Enchantress Mine (44 page)

“Then you have surely found a perfect revenge against Blanche de St. Brieuc, Mairin. Because Landerneau was her daughter’s, and her family could not afford another dowry, she has never rewed. She lives as a pensioner in her eldest brother’s house, and as you might guess, does not get on with her brother or his wife. Her daughter’s marriage would have afforded her an escape. She might have gone to live with her daughter and son-in-law, perhaps even found another husband. She has not lost her prettiness, not being old yet. There is always some unimportant knight eager of allying himself to a powerful family like the Montgomeries who would have been willing to take her in marriage without a dowry. She is even young enough to still bear children. Now she will have nothing.”

“It is not punishment enough for her cruelty to me or to my father, Josselin! On his deathbed father called out for me, and she would not let him see me. His body was not even cold on his bier when she sent me into slavery. She took not just my estates from me, she took my good name. By declaring me bastard-born she shamed my mother’s name and memory! If she had believed she could have killed me and escaped retribution, she would have! I do not think I am overly harsh in taking everything from her and leaving her to live the remainder of her life, which I pray God be a long one, alone!”

“For all your years in gentle England, for your marriage in civilized Byzantium, you are still a pure Celt,” he said.

Mairin laughed, and now the sound was light and happy. “My lord, you flatter me!” she said. “I am indeed a Celt, and my anger burns long even if the flame seems not to be there.”

“I will remember that, enchantress,” he answered her. “I think you are a dangerous woman though you seem nothing more than a great beauty. You are a complex creature. I am not certain that I should not fear you.”

“If you are faithful to me, my lord, you need never fear me. I love you, my Josselin!”

He took her into his arms and held her close against his heart. She was not, he knew, being overly cruel in her treatment of her half-sister and her stepmother. Landerneau was indeed hers by right and unless she reclaimed it, her name and that of her mother would never be clean from the stain that Blanche de St. Brieuc had placed upon them. It rather pleased him that she was thinking in terms of three sons. “What if we have a fourth son?” he asked her.

“A family can always use a bishop,” she answered him, looking up into his face.

Josselin laughed aloud. “And at least two more in case of illness or accident,” he said, and she nodded vigorously. “How many daughters?” he demanded.

“Possibly four,” she said. “Three good marriage alliances, and an abbess to go with the bishop.”

“You’re as ambitious as a reigning queen,” he chuckled, slapping his knee with his free hand.

“Make the right alliances over the next several generations, and this family could give England a queen one day,” she replied seriously.

“First things first, enchantress,” he answered her. “Let us go and see our queen, and you may get your first good look at your stepmother in many years. Since you so like the game of cat and mouse you will enjoy knowing she does not recognize you, although your very existence as my wife is apt to drive her to a frenzy.”

“What shall I wear?” Mairin pondered mischievously. “Something elegant, but not too showy. No. Something that will bring out the perfect clarity of my skin, and flatter my hair. The turquoise tunic and the cloth-of-silver skirt! They should be just right.”

God have mercy upon poor Blanche de St. Brieuc, thought Josselin to himself. She has no idea how serious an enemy she had made in Mairin all those years ago. My wife is correct when she says that Blanche is not clever. Still what she did was totally unforgivable. For a moment he imagined Mairin as a little girl barely out of babyhood, and suddenly torn from her home. Not even allowed the time to mourn the father she adored. The terrible enormity of Blanche’s crime shook him to the core. There was no doubt in his mind that without the faithful Dagda Mairin would have been lost for she had been too young to protect herself.

Nara had come with them to London and with her help Mairin was quickly made ready. The cloth-of-silver skirt was long, and very full, its fabric falling gracefully into trailing folds. Over it was a second skirt of gossamer-sheer silk sarcenet through which the silver glowed in contrast. That was a fashion trick she had learned in Byzantium. The overskirt was the same blue-green of Mairin’s tunic, which was made of lampas, a patterned damask-like fabric. The long sleeves of the tunic widened from elbow to wrist, and the garment was girded with a belt of linked round silver disks each one of which had a moonstone in its center. Kneeling Nara slipped each of her mistress’s feet into a soft blue-green shoe that buttoned up the front with little pearls. Mairin wore her hair low on the nape of her neck in Anglo-Saxon fashion. Over it she placed a silver embroidered veil with a gold-and-pearl chaplet to hold the veil in place.

“You will have the queen’s ladies gnashing their teeth in envy of your garments,” said Josselin, smiling. “Norman ladies think themselves vastly superior to everyone else.”

“Wait,” Mairin said, “I have not yet chosen my jewelry.” Studying the box which Nara held open, she finally drew out pear-shaped earrings of pink crystal, and a matching necklace from which hung a beautiful Celtic cross fashioned from Irish red-gold. She also chose two rings, one a large single diamond surrounded by amethysts, and the other an enormous baroque pink pearl. “To wear additional rings would be to appear immodest,” she said wryly.

“And how clever of you to have dressed to complement me,” he said with a small chuckle. He was wearing a vermilion-and-gold tunic with a matching vermilion mantle. It flattered his tawny dark blond hair.

“Have we not always complemented each other from the first, my lord?” she teased him back.

They rode together to the king’s house in Westminster, drawing looks both admiring and curious from the Londoners in the streets along their route. It was unusual to see two such attractive people upon two such magnificent horses.

“Are you nervous?” he asked her as they made their way to the queen’s apartments.

“A little,” she managed to admit as Biota opened the door. Mairin’s eyes quickly took in the women within the room as they entered. She immediately spotted Blanche, and though their eyes met momentarily there was no sign of recognition from the other woman. Then she saw the queen, knowing her instantly from Josselin’s careful description.

Matilda of Normandy gave new meaning to the word “petite,” for though she stood but fifty inches high, every bit of her was in perfect proportion, and she was very pretty. Her skin was fair and she had lovely rosy cheeks. Her silver-blond hair was braided into a high coronet in an attempt to add to her stature, and her bright blue eyes were lively with interest. It was obvious that she missed little with those eyes.

Mairin walked directly to the queen, and knelt gracefully, her beautiful head bowed in submission.

Matilda nodded with approval at Josselin, and then said in a musical voice, “You may rise, Mairin of Aelfleah.”

Mairin stood. “Welcome to England, my lady queen,” she said to the seated Matilda.

“Thank you, my child,” the queen replied, and then she said to Josselin, “I understand what you meant when you said that my lord William did you a great service, Josselin. Your wife is lovely, and her manners are flawless.” She turned her attention back to Mairin. “I understand, my dear, that your first husband was Prince Basil of Byzantium.”

The queen’s ladies looked interested now. This was obviously someone more than just a simple little Saxon wench. They were quite curious particularly given the drama involving Blanche de St. Brieuc.

“Yes, my lady queen. Prince Basil was my husband until his untimely death. We were wed when my father, Aldwine Athelsbeorn, may God assoil his good soul, was King Edward’s trade emissary to Constantinople. Then when King William came to England he saw that I was matched with my beloved lord and husband, Josselin de Combourg.”

“It is good to be loved,” said the queen, and Mairin realized the truth in Matilda’s simple words.

“Oh, yes, madame!” she agreed, and Matilda smiled warmly.

They spoke for several more minutes on unimportant things, and the queen said, “You will both stay and take the evening meal with us.” Although worded as an invitation, it was truly a royal command. “Now, Josselin, my friend, go and pay your respects to my lord William. Your sweet wife will remain here with me until it is time to eat.”

Mairin felt her heart quicken. She had not thought to be left alone with the queen and her ladies, but Josselin, bending to kiss her upon the cheek, whispered, “Courage, enchantress!” and then he was gone. For the next hour Mairin sat upon a stool by the queen’s side, and conversed with Matilda and her ladies. Her flawless, accentless French made her seem very much like them. All the while she could see Blanche de St. Brieuc edging closer to her until finally the two women were right next to each other.

Finding an opening Blanche said, “I knew your husband, Josselin, in Brittany, for we are both Breton-born. We were very
close.
”

“You knew each other as children then?” answered Mairin innocently. “Are you also a highborn bastard, lady?”

Blanche’s fair white skin grew mottled with color, and her pale blue eyes filled with angry outrage. “I?” she gasped.
“Bastard-born?”

The queen’s other women who did not like this substitute lady giggled behind their hands. Mairin’s violet eyes grew wide and questioning. Matilda hid a small smile. Knowing the truth, she knew that Mairin was toying with her enemy.

“Madame! What on earth would make you think I was not trueborn?” Blanche’s voice was now squeaky and high-pitched with her indignation.

“Surely no respectable lord would allow his daughter to play with a bastard-child,” replied Mairin sweetly. “Since you knew my husband as a child I assumed you must be as he. Gracious, have I made a mistake?”

“You most certainly have, lady! I am Blanche de St. Brieuc. My family is one of the oldest and most respected names in Brittany. My late husband was Ciaran St. Ronan, but as his name was not as good as mine, I took back my family’s name when I was widowed. I did not say I knew your husband when I was a child! You misunderstood! I knew Josselin several years ago.”

“How nice,” said Mairin, pretending that she did not understand the innuendo.

Blanche gritted her teeth. Did not this idiot Saxon girl comprehend what she was trying to tell her? “Your husband and I were
very close,
” she repeated, and then added, “We were
intimate
friends.”

The queen’s ladies were goggle-eyed for Blanche de St. Brieuc had practically admitted to Josselin de Combourg’s beautiful young wife that they had been lovers. Surely she understood that. They looked to Mairin to see what her next move would be.

“Ohhh,”
said Mairin, not disappointing them. “You mean that you were one of my husband’s whores?” Then looking about at the very shocked Norman ladies with their open mouths she continued, “Have I said the wrong thing, my lady Matilda? We Saxon women are taught to be outspoken. I hope I have not offended you.”

The queen held back her laughter. This beautiful young vixen was obviously enormously intelligent, and had she been wed with a powerful man would certainly have been someone to be reckoned with. Her innocent bluntness had the queen’s ladies totally fooled. Matilda was not so gullible, but she frankly liked the way Josselin’s wife played with Blanche de St. Brieuc. It was like a beast of prey playing with its next victim. Blanche was close to destruction but she didn’t even know it.

“Gracious St. Anne!” Matilda said, feigning equal innocence. “You are indeed blunt, my lady Mairin. We Norman ladies are more gentle in our speech.”

“Since I am wed with one of King William’s men,” said Mairin sweetly, “I will try to emulate your good example.”

The queen nodded, and then rising said, “It is time for dinner, my ladies. Come, let us join the men in the hall. Mairin, you will stay by me until we can find your husband.” Then lowering her voice as they walked along she continued, “You could destroy a mounted and armed troop with your seemingly innocent tongue, my lady. I dare not let you from my side until you are safe in Josselin’s custody.”

The Great Hall of the king’s house was a busy place. At one end of it a fireplace large enough to take huge whole logs of oak blazed busily. A highboard had been set up on one side of the room where the king, his queen, his family, and those great nobles who were in his favor sat. The rest of the court, Mairin and Josselin among them, found seats according to the rank above or below the salt at wood trestle tables set up about the room. At each place there were trenchers of fresh bread and silver goblets. There were no implements for the diners carried their own knives and dainty spoons. One’s fingers, however, were the preferred method of eating for they worked better than anything else.

William was not stinting of his guests during his queen’s coronation week. There was both variety and quantity in the food. Oxen and sheep were roasted whole. There were sides of beef, and venison. Pigs had been cooked to succulence, and were presented with whole apples in their mouths. There was game. Partridge, grouse, and woodcock. There were rabbits, in stew, potted, and in pies with golden crusts. The fowl—several hundred capons, geese, and ducks—were sauced with lemon and ginger. A whole peacock had been cooked, reassembled and refeathered, and was presented at the highboard where it sat in solitary splendor.

A bounty of the sea had not been overlooked. Salmon and trout were available broiled in wine and herbs, or sauced with dill and cream. There were barrels of oysters, and boiled prawns with Dijon mustard sauce, and cod cakes in cream and fennel, and smoked herring.