Enchantress Mine (45 page)

There were bowls of new lettuce that had been braised in white wine, and tiny young peas as well as bowls of a mixture of several grains that had been cooked to the consistency of cereal. There were wheels of different cheeses. A hard yellow cheddar, a soft Brie from France, and cream cheese. There were wild English strawberries, and early cherries that had been brought from Normandy, and little spun-sugar confections. There was wine for everyone, or beer for those who preferred it.

Mairin stuffed herself with venison, and goose, and the prawns, licking her fingers daintily to get every drop of the sauce. Still hungry, she had taken a slice of beef, and another of roasted pig, managing to obtain an outside piece with its blackened crispy skin which she particularly relished. The peas were delicious, as was the Brie and cherries. Marin finished everything she took, including her trencher of bread. Finally satisfied, she sat back with a smile after washing her greasy fingers in a bowl of warmed water scented with wildflowers that a servant offered her. Around her many others were simply wiping their hands on their clothing.

Looking at Josselin she said, “I hope I haven’t disgraced you with my appetite.”

“You eat with the attitude of someone who has some serious task to complete.”

“I do, my lord. Will you support me?”

“Aye, enchantress. It does not displease me that you seek to regain your Breton holding.”

Without another word Mairin arose from her place and walked through the hall to stand silently before the highboard. Many saw her there, but to admit it before she had been noticed and acknowledged by the king would have been a breach of etiquette.

The queen leaning over whispered into her husband’s ear, “William, here is Josselin de Combourg’s bride. It would please me if you would grant her the boon she requests, my loving lord. She pleases me.”

The king’s eyes flickered over Mairin, enjoying her beauty quite frankly. Putting down his goblet he said, “You have our attention, Mairin of Aelfleah, and our leave to speak.”

Mairin curtsied deeply, her silver skirts blossoming about her.

“Perhaps,” she said, “you will remember the day we first met, my lord. My wedding day. On that day you asked me if I did not want my Breton holding returned to me, and in haste I said nay. Though my lord spouse did not chide me for my decision I have thought much about it since. If, my lord William, I changed my mind, would you return those lands to me?”

“The lands are yours by right, my lady,” said the king, “but what of the others involved?”

“My half-sister is betrothed, it is true, my lord William. However, I believe she would far rather be a bride of Christ than the bride of man. I would dower her most generously. My quarrel is not with her.”

The king leaned across his wife and spoke to a man seated on the other side of her. For several minutes they conversed, and then William spoke again to Mairin. “The boy involved in this match has died just this spring of measles. No new match has been yet arranged for the girl. This is my lord Montgomerie, the head of the family to which the lad belongs and the family who have fostered your half-sister. He tells me that as much as he regrets the loss of those lands, you are correct. The girl would far rather enter a convent and spend her life in prayer serving God. What say you now to that, Mairin of Aelfleah?”

“That I would reclaim my inheritance of Landerneau from the St. Brieuc family who stole it from me when I was but a mere child! I demand the king’s justice, my lord William! I am Mairin St. Ronan, the legal and true-born elder daughter of Ciaran St. Ronan, Sieur de Landerneau, and of his first wife, Maire Tir Connell, a princess of Ireland. My stepmother, Blanche de St. Brieuc, falsely accused my mother, may God assoil her innocent soul, of giving birth to me without the sacred bonds of matrimony. She dared not do this while my father lived. Nay! She waited until my father was dead to declare it. In collusion with her uncle, the bishop of St. Brieuc, she then sent me from my rightful place into slavery so she might steal my holdings for her own daughter. Like Judas she took silver in exchange for my life. I was but five years old!”

There were shocked gasps throughout the hall, and at least two women fainted while several others swooned against the men seated next to them. It was no crime to be ambitious for one’s child, particularly when one was a second wife, but Blanche de St. Brieuc’s ruthlessness in selling her little stepdaughter to a slave merchant was evil at its most shocking. Many looked openly about the Great Hall for a glimpse of this obviously godless creature.

“My lord William knows that good fortune, however, followed me to England,” Mairin continued, “and I was rescued by a noble thegn, Aldwine Athelsbeorn, and raised by him and his wife as their own beloved child. When my foster father fell at York with his son, his estates were willed to me. I would not have sought to reclaim my lands in Brittany but that my half-sister does not need them or want them. I do! They are mine by right! Give me the king’s justice, my lord William! Return Landerneau to me so that I may pass it on to my heir. So that my father’s line will not perish entirely,” she concluded.

If Mairin had thrown a bag full of hissing serpents into the center of the room she would not have caused a greater commotion than she now did. She had spoken clearly, and all in the hall had heard her. Blanche de St. Brieuc stood up, and stumbled forward to face her accuser. She peered hard into Mairin’s face, and then her blue eyes grew round with belated recognition.

“I should have killed you myself,” she hissed plainly for all to hear.

“Yes,” said Mairin, and she smiled cruelly. “You should have!”

Blanche turned to the king. “She demands the king’s justice! Then so do I, my lord William! She lies! She is bastard-born! The slimy get of some nameless Irish peasant girl who undoubtedly whored to gain a coin or two. Who knows if she is even Ciaran St. Ronan’s child! Landerneau belongs to my daughter, Blanchette. Her paternity cannot be in doubt!”

Mairin laughed mockingly, “Ahh, stepmother, you still sing the same tired old song, but this time you have not your loathsome uncle to aid you in your perfidy.”

“There is no proof of your alleged parents’ marriage,” snarled Blanche de St. Brieuc.

“But there is, madame, and there was at that time when you stole my lands from me.”

“Then why did you not show it?”

“Because those who wished me well feared you would murder me in order to gain Landerneau for your child,” Mairin replied bluntly. “You were, after all, quite willing to tempt and subvert a bishop of the holy church to gain your way. You even admit now that you had murder in your heart!”

“Show me the proof!” Blanche demanded.

“The king has already seen it,” came the reply.

“It is a forgery! It is a forgery!” screamed Blanche. “You seek to defraud Blanchette! I will not let you do it!”

The king’s hall was agog. Its many inhabitants swung their heads back and forth between the two combatants. Each had spoken clearly. There was no doubt as to the source of the quarrel between the two women. There was a contingent of Breton knights in the hall, and to a man they found themselves outraged with Blanche de St. Brieuc’s treatment of Ciaran St. Ronan’s daughter. The Sieur de Landerneau had been an honorable man. He would not have attempted to set a bastard daughter over a legitimate heir.

“Silence!” The king’s voice roared over the cacophony. The Great Hall grew quiet. “Landerneau is the rightful property of Mairin St. Ronan. I, myself, saw the proof of her claim the day before my own coronation. She possesses the marriage lines of her parents, and my brother, the bishop of Bayeux, has authenticated them. There is no doubt that her parentage is as she has always claimed. She is her father’s trueborn daughter, Landerneau’s legitimate heiress.

“Despite cruel treatment at the hands of her stepmother the lady Mairin’s heart is good. She wishes no harm to the half-sister who was not even born when she was sent from Landerneau. Knowing of Blanchette’s true vocation to holy mother church the lady Mairin has offered to dower her half-sister most generously. Blanchette St. Ronan will be taken to my wife’s own Abbey of the Holy Trinity, in Caen, where she will be received as a postulant into its order.

“As for you, Blanche de St. Brieuc, you will be returned first to the custody of your eldest brother so that you may make your peace with your family. One month after your return you will be taken to the Cloister of St. Hilary where you will remain for the rest of your natural life. You are not fit for holy orders, but you will spend your last years under the rule of the abbess of St. Hilary’s. You will pray and you will fast, and perhaps by the time your life has come to its end you will be cleansed of your sins of greed, pride, cruelty, and hardness of heart. Isolated from the world you will have the time to meditate your own evil, and beg God’s forgiveness.”

For a long moment after the king finished speaking there was silence in the hall, and then Blanche de St. Brieuc launched herself at Mairin screaming, “I hate you! Your father loved you even more than he loved me! I have always hated you! You cannot do this to me! Not after all these years! I will not let you! You should have been dead years ago, but I will kill you now!” She raised up her arm, and a collective gasp arose from the spectators, for Blanche held in her hand her knife. With a half-growl she attacked Mairin who, totally surprised, could only raise her hands in an effort to defend herself against the other woman.

Mairin had never felt so helpless in her entire life. Backing away from her stepmother, her arms shielding her head, she did not know what to do. All she knew was that she did not want to die. “Ohhh!” she shrieked as Blanche’s knife found its mark and slashed its way across her palm. It was then that all of Mairin’s survival instincts rose up, and she flailed out with her other arm in an attempt to disarm her antagonist. She hit her mark and to her surprise the knife flew from Blanche’s hand. In that moment several of the Breton knights surrounded the raging woman and pulled her away from Mairin just as Josselin reached his wife’s side.

Blood poured from her hand. Without thinking about where she was, Mairin pulled up her skirts and tore a piece of soft linen from her camise for a bandage. Wrapping it about her hand to stem the bleeding she swore softly under her breath, and hearing her do so Josselin almost laughed aloud.

“Hellfire! Do you know how difficult if not impossible it is to remove blood from lampas? Damn that woman!” Then as a sudden weakness overcame her she swayed. Her head was beginning to swim.
“Josselin!”

His arms went about her. “I am here, Mairin. I’m going to carry you.”

“No! I will walk from the hall. I don’t want the king and his people to think we English are weaklings.” Her legs felt wobbly, but even so with his aid they turned to face the highboard.

William could see how pale Mairin was. “Is your wife all right, Joss?” he asked.

“I will be fine, sire,” Mairin answered for herself. “The cut is deep, and I have lost more blood than I would have cared to lose, but I will heal.”

“You must let me send my own physician to you, my lady Mairin,” said Matilda.

“Thank you, my lady queen, but I would decline your kindness. I am a better healer than most, and I prefer to treat myself.”

“Then return to your London house, and rest,” said William. “We will hope to see you at the queen’s coronation in two days’ time.”

“We will be there,” said Mairin in a positive tone. Then she somehow managed to curtsey, and turning took her husband’s arm to walk from the hall.

“You are incredible!” Josselin marveled as they gained the courtyard.

“I am going to be very sick,” said Mairin as she vomited the contents of her sumptuous dinner onto the paving stones.

“Better?” he asked when her shoulders had finally stopped heaving. She looked at him with a weak grin. Her hand was hurting like the very devil. “Yes.” She nodded, collapsing into a dead faint as the pavement rushed up to meet her.

When she awoke she was lying upon her own bed within their little London house. Someone had removed her clothing but for her torn camise. With a sigh Mairin curled herself into a ball, and slipped back into a deep sleep. She never noticed Nara asleep on the trundle by her side.

Below, Josslin related to Dagda what had happened. The big Irishman’s eyes were almost black with his anger. His voice was grim when he said to Josselin, “She will never again hurt my lady! I swear it by blessed St. Padraic, and the Holy Mother herself!”

When the morning came Mairin awoke to find her husband by her side. The dull ache in her wounded hand warned her that her injury could become infected if she did not attend it. Rising, Mairin pulled off her torn camise, and put on a clean one. Over it she drew a plain blue linen skirt, and matching tunic. Slipping her feet into her shoes she hurried downstairs to find Nara attending to the fire.

“Where is Dagda?” she asked.

“He said he had an errand to attend to, my lady,” came the reply.

Mairin raised an eyebrow. It was early, and the sun was even now just coming up. “There is a small open-air market a few streets down by the riverbank,” she said to her servant. “Go and purchase me several small fresh white onions, a flask of apple vinegar, and a comb of honey. On your way back stop at the baker and get bread.” Mairin handed Nara the necessary coins, and the girl hurried out.

A pot of water was heating over the fire, and finding a basin Mairin filled it with hot water, adding a good pinch of dried mint leaves. While it steeped she carefully tore her damaged camise into strips of bandage, and then unwrapping her hand she plunged it into the basin. Patiently she waited for the crust to soak off the wound, and was shortly rewarded with success as her injury began to sting uncomfortably. With an irregular piece of cloth from the camise she began to gently rub at her palm until the water in the basin had turned pale pink, but her wound was clean and freed of the dried blood. She kept her hand in the basin for the slash must remain soft and open until Nara came with the ingredients necessary for the poultice she needed to make.