Meredith saw a blacksmith’s shop, set apart
from the other buildings because of danger from fire, with the
baker’s quarters nearby, and a shoemaker’s, then more cottages
built to house the resettled Saxon farmers who worked the fields
just outside the walls. Those houses were, she noticed, larger and
better made than the hovel in which she had spent her first twelve
years.
She passed the village well, trying to ignore
the stares of several women who stood gossiping as they waited
their turn to draw water. Meredith was glad she had completely
covered her hair before leaving the cave. At least these women
would not have her unusual red curls to talk about.
There was a deep, dry ditch before the inner
wall. She had to cross it by a wooden drawbridge that slanted
sharply upward, a deterrent to mounted knights trying to attack the
castle. The guard at this second gate pointed to a large wooden
building on the left side of the inner bailey.
“That is the great hall,” he said. “Lord Guy
is there. You should find the Lady Isabel with him.”
As she walked toward the hall, Meredith saw
masons working on a square structure that stood on the highest part
of the castle grounds. The keep, when it was finished, would tower
over the river below, guarding the ford and protecting the road
that ran from England into the interior of Wales. On Meredith’s
right hand the castle walls dropped straight down to the river; on
her left, the wall ended at a swift-flowing stream, made impassible
to would-be invaders by tumbled rocks and dangerous rapids. River
and stream met just below the tower keep, widening into a smooth,
shallow area where the ford was. Behind her, part of the river had
been diverted into the wet moat along the outer wall, turning the
castle and its town into a man-made, roughly triangular island.
Meredith felt imprisoned within the water
barriers and the thick walls. She wondered if she would be able to
sleep at night. She longed to flee the weight of those great stones
pressing in on her, to return to the green freedom of the forest.
She took a step backward and started to turn to run toward the
outer gate.
And then she heard Rhys’ voice, very clearly,
inside her head.
Face the thing you fear,
he had said,
and overcome it.
Meredith straightened her shoulders and
headed for the great hall.
The door stood open. The interior was dark
and smoky. She saw Guy as she entered. He was talking to a tall
thin man in a cleric’s robe. The cleric peered at her from watery
blue eyes, his pale brows raised in surprise.
“There you are,” Guy said, his smile lighting
the dim room with welcome. “Reynaud, this is Meredith, Lady
Isabel’s new maid.”
“Indeed?” Reynaud’s eyes pierced her with
pale blue ice.
“Come, Meredith, I’ll take you to your
mistress.” Guy’s warm hand was on her elbow.
“Couldn’t one of the servants do that?”
Reynaud’s voice was chilly.
“I think I had better do it myself,” Guy
chuckled.
Meredith could feel Reynaud’s eyes on her all
the way to the end of the hall, where Guy led her through a wooden
partition into the women’s quarters. There was another door to the
outside here, and it, too, was open, letting in air and late
September sunshine.
The Lady Isabel was every bit as beautiful as
her son Thomas had claimed, a vision totally out of place in this
partially finished wilderness fortress. She was tall and gracefully
slender. Long golden braids hung over her shoulders to her waist,
topped by a golden circlet and a sheer silk veil. Her skin, still
flawless at age twenty-seven, shone with the pink and white tints
of a perfect rose. Her silk gown matched her deep blue eyes. The
belt that twice encircled her slim hips was jeweled.
“This is my new maid?” Isabel looked down her
dainty nose at the shorter woman before her. “Don’t you have
anything better than that dreadful grey robe to wear?”
“I’m afraid not,” Meredith said, wishing with
all her heart she were back in the cave with Branwen and Rhys. She
had never thought about her looks before. What was in her heart,
how kindly she treated those in need of her healing skills, were
much more important than mere surface appearances. Now, comparing
herself to Isabel, she felt ungraceful and homely. She shifted from
one foot to the other, not certain how to deal with her exquisite
new mistress.
“I thought you could provide a gown -for
Meredith,” Guy told his sister-in-law.
“But of course.” Isabel’s voice was laden
with sarcasm. “I have all the resources of the queen’s own wardrobe
in these elegant chambers you have prepared for me.” She gestured
with a be-ringed hand, indicating a cramped space crowded with
wooden chests, a trestle table and some stools, a large wooden
bedstead, and several pallets rolled up and pushed against the wall
to make walking space during the day.
“I promised Meredith you would make proper
provision for her,” Guy said. “See that you do.” With that, he left
the women’s quarters.
“Have you waited on a lady before?” Isabel
asked.
“No, but I can learn.” Seeing the doubtful
expression on Isabel’s beautiful, pouting face, Meredith added, “I
do learn quickly, my lady, and I have this advantage: since I’ve
not been taught by anyone else, you may train me to suit
yourself.”
“You’re quick-witted, I’ll say that for you.
And at least you speak decent French, though where you learned it
in this wilderness, I can’t imagine. Very well, since I have no
other choice of a waiting woman at present, I’ll keep you until a
proper maid arrives from court. Joan,” she addressed a plump,
grey-haired woman, “find this girl something to wear.”
In a short time Meredith was attired in a
deep green wool gown that was only a little too short for her and a
little too thick through the waist. It was, Joan told her,
originally intended for a servant named Edith, who would now have
to wait until Joan could make her a new one.
“I’m sorry to take her dress,” Meredith said,
hoping the woman would not be angry at the appropriation of her
gown.
“Never mind, she’d rather have a blue one.
She won’t care a bit. You can pull it in with the belt,” Joan said
kindly, showing Meredith what she meant, “but I don’t know what we
are going to do about your hair.”
“I’ll keep it covered with this,” Meredith
offered, taking up the linen square that served her as a simple
headdress.
“A good idea,” Lady Isabel observed. “It is a
horrible color. The correct color for a woman’s hair is gold, like
mine, or perhaps black as a raven’s wing, if her complexion is
pale, but that awful dark red, and curly, too? Keep it covered so
if offends no one’s eyes.”
Meredith had just been introduced to the
other household serving women, Edith and Margaret, when Thomas
appeared.
“Lady Meredith,” he exclaimed, “how pretty
you look in your new dress.’*
Edith and Margaret began to giggle, and
Thomas’s mother looked shocked.
“Lady?” she said, “I am the only lady here.
This is a servant and you will address her by name only. How do you
know this girl, Thomas?”
Meredith saw by Thomas’ frightened face that
he had kept his promise to Rhys not to talk about the cave or its
inhabitants, and did not want to reveal the secret now.
“We have met once or twice,” Meredith said
quickly, “while Master Thomas was exploring Lord Guy’s lands.” It
was not a lie, she told herself, only a diversion. She was relieved
when Lady Isabel sent Thomas off on an errand and then began
explaining Meredith’s duties.
While the castle itself was a man’s world,
and Lord Guy was master, life in the women’s quarters revolved
around Lady Isabel. It was Meredith’s task to awaken her mistress
at dawn, and with Joan’s assistance, to dress her. Edith and
Margaret attended to cooking and housekeeping chores under Isabel’s
direct supervision, while Joan, an accomplished seamstress, took
care of Isabel’s extensive wardrobe and directed the making of
clothing for other members of Lord Guy’s household. Joan always had
at least one or two new gowns to be made for her mistress, and
personally laundered Lady Isabel’s fine linen undergarments.
Because she was the oldest of the women servants, and had been with
Lady Isabel the longest, Joan also served as substitute chatelaine
when Lady Isabel was otherwise occupied.
Meredith was required to bring hot water each
morning so Lady Isabel could wash, and then to braid Isabel’s hair,
to help her on with gown and shoes, and hold the small silver
hand-mirror while Isabel applied a white powder to her already
perfect complexion. Once she was dressed to her satisfaction, and
this often took a long time, Isabel, accompanied by all the other
women, left the great hall, walking the short distance to the
temporary chapel to hear Holy Mass said by Father Herbert. Meredith
did not like the chaplain, and the service brought back painful
memories of similar Masses when she and Branwen had stood by
Alfric’s side and endured the sly looks of village louts. The only
good thing about attending church at Afoncaer was the opportunity
of seeing both Guy and Thomas.
She had hoped to have more time with them now
that she was living inside the castle confines, but Guy was
constantly surrounded by other men. When he was not conferring with
Reynaud on plans for the castle, or with Captain John about the
defenses and the progress of the new tower keep, he was with the
falconer, or out hunting, or at weapons practice. He did at least
speak to her each day when the household gathered for the main
meal, and she often felt his eyes on her.
With Thomas she had more contact, since as a
page he was constantly called upon to run errands for his mother
and to perform trivial tasks for her. Meredith was distressed to
see the odd combination of neglect and possessiveness that Isabel
displayed toward her son. Thomas tried desperately to please his
mother. He seldom succeeded.
“My lady, if you would deal with Thomas more
kindly, he would be happier,” Meredith said one day, when she felt
she had bitten her tongue too many times while the sensitive boy
was treated like a servant.
“Do not advise me how to treat my son,”
Isabel responded sharply. “I know what I am doing. No one can
expect to be happy in this earthly life, certainly not in a place
so desolate as Afoncaer. My only consolation is to hope the time I
spend here will count as purgatory,” she added acidly. “I will
surely be rewarded in the next life for what I suffer now.”
Meredith could only wonder how a plea for
gentler treatment toward Thomas had been turned into a complaint
about Lady Isabel’s lot in life. She could not understand why
Isabel was unhappy. From Meredith’s point of view, Afoncaer was a
fantastical place, luxurious beyond belief. She had her new woolen
dress, a linen under shift, and a warm blanket to cover her each
night. In this harvest season there was an abundance of food, so
she was never hungry. She and Joan were well on the way to becoming
good friends. Her chief irritation in this unexpectedly pleasant
new life was her mistress. Lady Isabel’s attitude toward Meredith
was arrogant and demanding.
“You cannot do fine needlework?” Isabel
looked at her servant with scorn. “You will never hold a place as
maid to a lady unless you learn. Joan, you will teach this ignorant
girl. Begin today.”
“I can sew a decent seam that does not tear,”
Meredith responded hotly. “I do not see the need to learn intricate
embroidery.” Needlework of the kind Isabel expected was hardly a
necessary skill for a young woman who planned to spend her life as
a healer.
“Do not be insolent with me.” Isabel glared
at her, one hand half raised. Meredith stared back, pride meeting
pride, daring Isabel to strike for a long, tense moment, until Joan
intervened.
“I think Meredith might begin with the hem of
your new cloak, my lady, and go on from there,” Joan said. “I will
teach her gradually. Fine work takes time to learn and is best done
by those who have a natural skill for it.”
“If you are saying that Meredith is too
stupid to learn, I quite agree,” Isabel declared.
When Meredith would have made a sharp reply
to this, Joan put a hand on her arm and shook her head in warning,
and Meredith subsided.
“You must curb your tongue if you would not
be punished or sent away in disgrace,” Joan told her later. “Lady
Isabel prefers meek servants. Your thoughts are your own, only see
you do not speak them to her.”
“I’ll never learn,” Meredith sighed. “Where I
lived before I could say what I wanted and I was treated with
respect.”
“Then you were more fortunate than most,”
Joan told her. “The women of Afoncaer must bow to Lady Isabel’s
wishes. Only Sir Guy can overrule her on household matters.”
After Mass each morning a light meal of bread
and ale was eaten before members of the household went off to their
various duties. The main meal of the day came in late morning, when
boiled or roasted meats were served, along with stewed vegetables,
hot meat pastries on special days, fish from the river on meatless
fast days, and always bread and cheeses. Lady Isabel supervised the
arrangement of these meals, and the cold meats and bread that were
served in the evening, but her principal interest lay in planning
the decoration of the family quarters of the new tower keep. She
spent long hours conferring with Sir Guy or, more often, with
Reynaud.
“I want the walls and ceilings plastered,”
Isabel said, “and painted, in the latest style. Reynaud, you will
write to the king’s painters at Winchester and order them to send
drawings of the patterns I told you about. And samples of the same
pigments. I want deep blue on the walls, and the pattern painted in
gold and green.”
“Yes, my lady.”