Hellion (30 page)

Summer 1103-Midsummer 1104

Chapter 11

I
sabelle stared nervously into the polished silver mirror that Mavis had brought her. She could scarcely believe the elegant young woman staring back at her was Isabelle of Langston. She was wearing her yellow skirt with the tawny orange tunic. The tunic was girdled with linked copper disks enameled in yellow. A matching brooch was fastened upon her left shoulder. Her hair was neatly contained by a gold caul which was studded with tiny freshwater pearls. Over her head was a sheer gauze veil shot through with copper and held in place by a yellow enameled circlet. Belle wiggled her toes in the new soft shoes which had been dyed yellow to match her skirts. “I am really beautiful,” she said softly. All her life she had been compared to Alette and found wanting; but now she realized it was just that the two were different in appearance, and Alette conformed to the fashionable ideal of beauty.

“Mary, Mother of God!” Mavis swore. “Are you just now realizing
that
, Belle? Of course you’re beautiful.” Then she laughed. “Looking at one’s self in the waters of a pond never tells you all, does it?”

Isabelle shook her head. “No,” she admitted. “My mother has a small copper mirror, but it isn’t as large or as clear as your silver one, Mavis. Thank you for bringing it so I might see myself.”

“And do you
now
understand the dangers you face from the king?” Mavis demanded in serious tones. “Oh, there are women at court, most of them better garbed and from more
powerful families, but Henry Beauclerc will see only you, Belle. Do be careful, and do not displease him.”

“I will not shame my husband willingly, Mavis,” Isabelle said in a quiet voice. “Not even with a king. And the king should not allow his lust to erase a friendship of such long standing.”

Mavis shook her dark head. “God help you,” she said, “for surely now only He can, Belle.”

The hall was a wonder, and Isabelle tried very hard to maintain her composure, but it was difficult. She could not help staring. Enormous fireplaces, six in all, lined the hall, three to a side. Above them were soaring, arched windows. From the carved and gilded beams of the hall hung banners of multicolored silk such as she had never before beheld, and the noise was incredible. Over a hundred people inhabited the king’s hall, seated at the trestle tables upon benches, their places secured by not simply their rank, but by their importance to the king personally. A man above the salt today could be well below it a month hence. The two young women found places toward the rear of the hall, settling themselves with a group of other ladies.

“This is Isabelle of Langston, Hugh Fauconier’s wife,” Mavis said, introducing her to the other women. “She is newly come to court with her stepfather, Rolf de Briard.”

The others extended their welcome to Belle, examining her closely, nodding their approval at her garments, which, while suitable, were not above her station. “A well-brought-up young woman” was the silent consensus of Isabelle’s table companions.

“I have not seen Hugh Fauconier yet, my lady,” one of the women noted, “but I have seen that charming scamp, Rolf de Briard.”

“My husband is overdue on king’s business,” Belle answered carefully. “I could not bear to wait at home a moment longer, and so my stepfather brought me to Winchester that we might seek the latest word of Hugh.”

“Have you children yet?” another woman inquired.

“A son,” Belle replied. “I left him in my mother’s keeping.”

“Ah, very wise,” an older lady approved. “If not a mother’s love, a grandmother’s is next best. It will have been many years, however, since your mother had the keeping of an infant, I’ll wager.”

“Oh, no, my lady!” Belle said, laughing. “Sir Rolf has already given my mother two children, and she tells him she longs for more.”

“Gracious!” the older lady declared, and then she chuckled. “Your stepfather is certainly a lusty fellow, but then, he was raised with the king, and we all know what sort of fellow he is!” This remark was followed by much worldly merriment.

Isabelle blushed. “So I have been told,” she said. Then she turned away, undoing the little knife that hung from her girdle so she might spear any food offered her. Before her lay a fresh trencher of newly baked bread. While the king and his high nobles might eat off gold and silver plates, those at the back of the hall made do with hollowed-out loaves of bread to contain their food. She leaned over to Mavis and whispered, “Where is Rolf?”

“Up near the high board, I’ll wager,” Mavis returned. “He’ll be with all of his old friends, the king’s personal companions. They’re a bawdy group. It’s no place for an innocent like you.”

Those at the rear of the hall were first offered fat prawns steamed in seaweed, and then venison stew was ladled into their trenchers. The sauce was of red wine and dill, but Belle was not certain how fresh the meat was and ate sparingly. Her cup, however, was filled with a respectable red wine. Afterward there were sugar wafers. I was better off eating in my chamber, Isabelle decided wryly.

Rolf arrived when she was barely finished with her meal. Kneeling by her side, he said softly, “I would formally present you to the king and queen, Belle.” Then he smiled at her as he rose. “How pretty you look, daughter.”

Belle stood, brushing crumbs and imaginary wrinkles from
her skirts. Politely, she excused herself and followed her stepfather to a place before the high board. They stood quietly, waiting to be recognized. Belle saw the king surreptitiously glance their way, but he made no move to acknowledge them. They waited, and she could feel her temper rising. She dared not, however, show any irritation. Finally the queen turned her head, and seeing them, leaned over to whisper to her husband. The king turned his head, and feigning surprise at seeing them there, smiled broadly.

“Sir Rolf de Briard,” he said, “and who is this with you?” Although the king knew very well who Isabelle was, their first introduction had been in secret, and must remain so. No one else could know that they had already met, lest the rigid court protocol be discommoded.

“My liege,” Rolf said formally, “may I present to you, and to our most noble and good queen Maude, my stepdaughter, the lady Isabelle of Langston, wife to Sir Hugh Fauconier.” He bowed, and Belle curtsied.

“We welcome you most heartily,” King Henry said jovially. “I have but recently sent to my brother for word of Sir Hugh. You will both stay with us until I have received an answer, will you not?” He smiled toothily.

“Gladly, my liege, and you have our thanks for your gracious hospitality,” Rolf answered, bowing again deeply.

Isabelle remained upright in a silent show of defiance. The king grinned, a flick of his eye acknowledging her challenge. Then the queen spoke. Her soft voice was tinged with the sound of her Scots homeland. Her gentle blue eyes were guileless, her expression sweet. She was quite large with child.

“Have you children, my lady Isabelle?” she asked, her hand going instinctively to her rounded belly.

Belle’s anger melted. “Aye, madame, a son, known as Hugh the Younger,” she said with a smile. “He is in my mother’s care.”

The queen nodded. “It is difficult, I know,” she told Belle, “to be torn between one’s children and one’s duty. You are
welcome to my chambers.” She smiled her sweet smile at Isabelle.

“I thank you, madame, for your kindness,” Belle replied, and then she curtsied to the queen, understanding that they were now dismissed.

“Nicely done,” Rolf told her as they moved away.

The meal was over and the tables were cleared away. There was entertainment: a minstrel from Ireland who sang poignantly of death and noble battles; a juggler who, to Isabelle’s amazement, could keep four gilded balls in the air at once; and a man and a woman with a pack of little dogs who danced on their hind legs, pirouetting across the stone floor of the hall to much clapping from the onlookers. Isabelle had never seen anything like it. She laughed, and clapped enthusiastically, a becoming flush staining her cheeks.

“Have you told anyone that you have a room to yourself?” Rolf suddenly asked her, concerned.

Isabelle shook her head. “No,” she said. “Why would such a matter even come up? My sleeping arrangements can hardly be of interest to anyone else.”

“If no one knows that you have been given the luxury of your own little chamber, no one will suspect that you are involved with the king,” Rolf explained to her. “If anyone should discover it, play the innocent and say you thought it was due to the friendship the king has for your husband that you were given such an honor.”

“I am not involved with the king,” Belle said calmly.

“We both know it is just a matter of time,” Rolf replied patiently.

“Shall I invite Mavis to share my quarters?” Belle said.

“Mavis has a bed,” Rolf said a trifle irritably. “Do not be a little fool, Isabelle. You know better.”

“
I will not whore for any man!
” Belle hissed angrily.

“
I will not argue with you further on this matter
,” he retorted. “You damn well know that your first duty is to
Langston and Hugh. If that means personally serving the king, you must!”

“Hugh would hardly be pleased to find Henry Beauclerc lusting after me, Rolf, and well you know it. I will avoid the king’s attentions as best I can, I assure you,” she said firmly.

“
And when you can no longer avoid the king
?” he demanded.

“Pray that time does not come,” Isabelle replied. Then curtseying to her stepfather, she found her way from the hall to her own chamber.

“Were you much admired?” Agneatha asked eagerly as Isabelle entered the room. “Did you see the king? Was the queen there? Is she pretty?”

Belle laughed at her serving woman’s enthusiasm. “Of course I saw the king,” she said, “and the queen, too. She is certainly pretty, but she looks so tired. I imagine I looked the same way when I was carrying young Hugh. The meal, however, was horrendous. I will be so glad to get home. The venison in the stew was tough, and the meat, I suspect, had hung a bit too long.”

Agneatha carefully helped Belle remove her beautiful tunic. The maidservant then examined the garment thoroughly. “Not a single spot,” she announced triumphantly. She brushed the tunic with painstaking care, gave it a shake, and folding it neatly, packed it away in the storage trunk. She followed a similar procedure with Isabelle’s long skirts while her mistress removed her soft shoes, setting them aside. Agneatha filled a small basin with warm water, and Isabelle bathed her hands, neck, and face. Then she scrubbed her teeth with a small, rough cloth and a paste made up of finely ground chalk, propolis, and mint. Rinsing her mouth, Isabelle next undid her tresses from their caul, and sat down so Agneatha could brush the long red-gold hair.

“Lady Mavis’s serving wench tells me they’ll soon be hunting in the New Forest,” Agneatha said. “There is a royal lodge where the king and his guests stay; and the other great
lords have lodges there as well. Do you think we’ll be invited, lady?”

“I expect so,” Belle said. “Lind should be here soon with Couper, and Sir Rolf’s falcon.” She sighed. “I wish we were home, Agneatha. Oh, how I wish my lord husband were here and we were all home!”

“Ohhh, lady, I think it ever so exciting to be visiting here with the king and his court!” Agneatha enthused. “When we go home, I shall have traveled more than anyone of my station in memory at Langston. I like it here. Langston is boring, with its humdrum everyday life.”

“Yet I prefer it,” Isabelle replied.

The door to the chamber opened suddenly and the king entered, smiling, as Agneatha, open-mouthed, dropped the hairbrush. “You know who I am, wench?” he asked her in jovial tones.

Agneatha nodded, struck dumb, stumbling clumsily as she curtsied.

“You will wait outside your mistress’s chamber with the guardsman, and not enter here or allow anyone else entry until I tell you it is permissible. Do you understand, girl?”

“Yes, my liege!” The maidservant’s voice was strangled. Then she backed from the room, eyes wide.

Going to the door, the king bolted it behind her.

“How dare you intrude upon my privacy,” Isabelle said in icy tones. She held herself straight, but her heart was hammering wildly.

He turned. “I thought you very beautiful this evening in your new gown,” the king said, ignoring her obvious anger, “but I think you more beautiful now in just your smock, your lovely hair loose and shining.” Reaching out, he fingered a silken lock. “It is like silk to my touch.”

“My liege, you insult me,” she rejoined angrily. “Worse, you betray a friendship my husband treasures.”

“To be bedded by your king is counted an honor, Isabelle,”
he told her, and moved closer to her, snaking his arm out to capture her.

Belle moved even more swiftly, avoiding that proprietary grip. “I count it no honor to be forced into whoredom,
even for the king
,” she said coldly. “You are a man, my liege. No less. No more. An accident of birth has set you higher upon the ladder of life than others, than my Hugh; but it should not give you the right to force yourself upon me!”