Gifts of the Queen (3 page)

For Henry hated Raoul, a hatred that went back even to their forefathers' time, a hatred so strong that even before Henry had been crowned king, he had seized Raoul's lands in France and occupied that castle of Sieux, toward which we now were riding. Worse, on succeeding to the throne, Henry had seized Raoul's English lands as well, had openly proclaimed Raoul an outlaw, and had named him a traitor whose lands and titles and life were forfeit. The story of that time has been already told. Wounded in a last great fight with one of Henry's men, Raoul had been rescued and hidden by the Sedgemont guard who, for love of their overlord, went willing into exile with him. These same men rode with us today. Well did they deserve to rest this night. And the story too has been told how I, as Lord Raoul's ward, had come to London to find the king and plead with him for Raoul's life, and how, alone, friendless, I had been befriended by Queen Eleanor. She it was who in the end had persuaded Henry to pardon Raoul and his men, give them the kiss of peace, and restore to Raoul his lands and titles, all that had been lost.

Perhaps it was the mists that reminded me, the mists that curled and eddied with each step, or perhaps the creaking of the saddles or the clink of armor as a man turned to talk or laugh, or the jingle of a bridle piece when a horse tossed its head. Or was it the way our shadows loomed and wavered, sometimes large and distorted, against the wall of fog? Or was it simply my listening to one of my squires, Walter the elder, who loved a tune, and was whistling one between his teeth, a song learned of a kitchen wench the night before? Or perhaps the glint and shimmer of the water where the lake opened up between the matted reeds reminded me of the sheen of the lady's gown beneath her rags. I do not know, but will tell you only this: back the memory came, fresh as yesterday, and her words chimed like bells within my head. And all that had happened since my meeting her echoed and echoed in my mind. I thought as I had thought often this past month, what is done is done. God have it so, that all bitterness be finished and enmity and death. And that we come home safe to Sieux.

But perhaps it was none of these things, only the day itself, unlike any of those other days, a month of them drowned in rain and cold, which, since the start of our journey here, seemed to have dogged us with storms, as if even the weather wished us ill. Today, despite the wet, there had been a feeling in the air, an excitement so intense as almost to give substance to mood, to things intangible, to sounds, waking me from an uneasy sleep. For often now I had the same dream, except it was no dream; it was the true past relived. We were still in Henry's court, and Henry had pardoned Raoul.
Take your lands and titles back,
Henry had said.
I grant you the title of Earl as in your grandfather's time. I restore to you willingly your lands and castle at Sieux
—
if you take Ann of Cambray as wife.
I still heard Henry's laugh; I still saw the open hot looks he cast at me, the hope, perhaps, to bed me first himself. I still felt his tinge of scorn, to make me a jest, a pawn, for a king to play with. But more than that, I still felt the scorn he put on Raoul. Henry could not have made his jest more plain. 'If you would have your lands back, Raoul,' he should have said, and sometimes in my dreams he did, 'marry beneath you, you who could marry where you choose, marry Ann. At my command.'

It was an order no man of pride or rank could or would obey. But Raoul had. Sometimes I had wondered what would have happened had Raoul refused, Raoul, who when I first knew him, was already betrothed to a French lady of high degree. That Isobelle de Boissert, as she was called, had been heiress of many lands. Why would Earl Raoul marry with Ann of Cambray, whose small castle at the end of the Norman world had no value, was already part of Raoul's own estates, and he already my overlord? But there was one other reason for Raoul to marry me, one Henry did not know, and that, too, a cause to make me start awake. Had Henry known, he would have rather kept us apart and revelled in a greater jest. What he did not know was this (although the Queen who had helped me did): that Raoul had already bedded me, and I was already with child, conceived when Raoul left me, as he thought, to go to his death. This then was another reason for our haste, why since our coming to France we had avoided any place where Henry might have news of us, and why in the dark I relived again and again our wedding night when Raoul had lain with his unsheathed sword in his hand. And why in nightmares, I heard Henry and his men break into our room, to prove for themselves that I was no maid, and this my new husband had already lain with me and given me a child. So, when at today's dawn I started awake, you know what I thought. But it was only the noise of Lord Raoul's black stallion that had wakened me. We had spent last night in a simple country hostelry, less villanous than most although that does not praise it highly, no doubt a haven for local travelers, although it had neither beds nor space for us. We were but a small group even so, a score of mounted men whom my lord had brought from his lands in England, from Sedgemont, half as many again of foot, a baggage train, and my womenfolk, whom I willingly would have abandoned after the first day. This morning, hearing the sounds below the granary where we had been lodged, these selfsame ladies, in various state of undress, had fluttered to the openings in the mud walls, hung with sacking still straw filled which gave at least some protection from the bitter wind.

The day was damp and dreary, as I have said; spring had not come to us as I thought it must have come to all parts else. The rains which had followed us from the coast still dripped and blew about the roof thatch and gathered in black puddles in the cobbled yard. The knights of Lord Raoul's retinue were mounting up for the day's ride. They had slept no doubt even worse than we, with saddles for pillows and their cloaks for beds, but I never heard them complain. They were old friends, had served Lord Raoul long and faithfully; discomforts were but pinpricks for them. I noted at once how today they rode their battle horses, their destriers, which normally their squires led at their right side, with gear slung at the saddle pommel ready at hand for instant use. Today they wore their chainmail coats, had had them burnished with care, and over them flung the surcoats of red and gold which they wore usually to mark them as men of Sedgemont and which they had kept hidden on our march south. Already some were in the saddle, others were still buckling on their sword belts while squires knelt to strap on their spurs. Lord Raoul's horse, a great huge beast, famed for its strength and its temper both, had taken fright at something or dislike of one of the stableboys. Or perhaps it too scented excitement in the air, for it had already kicked its way through part of a stable wall, a flimsy partition of plaster and wattle. Now with a toss of its head, it sent the Sedgemont grooms tumbling among the mud and straw. Across the crowded yard it plunged, a broken strap dangling dangerously between its hooves. Those knights already mounted fought their own horses to keep them under control; those men on foot dived for cover as best they could. The black horse, enjoying freedom, reared, and flayed with its forefeet, shaking its head with all teeth bared. Then down it jarred, crashing against the bales of straw that were piled beside the courtyard gate. My ladies screamed, their hands before their mouths, and whispered excitedly to one another as they let the men below see them in their shifts. Not that there was time to enjoy their charms so displayed, the men were more intent to escape those deadly hooves. The stableboys shouted at each other in their strange harsh French, the landlord wrung his hands and cursed; the Sedgemont grooms, picking themselves up gingerly, began to move toward the gate to bar escape.

Into this confusion strode Lord Raoul. He was dressed for riding as were his guard, but was not able to wear his mail coat yet. Brushing between his men, he came forward, my young Lord, who once had been as quick as a cat, moving more slowly today, his squire behind, tugging at his good arm in vain to make him stop. In the center of the yard, Raoul and his horse came face-to-face. The horse was not yet saddled and now I could see clearly the strap that dragged between its feet. I knew Lord Raoul could not use his right arm; I knew his broken shoulder blade was hardly knit, I knew his right side was still unhealed, and yet, although he scarce could mount a saddled horse on his own
,
he would ride this one unsaddled. I left my women-folk to their screams, threw a woolen cloak about my shoulders, ran to the wooden steps outside and barefooted came down into the yard.

He still faced his horse, left hand on hip, until the horse slowly backed into the position he was hoping for, against the fallen bales of straw where he would have leverage when he needed it. Suddenly he bent and grasped at the broken strap between forefeet which I had once seen tear a man to shreds. Then, with one laborious movement, he pulled at the horse's head, until it faced away from the mass of men framed in the gateway. The bales of straw served him as a mounting block; he clambered up, each step a strain upon his ribs, and with greater effort, flung himself upon the horse's back. I had seen him before leap into a saddle with all his armor on, not needing rein nor stirrup iron. This move was clumsy, so unlike his usual self that I felt my heart contract—I cannot use the words ‘with pity' (that would be an expression he would have spat back) but 'with pride,' perhaps—that for pride he drove himself. The abrupt movement startled the horse again; it plunged and reared and thrashed away. But Raoul hung on, his left arm wrapped about the horse's neck, hand knotted in its mane, and slowly began to gather up the broken straps to bring pressure on the curbed bit. Back and forth they fought, the horse's sides lathered, gouts of foam flying from its mouth. Raoul still clung with hand and knee until at last the horse obeyed him once more, and its rage died out. It hung its head quiet as a lamb. There was a gasp of breath expelled; the women's wailing died upon a sigh.

Raoul's squires ran to take the reins; he let himself slide over the horse's back, limped to a bale of straw and leaned upon it, struggling for breath. I longed to go to him but did not dare, and waited instead by the wooden steps, my feet curling against the cold. His men would tend him if he needed help. Never since our wedding day had he let me tend to his wounds, although I knew of salves and potions that make flesh heal quickly and help bones knit. I think now he thought to spare me the sight of those scars, perhaps he even feared they might sicken me, yet they were wounds nobly borne; and nobly had he endured them for my sake, too. But seldom had I chance to see him at all these days; since our marriage we had tarried nowhere long, and since we had come to France, as I have explained, each day at dawn, with his men, he led the way and kept guard, with patrols to scout for danger on all sides. I, my squires and the foot soldiers, traveled more slowly in company with the womenfolk and baggage carts. And at night, so weary he could scarce stand, he slept where he could, not even taking time to unpack or use the gear we brought with us. But today, the dawning was long past. Perhaps today he would ride with us.

When his breathing had slackened, and his squires had left him, I approached cautiously. A new wife, I thought, must learn her husband's ways. I did not want to intrude. He turned his head slowly as I came up.

Good morrow indeed, Lady Ann,' he croaked, 'to have you run barefooted in the rain to greet your wedded lord. Judas, I shall think you dote on me to hang about my neck half--clothed.'

He had spotted that beneath the cloak, I, too, was dressed only in my shift. He spoke softly enough, but I blushed. He smiled then, the strange smile he had, part rueful, as if he mocked at himself; but ever since we had first met, his teasing voice had put me on my guard.

‘I thought you'd stay up there and scream.' He jerked his head to the room above where my ladies still lingered and called down wantonly to the men below.

God's wounds,' I said, the oath slipping out before I could give it mind, 'I'd as sooner bed with a herd of swine.' He laughed then, an infectious laugh that made you want to laugh with him. Someone had brought him water for washing, but I noted how his shirt was still stained red. His hair was curled about his neck with heat and sweat, and his efforts had left him pale, but even then, I sensed the ripple of expectation running beneath the surface. And then he turned his head again to speak to me, I saw the thin scar that cut across one high cheekbone, a reminder of a coward's blow he had taken for my sake.

I replied carefully, for his quick looks, his mocking voice, had always made me ill at ease. I was still not comfortable, you see, with his teasing ways, although I should have been; he had used them with good effect since I had first known him. 'We sleep,' I said, 'as best we can. . .’

He pounced upon those prim words.

‘As best we can,' he repeated them. 'Why, Lady, you must tell me what that is. For a soldier, one piece of ground seems like the rest. And I think I saw more of my wife when I had to woo her into bed. Since now you are here, climb up, unless you think to freeze your bare feet in the ground.'

He patted the straw beside him, and when, with an effort, he had helped me clamber up, he wrapped the cloak ends about me.

‘You are a great lady now,' he mocked at me, for, in truth, I had not stopped to think how it would look to run abroad half-naked in the rain, 'with cares upon your mind, your household cares, your womenfolk . .

I bit my tongue. It does not suit a wedded wife to berate her husband openly for flaws in his arrangement for her comfort. But he had chosen these ladies to tend me, or rather bade me which ones I should choose, as was fitting to his position, from among the many who came clamoring about us at King Henry's court. He must be responsible for naming them, but I would have liked to tell him how I disliked them.

I said, in a stiff way I had adopted to make me seem more suited to my new rank, 'I trust they are on their knees by now, giving thanks to God that you are not trampled underfoot. As do I.'