The Devil's Diadem (7 page)

The two long tables were already almost full of diners. There were no other women present save for Evelyn and myself — Lady Adelie, Mistress Yvette and the two girls had yet to make their entrance — and we attracted many a glance as we moved closer to the high table.

The glances were admiring and speculative both, and I lowered my eyes that I might not meet any of their interest. I flattered myself that many of those glances were directed at me, but I knew that Evelyn must also garner her share of admiration, for she was still young enough to rouse lust in a man, and looked very fine tonight in her deep red gown and her glistening nut-brown hair heavily braided with blue and silver beads.

Evelyn — usually — wore the veil of the married woman, but was she widowed? Or as yet unwed and only wore the veil as acknowledgement of her rank and age? She had never talked of a husband to me in our nightly chats, and in fact avoided revealing too much personal information at all. I resolved to delve a little this night, if I had the chance.

We arrived at our places, only five or six down from the high table, and Evelyn graciously thanked the servant who bowed and left us to seat ourselves. We were lucky to have a bench of our own, and as we slid into place I was careful not to catch the table linens and tip all the tableware to the ground.

Tonight, I was determined that I should be worthy of my place in this court.

Our tableware, though fine, was not of the beauty of the high table. Pewter bowls held water for us to wash our fingers, and wine cups of similar nature sat before us. There were some pewter spoons on the table, but mostly we would use our fingers or the small personal knives that all carried at belts or girdles. At least my knife would not disgrace me, I thought, fingering it gently as it swung from my girdle, for it was of good craftsmanship — one of the few things I’d had from my childhood that was of any worth.

A servant appeared at our elbows, and filled our cups with a spiced wine. I took a sip, and marvelled at its headiness. I would need to be careful not to sip too enthusiastically.

‘Sweet mistress,’ said the man immediately on my left, ‘may I ask your name? I have been to the earl’s court on many an occasion, but have not seen you previously.’

I turned to look at him, wondering how I should respond. He was a man of younger years, fair of hair and with an open friendly face, well dressed in a heavily embroidered russet tunic with a fine white linen shirt beneath. He wore several gold rings, set with gems, on his fingers, and a small hoop through one ear.

‘I am Mistress Maeb Langtofte, and I serve the Lady Adelie. Are you with the king’s retinue? Forgive my ignorance, but I do not yet know even all the earl’s retinue, let alone the king’s.’

‘I think any man could find it easy to forgive you anything,’ the man said, ‘for it is rare to find such beauty without a jealous husband attached to her arm. You must be new arrived at the earl’s house, yes? Otherwise I cannot imagine how you yet remain unwed. I swear, within the six month, a score of gallant knights and barons shall beg the earl for your hand.’

I was growing uncomfortable now, for I was not used to such direct conversation nor such admiration. The man also had not yet given me his name, and I did not know if perchance I spoke with one of the king’s younger brothers, or one of his lords, or if he was one of the earl’s men and sent here to test me. He could just as likely have been attached to either Summersete or Scersberie, and I was at a loss as to how to address him.

The man’s blue eyes twinkled, and I knew he sensed my discomfort.

‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I am Ranulph Saint-Valery, and I hail from Lincolescire. Edmond amuses himself by keeping me within his court, but for what reason, I do not know, for I cannot think I serve one single useful earthly purpose.’

I smiled, thinking it would not be hard to like this man.

‘But for tonight, lovely lady,’ Saint-Valery continued, ‘I shall be
your
servant, and shall serve you the most delicate morsels from my plate and wipe the lip of your cup with my napkin, that your wine may always taste sweet.’

Now I was blushing, for I had never before encountered such courtliness, nor such attention.

Fortunately Evelyn came to my rescue as I struggled to make some light, witty remark.

‘My Lord Saint-Valery, you are making my young companion blush with your pretty words. Maeb, our lord king likes to keep Sir Ranulph at his court for the beauty of his poetry. You have at your side one of England’s greatest poets. Is that not so, my lord?’

Ranulph made a deprecating gesture with one hand, then half turned aside as a servant made a fuss in the refilling of his wine cup.

The momentary distraction allowed Evelyn to whisper into my ear. ‘Be careful of him, Maeb. A celebrated poet he may be, but he is also one of Edmond’s spies at court. He uses his poetry and sweet tongue to coerce even the most well-kept secret from the tightest lips.’

I squeezed her hand, grateful for the warning.

I wondered if my table companion was mere happenchance, or if Edmond had decided I might be a spy in the employ of the King of Sicily after all.

Saint-Valery and I chatted for a while of Witenie, where I was born and raised. He knew of its market, having attended one day, which knowledge surprised me.

‘You did not see me?’ he said, his mouth curving in a smile. I was a little disturbed to suddenly realise how sensual that mouth was. ‘Choosing among the apples?’

‘No, my lord,’ I said, ‘for I should surely have remembered so distinguished a visitor had I seen you. Perhaps you came disguised? A travelling minstrel perhaps. A vagabond. So that none might recognise you and mark your presence.’

The smile widened a little, although the expression on his face was now speculative rather than amused. ‘You have courage with your words, Mistress Maeb. You are not afraid to tease.’

‘It is the wine,’ I murmured. ‘It goes to my head.’ ‘Then I shall press it the more urgently upon you, that I might know you better.’

I was about to reply, but just then the mellow tones of two horns sounded by the door and all conversation stopped as we turned to look.

‘The king,’ Saint-Valery murmured, and with that all assembled at the long tables rose, and either bowed or dipped in courtesy.

Edmond and the Earl of Pengraic and Lady Adelie had entered the hall. Edmond led the way, Lady Adelie on his arm, with the earl a step behind. All were dressed richly, and I thought that Edmond now looked every part the king in his splendid blue tunic with its gold embroideries, fur-lined mantle, jewelled brooch, and heavily jewelled circlet upon his brow. He wore a sword at his left hip, and its hilt looked to me as if it were fashioned from pure gold inlaid with diamonds.

Lady Adelie looked weary, but otherwise sparkled with jewels in the circlet she wore on her head and wound through her braids which hung almost to the floor. The earl likewise wore rich cloth and many jewels, and a sword as well. He and the king were the only men in the hall, apart from the men-at-arms standing against the walls, who wore their weapons, although all of us carried small eating knives at our belts.

Saint-Valery saw me looking at the swords. ‘No one wears their sword in the presence of the king,’ he murmured, ‘save his host.’

I nodded my thanks.

Behind came Walter de Roche, the Earl of Summersete, and Gilbert de Montgomerie, the Earl of Scersberie.

Lord Stephen walked a few steps behind the two earls, looking splendid in a gold and silver tunic, possibly the one I had seen him in that first day I’d met him, and I am afraid my heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. I wondered if he would see me from where he ate at high table.

After Stephen came Alice and Emmette and the two boys, Ancel and Robert, with Mistress Yvette a step behind. She was dressed in a manner almost as rich as Lady Adelie, which showed as nothing else the favour in which Lady Adelie held her.

Edmond and Lady Adelie drew close to where Evelyn, Saint-Valery and I stood, and while the countess kept her eyes ahead, the king glanced over.

For a moment he met my eyes, then I dropped mine and sank a little deeper in courtesy.

When I looked up again, the entire party had passed me and had arrived at the high table where they were in the process of seating themselves.

Once the high table had sat, Pengraic, who alone had remained standing, raised his wine cup and led the wassail toast in honour of Edmond.

‘Drinkhail!’ the assemblage responded as we raised our cups and toasted the king. Then we all sat, and the evening’s feasting and entertainment began.

Considering the king, the earl and their respective retinues had only arrived this morning, and with no warning, William the house steward had done his earl and his lady proud. A pig and a yearling ox had been slaughtered and roasted: a half score servants brought in the meat piled high on silver platters. As well as the pork and ox, several swans and a score of rabbits had been roasted and served, and there followed several platters of pigeon and fish in various spiced milks and pottages. And yet more men followed, bearing bowls of stews and vegetables, sauces and soups.

A servant appeared at my elbow, placing a trencher of bread before me, as well as a small plate. The high table was served their food first, then the servants came down the long lines of the table, offering us our choice of meats and their accompanying dishes.

Saint-Valery chose for me, selecting cuts of meats and sauces for my plate and trencher, until I thought that perhaps he was intending to feed me for a week. I protested somewhat weakly at the amount of food he thought I might eat and he inclined his head in acquiescence, and thus we began our feast.

Minstrels came to entertain us with harps and pipes and sweet voices.

I was, I confess it, overawed. Nothing in Lady Adelie’s household had prepared me for a courtly event like this. I stole glances at the high table, watching the king and the nobles eat and drink, laugh and gesture, and offer each other choice pieces of meat as well as other courtesies. I thought Stephen had been well placed, sitting between the earls of Summersete and Scersberie, and I confess I watched him the most and was both delighted and flustered when he saw me, and raised his wine cup in a greeting to me.

I was even more flustered when it became obvious that Saint-Valery had witnessed the exchange.

‘Lord Stephen shines like a young god, does he not,’ Saint-Valery said.

I did not know what to say, and hid my confusion with a sip of wine.

‘It is said that the earl seeks a foreign princess for his eldest son’s wife,’ Saint-Valery added.

‘And Lord Stephen would be worthy of such,’ I murmured, hoping it was the right thing to say.

‘But fear not,’ Saint-Valery said, ‘I am sure that Stephen will not forget you. Most lords take mistresses, and Stephen would treat such a woman well, I think. Perhaps you —’

‘I would not want such a thing!’ I said, hoping I had injected enough righteous indignation into my voice.

‘I was only going to suggest that you might like to attend his wife, as you do now his mother,’ Saint-Valery said, his eyes glinting with humour.

I was angry with him. It was not what he had wanted to suggest at all.

‘The Lady Adelie says she shall find me a gentle husband,’ I said.

‘As I am sure she can,’ Saint-Valery said. ‘A knight such as your father, perhaps … a man of gentle name and rank but with little lands nor any offices to his name. You do not have a large dowry, do you? No, I thought not. Possibly none at all, knowing your father. Virtue is all very well, Mistress Maeb, but not when your “gentle” marriage means you shall need to glean with your peasant womenfolk so you might have bread for your table.’

I could not reply. I was furiously angry with him now, not simply for his ungenerous words and bawdry, but at the fact that he seemed to know my circumstances all too well. He knew of my father and his lack of extensive lordships and coin, but I had not once mentioned it.

Who had been discussing me with Saint-Valery? And why?

‘Maeb,’ Saint-Valery said, ‘I only speak of the ways of the world and of the court. Virtue is all very well, but not when it condemns you to servitude. You are a beautiful woman. You must have seen the eyes that pass your way. And you are spirited, and many a nobleman likes that in a woman. Yet you have no dowry. Not even the care of Lady Adelie could win for you anything but the basest knight. I only wish to open your mind to the possibilities.’

‘I can only hope for the basest knight, my lord? Then surely that puts you well within my reach. Speak to Lady Adelie, and I am yours.’

Saint-Valery stared at me, then roared with laughter. Everyone about us paused to look, and from the corner of my eye I saw those at the high table turn to us as well.

I flamed with colour, and wondered if I should stand, and leave.

‘Maeb,’ Evelyn murmured, ‘just dip your head at the high table, and smile graciously, then return to your meal.’

I did so, almost unable to bear to look at them. Stephen was smiling, Lady Adelie looked a little concerned, Pengraic’s face was a mask of disdain, and, sweet Jesu, the king actually nodded at me and raised his wine cup slightly.

Mistress Yvette merely looked cross.

All I had wanted was to enjoy the evening, and yet now it was tainted.

‘My lord,’ Evelyn said to Saint-Valery. ‘You speak too boldly to Maeb. She is young, and untutored in courtly ways. You accuse her of teasing, and yet you are unmerciful in it. Be wary, I pray you, for both the earl and the countess take good care of her well-being and happiness.’

I admired Evelyn then as never before. She had spoken gently, and yet even so, she had issued Saint-Valery a stern warning. Well might Saint-Valery have the ear and the regard of the king, yet he could ill afford to make an enemy of the earl.

Saint-Valery inclined his head, accepting the rebuke.

‘I beg your forgiveness, Mistress Maeb,’ he said, and the apology in his voice seemed genuine. ‘I have not spoken well, and that was discourteous of me.’

I gave a small nod, accepting his apology, although the unhappiness must have been obvious on my face. For the next few minutes we ate in silence, then the awkwardness was broken when the Earl of Summersete rose — for what reason I do not know — and in the doing bumped into a servant directly behind his chair. The servant was carrying yet another platter of food, and all went flying, servant and earl both, the food spattering in a gravy-laden arc about them.