Elizabeth Chadwick (11 page)

“It is, since you are putting yourself out to accommodate me.” Jean took the gambeson and with Fulke’s help wriggled his way into it. “The terms of the King’s release have been agreed and although he has yet to be set free, that moment will not be long in coming. I’ve been sent ahead by Chancellor Longchamps with the news. For the moment, it is not common information, although it soon will be. Philip of France has his spies at the German court. When he learns that Richard is to be set free, he will not hesitate to warn John and, between them, they will try to prevent it from happening. The news needs to reach Hubert Walter first so that he can act on it with advantage.”

“I take it from all that you have said that Hubert Walter is more than just the Bishop of Salisbury these days,” Fulke said drily.

“Richard has given him the powers of a Justiciar and entrusted him with guarding the realm and raising a ransom.” Jean tugged the gambeson into place and took the spare belt and scabbarded hunting knife that Fulke handed him. “Also Richard has promised to sponsor Hubert for the post of Archbishop of Canterbury.”

Fulke uttered a low whistle and looked impressed.

“It was Hubert who held the troops together at Acre after the deaths of Ranulf de Glanville and Archbishop Baldwin. He’s been with Richard every step of the way and not faltered once.”

“It is strange that Hubert Walter is so loyal in Richard’s service but that Theobald cleaves to John,” Fulke commented as he donned his mail shirt.

“What else can he do? He is beholden to John for his Irish lands and he holds Lancaster Castle at the Prince’s pleasure. Being John’s man does not mean that he is John’s creature,” Jean said.

Scowling, Fulke jumped up and down to jolt the iron mesh over his body until the split hem swished at his knees. “No, and that makes it even harder to understand.” He donned his surcoat and latched his sword belt with rapid, jerky movements that betrayed his irritation.

“He has given his oath and he is a man of honor.” Jean raised a forefinger in warning. “Richard has no children. His brother is likely to be the next King, and then we must all give our oaths. I think my lord Walter bears that in mind also. Biting the hand that feeds is never wise.”

“Then that makes me a lackwit immediately,” Fulke said, and, settling the sword at his hip, strode outside into the burning summer heat.

Lancaster Castle, Summer 1193

The comb and mirror were exquisitely carved out of cream ivory set with tiny garnets and pearls. The mirror in its dainty hinged case was so rare an item that it was the first time Maude had ever seen one, although she knew they existed from listening to troubadours’ songs of fair ladies admiring themselves in their sweetly scented bowers.

Maude gazed briefly at her image in the glass. She had sufficient vanity to acknowledge the pleasing effect of her thick silver-gilt hair and clear green eyes, and enough common sense to know that her looks were the only facet of her life that mirrored the beguilement of a story.

It was her wedding day and the mirror and comb were gifts from the guest of honor, Prince John. Maude knew he had not come for the simple pleasure of celebrating the nuptials of one of his vassals. With all the unrest and rumor concerning King Richard, the Prince was here to bolster Theobald’s loyalty to his own cause.

John had arrived late the previous evening. Since Maude had already retired, the gift had been brought to her chamber this morning, together with the other bride gifts. There was a cloak brooch and a veil of the sheerest aquamarine silk, whip-hemmed in thread of gold, from Theobald; and from her father, a belt sewn with seed pearls and finished with strap ends of solid gold.

Maude gently closed the mirror and set it down on her coffer. Her stomach was churning. She was not ready to be a wife, but time had run out.

“You had your first bleed more than a year ago,” her father had said brusquely when informing her that the date of the marriage had been set for the midsummer feast of St. John. “Theobald Walter said he wanted to wait until you were old enough to breed, and you’re more than old enough now.”

Today she was to marry a man three times her age. That she liked him, that he was kinder than her father and would be a good provider, weighed little in the balance when she thought of her own part of the bargain. Nine months from now she could be a mother. Indeed, her father expected it of her. Nine months from now she could be dead. The thought galvanized her to her feet, but there was nowhere to go, except back and forth across the chamber like a trapped animal, and she refused to show her anxiety to the other women guests crowding the room.

Immediately her grandmother was at her, smoothing creases from the panels of the costly teal-colored gown, pinning a stray wisp of hair into place, adjusting the marriage chaplet of dog roses and musk-scented lilies twined with greenery and silver wire. Maude bore the fiddling with fraying patience. She dug her well-tended nails into her palms and tried to keep from screaming.

“Let the girl be, Mathilda.” Hawise FitzWarin detached herself from the other women. “Can’t you see that she’s wound as tightly as an overspun thread?”

Mathilda de Chauz inhaled to retort, but Hawise stole the space. “You have already worked wonders. Whatever you do, you cannot make her look more perfect than she does now…save perhaps that she needs more color in her face.” Hawise took Maude’s light cloak from the bench where it was draped. “Come, child, fresh air will do you more good than pinching your cheeks or dusting them with red powder.”

“But the men will be here at any moment!” Mathilda protested.

Hawise cast a glance beyond the open window to the courtyard below. “They’re not coming yet,” she said reasonably. “You don’t want her fainting in the middle of the wedding mass, do you?” Not giving Mathilda time to answer, Hawise whisked Maude out of the room and down the turret stairs. Behind them came sounds reminiscent of a disturbed hen house, rapidly fading as they descended.

“I remember being driven half-mad on my own wedding day by sage advice and fussing,” Hawse said sympathetically. “My hair would not lie tamely beneath my veil and you would have thought it the end of the world to hear the other women.”

They emerged from the tower into glorious sunshine. Between the service buildings, the sward was as green as emeralds and the smell of roasting meats for the marriage feast carried on the breeze. Maude’s stomach was hollow with hunger and nauseous with fear. She swallowed a retch.

“I know Theobald Walter is not the man of your choosing,” Hawise said, “but he is decent and honorable and you will not be ill-treated.”

“I know that, my lady.” Maude bit her lip.

“And for the moment it makes no difference.” With an understanding nod Hawise led Maude to the peace of the small garden tucked against the corner of the keep wall.

“What was…what was it like on your wedding night?” Maude asked as Hawise opened the gate of oak laths leading to a series of herb and flower beds, already heavy with scent in the midmorning heat.

“What was mine has no bearing on what will be yours.” Hawise refastened the gate behind them. “Brunin FitzWarin was my parents’ choice, but I wanted him desperately and we were close in age.” She looked sharply at Maude. “Has your grandmother said anything to you on the matter?”

Maude shook her head. “Only that I must be led by my husband and do my duty.” She flushed. “I know what that duty is, my lady, I am not entirely ignorant.”

“Only enough to be afraid,” Hawise said shrewdly and began to walk among the beds and borders, drawing Maude with her. “You ask about my wedding night. I would be lying if I said there was no discomfort, but the pleasure more than compensated.” She laughed softly. “I think that Brunin was more worried than I, because he was afraid of hurting me.” She lightly squeezed Maude’s shoulder. “Theobald Walter is no green boy to cause you pain through clumsiness or lack of consideration. This may not be a love match, but I promise that you will be cherished. Lord Walter cares for those who belong to him. My eldest son was a squire in his household for several years and could not have had a better mentor.”

Maude clung to the positive note in the older woman’s voice. She had to believe that it was going to be all right, that her life within marriage would be better than the one she led beneath her father’s roof.

The gate latch clicked and the women turned. Standing in the entrance was Theobald Walter himself. His tawny, graying curls had been trimmed and combed back so that they resembled rippled water. The badger-striped beard hugged his jawline which was still strong and taut. In honor of his marriage, his lean frame was clad in a long court tunic of deep blue wool and his belt was tooled with gold leaf.

“The women told me you had gone outside for a moment,” he said with a husky catch in his voice. “I thought I would find you here. It is the most peaceful part of the keep.”

The initial jolt of panic Maude had felt at his arrival subsided to a queasy flutter.

“Are you ready to come to chapel, my lady?” He held out his war-scarred hand. It was trembling slightly and Maude realized he was probably as tense as she was.

“Yes,” she whispered and, leaving Hawise’s side, went forward to put her own hand, and her trust, in Theobald’s.

***

The wedding ceremony itself was an affair not much longer than the betrothal. Theobald pledged his life to Maude as she pledged him hers in the keep’s small but elegantly appointed chapel. He placed a gold ring set with a ruby for constancy on her heart finger and this time the fit was perfect. She gazed at the blood-red stone with a strange sense of detachment. It was as if she were watching herself from a distance. It was her voice making the vows, her hand extending to receive the ring, but there was no reality to the moment, no connection between action and mind.

The wedding mass followed the pledging. Maude knelt and stood in the right places, murmured the responses, opened her mouth for the wafer, sipped the red wine of Christ’s blood, all without feeling. Behind her, from the place where Prince John stood, she heard an exaggerated sigh and the impatient shuffle of feet. John had a reputation for giving religious observance short measure. She had heard it said that he chose his household chaplains by the speed with which they were able to say mass and no other criteria.

The priest, able to take a hint, bustled through the remainder of the ceremony and finished with a blessing upon Maude and Theobald. The guests crowded around to offer their congratulations. Maude was embraced by people she scarcely knew, the soft cheeks of women pressing to hers, the harsher rasp of masculine mustaches and beards. And then hands at her waist in a more intimate grip and hot eyes that pierced the shell of her numbness.

“Theobald certainly knew what he was doing when he chose you for his bride,” said John. “You were a pale little bud at your betrothal, but now you’re a ripe blossom on the bough and it’s my privilege to sup the nectar.”

Other guests had kissed her cheek. One or two had claimed her lips, but only in a salutary peck. John pulled her against him as no man had ever done and brought his mouth down on hers. The pressure of his lips made hers part and, swift as a darting fish, his tongue slipped inside.

Maude’s eyes widened in shock and she bucked within John’s embrace like a wild colt. Her teeth snapped together and if he had not removed his tongue smartly, he would have been well bitten.

Panting with outrage and revulsion, she glared at him, but John merely smiled and dabbed his wet lips with the back of his hand.

“Given time, you’ll learn what pleases,” he murmured. “It’s rather a pity I cannot teach you, though. I fear your innocence will be wasted on Theobald.”

Maude’s instinct was to kick him in the groin and run, but she was constrained by circumstance to hold her ground. She thought that she was going to be sick, and it would serve John right if she vomited all over his fine gilded shoes.

“Sire, give me leave to congratulate your bride.” Hawise FitzWarin swept a deep curtsey to John and gave him an alluring look through her lashes, which said that younger women had their charms, but older ones had had much more time to practice them.

John’s lips curved with amusement. “Of a certainty, Lady…?”

“FitzWarin,” said Hawise sweetly. “My eldest son was trained in Lord Walter’s household—and for a time in yours.”

John’s smile withered at the corners but Hawise had already turned to Maude and, with a protective arm around her shoulders, led her toward Theobald.

“Bitch,” John said softly.

Maude was grateful to lean on the strength of Hawise’s arm. “Thank you, my lady.”

“It was a pleasure,” Hawise replied with more than a hint of relish.

“He put his tongue in my mouth.” Maude shuddered.

Hawise made a low sound, conveying sympathy and outrage. “I would have bitten him,” she said vehemently.

“I tried, but he was too swift.” Maude looked anxiously at Theobald, whom they were fast approaching. “Do…do all men do that?”

“Not like John, no,” Hawise said diplomatically. “And your husband is neither a lecher, nor a boor.”

Maude still felt queasy but she managed a wan smile for Theobald. When he smiled in response and stooped to kiss her lips, she kept them closed and only flinched a little.

***

Late into the evening the women gathered around Maude to escort her to the bridal chamber, and the men surrounded Theobald. Bawdy suggestions and advice flew from wine-loosened tongues, most of them masculine.

“Pay no heed,” Hawise said in Maude’s ear. “It’s just drunken foolery and they’ll be gone soon.”

“But not before I have to stand naked before them,” Maude said. As part of the ceremony, she and Theobald would be stripped so that all could witness that there was no physical reason for one to repudiate the other. The thought of standing unclothed and vulnerable beneath Prince John’s predatory stare made her shudder.

“Your grandmother and I will make sure that part is over as quickly as possible.” Hawise patted Maude’s shoulder. “And so, I think, will Theobald. He is no lover of exhibition.”

But Prince John was. With dragging feet, Maude went unwillingly to the turret stair. As she set her foot on the first step, a messenger entered the hall, accompanied by one of John’s squires. The man’s boots and the hem of his cloak were powdered with dust and his face gaunt with exhaustion.

The masculine group ceased its progress. Theobald pushed his way out of the center and beckoned to the messenger.

“I bear letters for His Highness, Prince John.” The messenger knelt at Theobald’s feet—more out of exhaustion than reverence.

Frowning, John left the guests, his hand held out for the sealed packet that the man had withdrawn from his leather satchel. “No, stay,” he commanded as Theobald made to leave. “I may need you.”

“Sire.” Theobald inclined his head and signaled the women to continue to the bridal chamber.

***

Hair combed until it shone like a silver mirror, her otherwise naked body wrapped in a warm, fur-lined cloak, Maude waited for her husband and watched the night candle burn down the hours. She was no longer afraid. That mood had passed into a numb daze, enhanced by the spiced wine with which Lady FitzWarin had been liberally plying her. Her eyelids had begun to feel heavy and sore with the effort of staying awake. Clenching a yawn between her teeth, Maude glanced over her shoulder at the bed, its coverlet thrown back to show an inviting expanse of crisp linen sheet. If only she could lie down and go to sleep. But no one was going to allow her to do that.

The sound of male voices echoing in the stairwell pierced her numbness, and her heart began to pound. The women guests who had been desultorily chatting and eating fig pastries from a salver, dusted crumbs from their gowns, finished their wine, and stood ready.

Still fully clothed, the groom was ushered into the room. With a flood of relief that almost buckled her knees, Maude saw that Prince John and the knights of his entourage were not present. Theobald’s visage was drawn with tiredness, the creases fanning from his eye corners were no longer lifted by a smile. His companions too were more subdued than earlier, although it did not stop William Reinfred from nudging the groom and offering five hundred marks of silver to take his place.

“Not for all the wealth in England,” Theobald said, and sent Maude a reassuring look as the men began disrobing him.