then she is ready for the other.”

Robert le Vavasour thrust out his heavy lower lip. “Whatever their skills, women need firm guidance if they are not to stray.”

“Maude will receive all the guidance she needs from me,” Theobald said, laying a gentle hand on his bride’s shoulder, the gesture nevertheless indicating possession. “All she has to do is ask.”

Le Vavasour made a gruff sound in his throat and his complexion darkened slightly. “I would not like to see my son-in-law make a rod for his own back.”

Theobald inclined his head, showing that he was aware of le Vavasour’s concern. “We reap what we sow,” he said pleasantly.

Maude had been silent during the exchange, but her emotion was one of pleasure that Theobald was taking her part. Here was a man she could respect of her own accord, not out of duty.

“My lord husband, give me leave to stow this vellum safely,” she requested. She could have sent a maid on the errand, but it was a way of escaping the situation. Whether Theobald defended her or not, it was still like being a bone between two dogs.

“By all means.” He met her gaze in perfect understanding. She curtseyed deeply to him, gave a small dip of her head to her father, and made her escape.