Whited Sepulchres (29 page)

‘Joanna, I think that’s enough now.’

Joanna came to herself with a start. She’d been combing Isabelle’s hair over and over again, and it glistened in the sunlight. ‘Oh, sorry, my lady.’ She replaced the comb on the dressing table, carefully, for it would be a difficult item to replace if it broke, and fitted the gold circlet on Isabelle’s head, smoothing back a few stray hairs.

Isabelle stood. ‘Well, how do I look?’

‘You look beautiful, my lady. Truly.’ And she did – not so much from the fine gown and jewellery, although these were magnificent, but rather because she looked happy. The habitual expression of petulance and disappointment which she had worn ever since Joanna had known her were gone, and she was transformed. After all these years of snipping and sniping, spitefulness and tantrums, Joanna found that she could be glad for Isabelle and her good fortune. She smiled.

Isabelle was looking her up and down. ‘You look very presentable, too. But maybe …’ She rummaged in the box of jewels on the table and picked out a necklace studded with green stones. ‘Here. Robert gave it to me when we were married, so it comes from your family.’

Joanna reached out to take it and place it round her own neck. Isabelle’s first husband, Robert de Lacy, had been her cousin, though she hadn’t known him very well. ‘Thank you, my lady – I’ll be honoured to wear it, and I’ll take good care of it until this evening.’

Isabelle smiled and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You can keep it. Today is a day of new beginnings, so it’s fitting you should have something new.’ Joanna was overwhelmed and tried to speak, but Isabelle put a finger to her lips. ‘Shush now, or I’ll be in no fit state to be seen.’ She squared her shoulders and smoothed her hair. ‘Now. Let us go out and see what our new life brings us.’

Joanna followed her past the curtain and out into the great chamber, where the earl was waiting, drumming his fingers on the arm of a chair. He stood as they entered, magnificent in a tunic shot through with gold which matched the rings on his fingers, and nodded his approval. ‘Good. Shall we?’ He offered his arm.

As he and Isabelle swept towards the door, being held open by Adam, Joanna noticed Martin for the first time. He was looking at her with such admiration in his eyes that she couldn’t mistake it. Her heart lifted. Maybe she did look well in her new gown and necklace. She cast a glance to make sure Isabelle was out of sight, and curtseyed to him, laughing. ‘Shall we?’

Carefully, Martin held out his own arm; and from the chair to the door, before they might be seen in public, she held it as she floated behind her mistress, imagining that one day she might have a wedding of her own.

Outside the rest of the party were assembled, and the earl led Isabelle to the white palfrey which was waiting with flowers braided into its mane and tail. As she was in her new gown, and as the palfrey would be led at a sedate walking pace, Isabelle sat sideways in the saddle, her skirts spread out over the horse’s rump. Although the church was only a matter of a few hundred yards away and the wedding would be small, some ceremony was necessary for an earl’s sister, so the party rode out through the gate accompanied by soldiers marching on either side, with many of the rest of the household walking behind, wearing their Sunday clothes. This time Joanna didn’t have her own horse, and alas, it was Martin who was leading Isabelle’s, so she sat pillion behind Sir Roger, spreading her own skirts out and holding his belt. Despite last night’s events, the party was merry as it made its way to the village, even Henry de Stuteville patting his ample frame and saying he was looking forward to the feast later. The only exception was the Lady Ela, her face bruised as she sat behind her husband without speaking.

The village was nearly empty – Joanna assumed their work wouldn’t stop for the wedding – but there were a few old men and women, a couple of younger women who were very heavy with child, and a few small children. Most were staring at Isabelle, as well they might, for the sight of a woman’s long hair in public was rare, as was a gown of that astounding colour. Joanna also spotted William, the castle steward, holding himself up on a pair of crutches; he pulled off his cap and bowed his head as they went past. Most of the riders were too busy with their own conversations to notice him, but Sir Geoffrey acknowledged him with a nod. Thank the Lord Edwin didn’t seem to be anywhere, or there might have been violence despite the happy occasion.

They stopped outside the church, where Father Ignatius was waiting, and dismounted. Sir Roger helped her down from the horse, his hands on her waist, and Joanna noticed Martin scowling in the background. She shook out her skirts and stepped forward to help Isabelle do the same, making a few last adjustments to straighten her necklace and smooth her hair. Then the earl, Isabelle and Sir Gilbert stepped forward to stand in front of the church door.

The ceremony itself was simple. The earl announced in a loud voice that he gave his sister to Sir Gilbert, and then he named the dowry payment; Sir Gilbert in turn declared which of his lands would be hers to hold as a dower and which would be hers to keep if he died before her. Joanna listened to the list, having no idea where any of the places were, but wondering if she might see them one day. But then, if she did, it would be as part of her new life, the life which didn’t have Martin in it. She wished she knew what to feel. Every moment of the day she seemed to be veering back and forth between excitement at the possibility of new horizons and the crushing sadness and panic at the thought of leaving the place which had been her home these past years.

The priest asked if anyone knew a reason why the two should not be married, which was thankfully met with silence. The bride and groom made their vows – he to guard and cherish her, she to honour and obey him – and plighted their troth. Sir Gilbert put a ring on Isabelle’s finger, and Father Ignatius pronounced them man and wife. Then they all went into the church for the nuptial Mass.

When they emerged, the villagers were still there, chatting to the household staff who had remained outside, some of whom were their friends and relatives anyway. They all raised a cheer, and Sir Gilbert, disentangling his hand from Isabelle’s for a moment, reached to the purse at his belt. He smiled broadly and to their delight flung a handful of pennies into the air, which they scrabbled for, shouting out their thanks. Joanna spotted one figure not moving: it was the little boy who was Sir Roger’s servant, whose name she couldn’t at present remember. He had looked as though he might join in, but was too proud to crawl with the other children without his lord’s approval. Unfortunately Sir Roger wasn’t looking that way, as he was watching the shower of coins; but Sir Gilbert saw him, and with precision he placed a penny on his thumb and flicked it straight at him, to be caught neatly. The boy had a smile which was nearly bigger than his face, and Joanna nodded to herself at the thought of Isabelle’s future.

Then it was back to the castle for dinner. Joanna didn’t have a large experience of weddings, but she had thought that this would be the main feast and that they’d probably be in there all day. But in fact it appeared that this was to be a normal meal, as the men had decided to celebrate the occasion with tilting and sparring during the afternoon, so they didn’t want to be too full of food or too drunk. The main celebration would therefore be in the evening.

But still, the meal was good and the company jovial, and there was applause when the minstrel took his place for the final time to conclude his epic tale. Joanna concentrated on the dishes in front of her during the gory final battle and its aftermath, wondering at the cheers and whistles when the traitor Ganelon was torn apart by wild horses. But one part of the narrative caught her attention: a lady called Aude, who was Olivier’s sister and betrothed to Roland, didn’t appear in the story except at the end to hear about what happened and then to die of grief. Joanna almost snorted to herself – women didn’t simply die of grief when things like that happened, however much they might want to. And she should know.

She sat in silence for a while, dipping a piece of manchet loaf into the sauce on her trencher and chewing it absent-mindedly. She was at a crossroads in her own life, one even bigger than when her own brother had died. Was she to be like Aude, pathetic and anonymous? No. She would not die of grief at the thought of being separated from Martin. Instead she would go forth into the world, to the other end of the realm, with Isabelle, and would see where life took her. If she was meant to be with Martin then the Lord would arrange that in some way which He knew best. She put the bread down firmly and clenched her fist under the table. She would be brave. She would be a woman of the world.

As the meal wore on, she wondered if she could get away from the table without anyone seeing her tears.

Martin was excited. As the earl and his guests left the table, he piled some food on a trencher and stuffed it in his mouth as fast as he could. There was to be sparring, and he was to take part along with the other squires. Thank the Lord his stiffness was wearing off – he still felt tender and bruised, but at least he could move. He looked around at the others, trying to assess whether any of them would be difficult opponents. His eye passed over the couple of little pages, past the adolescent who was Henry de Stuteville’s second squire, and over to William, the senior in that household, who looked pretty tough and who’d obviously broken his nose in a past encounter. The only other one who might give him any trouble was Eustace, Sir Gilbert’s squire, who was quiet but efficient in everything he did, which would presumably mean he paid proper attention to his training.

He finished eating and hurried to the armoury to collect his gear before heading out to the tiltyard, a little slowly due to the weight of the armour slung over both shoulders. Adam had gone with the earl to attend him until he was ready to come down too. At the tiltyard Sir Geoffrey was organising some training bouts in a roped-off area: most of the castle guards who weren’t on duty were there, along with a number of Sir Gilbert’s men and some from the other households, and the castellan had set some of them up in pairs to spar, while the others cheered them on. Martin watched for a while as he waited for the earl and his guests to arrive, which they did at a leisurely pace some time afterwards. They’d changed out of their wedding clothes, even the earl.

The nobles stationed themselves around the rope and watched their men spar, making some small wagers with each other on the outcomes. Meanwhile, at the earl’s nod, Sir Geoffrey set up some separate bouts between the squires. First up were Adam and Henry de Stuteville’s second squire, who were about the same age. They put on padded gambesons and fought with the familiar wooden swords which Martin himself had often used when he was younger. He had now moved on to using metal weapons of the same size and weight as real ones but with blunted edges, such as those the other men were using. Still, he well remembered the pain that even the wooden weapons could inflict, and he winced in sympathy as Adam received a solid thwack to his right elbow which he would feel even through the padding. He dropped his sword for a moment, the blow having numbed his fingers, but after a polite enquiry from the other, he grimaced, picked it up again and indicated that he was ready to continue. Martin heard a grunt of approval from Sir Geoffrey beside him, keeping an eye on his charge even while concentrating on everything else.

Martin turned his attention back to the men-at-arms who were sparring with blunted weapons, to see if he could pick up any tips from their greater experience. He might be strong, but, as Sir Geoffrey always said, it was no use relying on strength alone if the other man was cleverer or more skilled than yourself, so it would be good to take the opportunity to learn in the hope that he might one day be of some use to his lord. One of Sir Gilbert’s men in particular caught his eye. A man of average size or just more, he was moving more quickly than many of the others despite the weight of his mail, and, unusually, he seemed to be using the point of his sword almost as much as the edge. The blade seemed to flicker as he brought it back and forth, confusing his opponent as he landed a number of blows. However, as Martin noted, the strikes may have been great in number but they weren’t overly hard and perhaps might not have been incapacitating even with a sharp weapon. Still, he resolved to experiment with the technique himself when he next had the chance. That would show cleverness.

Adam and the other squire had finished their bout, and now Eustace and William were gearing up. Damn – if they were to fight each other then that would leave nobody for Martin to face, and he might miss out. He watched them for a while: he’d been right that Eustace was competent and that William was quite tough, but he rapidly came to the conclusion that neither of them was a match for him, and he regretted that he wasn’t going to get the chance to show off a win to the earl.

He looked at the earl, who was conversing with Sir Gilbert while they watched the boys. Eventually Eustace emerged the winner and Sir Gilbert patted him on the back as he divested himself of his gambeson and took a drink. Then he spoke to the earl again; they nodded to each other and the earl beckoned to Martin and told him to go and fetch his armour. As he raced off – followed by Eustace, who was panting, as well he might be – he could hardly believe it. He was about to see the earl himself engage in a bout with Sir Gilbert! What a privilege to be able to see not one but two of the nobles of the kingdom displaying their skills. The two squires grinned at each other as their ways parted inside the inner ward.

Within a short space of time Martin returned laden with the earl’s equipment. There was a collective sigh of expectation as all the men in the tiltyard realised what was about to happen, and a hush descended as the two nobles were armed.

Martin laid everything out on the ground and turned to help his lord. He stood ready as the earl buckled a belt around his waist, and then assisted him to don his chausses – mail leggings which were held up by being tied to the belt with leather thongs. Next he held up the heavy quilted gambeson while the earl inserted his head and arms, and then he pulled it down firmly to ensure that it was fitted correctly about the shoulders ready for the hauberk. Then it was on with the padded coif so that the links of the mail hood wouldn’t get caught in the earl’s hair; Martin stooped to tie the strings under the earl’s chin. The hauberk came next, the mail made up of thousands of riveted links and immensely heavy. Martin ensured that the garment didn’t get caught on anything and fell smoothly down to the earl’s knees before helping him on with the mittens which hung from the end of the sleeves and making sure the hood wasn’t obscuring his face. Then the earl raised his arms while Martin buckled a much sturdier belt around his waist, pulling it as tight as he could to help support some of the weight of the armour so it wasn’t all hanging from his shoulders. This was followed by the great helm which covered the whole of his face, and then the shield on his left arm. Finally Martin held out the great sword in its scabbard, but the earl gestured that he wouldn’t belt it round him. Instead he merely drew it smoothly, the polished blade glinting in the sunlight, and stood ready for his opponent. Martin saw that Eustace had been marginally slower in arming Sir Gilbert, but in a few moments he too was ready.