The Devil's Diadem (43 page)

The chapel, ablaze with candle and torchlight, was already crowded, people shuffling and coughing and rubbing hands beneath mantles in the cold air, and I think the crowd was much relieved when Edmond arrived. Prince Henry accompanied him, to my disappointment, for I had hoped he may have found something else to occupy himself this Hallowmas, but I suppose I had to expect him to attend Advent court. Also accompanying Edmond were two younger men, one only a boy, who, by reason of resemblance, were immediately apparent to me as his younger sons, Richard and John. I looked about for Adelaide, Edmond’s queen, but if she, too, was attending Advent court, then the lucky woman must still be snuggled in her bed.

Once mass and prayers and blessings were done, we moved to the great hall, where lay food with which to break our fast. We did not sit down, but rather moved about, picking what we wanted, and supping of small beer and weak ale as we chatted with acquaintances, discussing the day ahead.

There was a buzz of excitement in the hall. Today was to be a festive hunt in the forests to the east of London. Almost all of the court, save the infirm, were to attend. When Raife and I (and our household) had ridden through the outer bailey earlier it had been a bustle of activity as huntsmen, grooms, falconers and houndsmen were moving their charges from stables, kennels and mews into the outer bailey ready for their masters to ride out.

I had never ridden to the hunt before, and was slightly anxious, but excited also.

‘It will be more of a gentle ride through the fields, marshes and forests than a true hunt,’ said Alianor, standing with me, and warmly wrapped in a fur mantle. ‘Can you imagine this lot setting off at a gallop from Ald Gate? We would frighten any game into France within moments!’

‘Then I am certain the men will be disappointed,’ I said, ‘for surely they would relish the opportunity to display their hunting prowess to their lady folk.’

‘They will find something to slaughter,’ Alianor said. ‘No one will enjoy the day until a little blood be spilt. We will ride gently, my dear, in honour of your baby, and at the earliest opportunity will make our excuses and guide our horses to that field chosen for our picnic. There we shall make ourselves comfortable by the nearest brazier, sip spiced wine and, when our menfolk arrive, shall make loud praise about their prowess.’

I laughed, and prepared to enjoy the day.

We rode out not long after. We made a procession down the stairs, through the lesser hall, and then down the wooden stairs to the inner bailey where grooms held our horses for us. By now the sun was risen and the moisture of the night steamed from walls and cobbles. To my relief I saw that it was a cloudless day. It would be cold — this was the first day of winter — but it would not rain, and the sun would be welcome.

Raife was clearly looking forward to the day and the hunt. He jostled and shouted with the rest of the men, heated by excitement. As we rode out, Alianor on her pretty bay palfrey by my side, he came over with Gilbert Ghent.

He greeted Alianor, then looked to me. ‘Are you well, wife?’ he asked, and smiled at my nod.

‘Ghent will ride with you today, to make sure you are kept safe,’ Raife continued, his courser skittering beneath him, eager to be off.

I looked at Ghent, who was trying — and failing — to keep the disappointment from his face. No doubt he’d have much preferred to have ridden with the rest of the nobles at full chase.

‘I am most glad of your company, sir,’ I said, and gave him a sweet smile which I hoped was some compensation for his duty this day.

We rode in splendid procession out from the Conqueror’s Tower and then north through the fields to Fenechirche Street, ignoring Tower Gate though it was the closest gate for us to exit London. Instead, Edmond wanted to ride in procession through eastern London and depart via Ald Gate. There were, I believe, several hundred among us: nobles, knights, squires, grooms, various huntsmen and falconers, servants accompanying the oxen-trundled carts that carried the tents and tables and food for our field feast, spare horses and, of course, the dogs, both hunting hounds and pleasure dogs, the latter running up and down the column of riders, barking with excitement and in constant danger of being trampled by horses over-excited by the noise and desperate to run.

As well as numerous, we were colourful. Everyone wore the best clothes they could that were also suitable for hunting. As the sun rose higher it glittered from buckles, jewelled sword belts and mantle clasps (I wore Edmond’s gift). Pennants and banners fluttered from staffs. The horses were clad in their best harnesses and bright cloths covered their rumps. Dulcette was resplendent in scarlet leather and rump cloth embroidered with gold and turquoise. Her mane and tail had been washed yesterday and were left to wave and flow in the sun.

It was impossible not to enjoy myself. Many Londoners had come out to line Fenechirche Street and wave us on our way — their enthusiasm no doubt fed, as their stomachs were, by the meat pies Edmond had caused to be handed out. Horns sounded, bells rang, pipes and drums played, and gaiety filled the air. I sat Dulcette, Alianor by my side, and we smiled and dimpled and waved at the people lining the street. Even Gilbert Ghent overcame his disappointment at having to stay by my side and straightened in the saddle, doing his best to look like one of the Arthurian knights riding out on some romantic, idealistic quest.

We rode down Fenechirche, past Holy Trinity Priory (whose occupants I hoped were even now in our house, delousing it of imps), through Ald Gate (draped in huge banners depicting the king’s devices), and past Saint Botolph’s without Ald Gate, and thence down the road that led into the forests to the east.

As we reached the forest, the column halted, and split into two: those who would take their falcons down to the marshlands abutting the Thames to hunt heron, and those who wished to hunt boar, and perhaps even deer, in the forests. The wagons carrying the equipment and food for our field feast went with the heron hunters, for the field chosen to host our feast bordered both forest and marshlands.

Here Alianor and I split, too. Alianor loved to hunt with her falcon, and so she peeled off to join the hunting in the marshlands. I had hesitated, but eventually decided to stay with the main group who headed into the forest — to Ghent’s evident relief.

Alianor gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and said we should meet up in the field later, and then she was off, calling to her falconer to join her.

Dulcette and I headed into the forest. This was relatively lightly wooded land, but with trees that were from ancient times. They stood all about us: elm, beech, oak, chestnut, and many others, mostly unleaved now, their ancient trunks twisted and gnarled and thick, their branches arching and winding overhead to provide a canopy as fine as any stone vault I had ever seen. The ground underneath was thickly carpeted in autumn leaves. Sunlight streamed from overhead in many-splintered sunbeams, piercing the thin morning mist which was still trapped among the trees.

I had never seen anything so beautiful, nor so peaceful.

I reined in Dulcette, letting the hunting party stream ahead, the dogs baying, the riders shouting. I just wanted to enjoy this mystical, ancient, comforting forest.

I rode for a while, grateful that the horses and their riders and the dogs had gone far ahead — I could just make them out at the limits of my hearing. Dulcette seemed content to pace along at an extended walk — I think she, too, revelled in the calm and peace of the forest.

Poor Ghent rode his horse behind me. I could hear the despondent thudding of its hooves into the soft carpet of leaves, and I thought both Ghent and horse must have wished desperately to be riding with the hunt.

I looked over my shoulder. Ghent and his horse, riding ten or so paces behind me, were bathed in bright dappled sunlight, so much so that I could barely make out any features of either horse or rider.

‘I am most sorry, Gilbert,’ I said, ‘to be such a sluggard at the hunt.’

He made a deprecating gesture with his leather-gloved hand, managing to convey that somehow he, too, was enjoying the peaceful, sunlit ride. Happier, I turned back to the path, sitting so relaxed that I thought I could almost doze in the comparative warmth of the forest.

After a while I
did
actually catch myself dozing, and thought that perhaps I should make my way to the field where we were to feast. Hopefully by now the servants would have set up braziers and chairs, and I could doze in more safety there than on Dulcette’s back in the forest.

I turned again in the saddle. ‘Gilbert,’ I said, ‘which way to the field where we are to dine?’

He was still bathed by the bright sun which glinted from every piece of maille that he wore, his concealing helmet, and his gold and silver surcoat. Strange, I had been sure that Ghent had been wearing a blue surcoat earlier, and certainly no maille or helmet, but maybe I had been too excited to take true note. I thought he said something, though I did not quite catch it, but he pointed to the south, turning his horse that way, and so I likewise turned Dulcette and we made our way through the trees.

Ghent rode by my side, now, at a similar distance as he had ridden behind. I had a clearer view of his horse from this perspective, and realised that it was completely white, and that its wavy mane was so long and thick it trailed upon the ground, catching at the leaves. The mane appeared to have diamonds woven through it, as did the horse’s flagged tail.

Strange I had not noticed that before and I wondered where Ghent had found such a courser, and where he had obtained the fistfuls of diamonds that littered its tresses.

We rode on. Often trees separated us, and we wove in and out of the ancient forest like partners caught in some sunlit, silent dance, our only music the soft hoof-falls of the horses, our only guide the path laid down by the sunbeams. Sometimes I blinked and thought there were other riders with us, too, noiselessly weaving their way in and out of the trees. Other times I thought a silver wolf, his coat rippling with light, walked majestically with us, but when I opened my mouth to mention the wolf to Ghent, the wolf vanished.

Maybe it was all a trick of the bright light.

I felt an amazing peace. I had Ghent to watch over me, and his presence comforted me immensely. At one point I thought he said something to me about the deaths of Stephen, Rosamund and John, that they were safe and contented and there was no guilt nor burden for me to carry over the manner of their passing. But when I turned my head to answer Ghent (being somewhat surprised that he should talk to me of this), I saw that he was almost twenty paces away, his horse still weaving silently in and out of the trees, in and out. As he was too far away for conversation, I thought I must have dreamed it.

Maybe the voice was a construct of my conscience, and its interaction with the tranquillity and beauty of the forest and its almost unearthly light.

Yet, somehow, even now I can still hear the voice, and am sure
someone
must have spoke the words.

I know that this ride cleansed my soul of guilt, and that from this day forward I remembered Stephen, Rosamund and John with uncomplicated love.

Eventually, too soon for me, Ghent reined in his magnificent horse and nodded ahead, and I saw that beyond the trees lay a field festooned with colourful tents, pennants fluttering at their peaks.

If ever you need me
, he said,
call for me. I will always protect you
.

I sighed, deeply reluctant to give up the serenity of this ride, and thanked Ghent for his trouble and the companionable nature of his guardianship.

But he was gone and I frowned in puzzlement. How could he have vanished so quickly? Had he been so anxious to rejoin the hunt?

I rode from forest to field, shaking off my almost dreamlike state, and raised a smile as I saw Alianor standing before a brazier, warming her hands.

‘How was the hunt?’ I asked her, as a groom hurried to help me dismount. She grimaced and said that the herons had flown away from the marshes during the night, and there were none left to hunt.

Even the falcons were sulking.

We settled in chairs, taking the warmed wine a servitor brought us. Most of the other falconers had returned as well, and the field was bright with colour and chatter and movement.

‘Look,’ said Alianor, ‘here come the forest hunters!’

I turned in my chair slightly, and there, indeed, came a procession of riders out of the forest. At their head was Raife, riding his horse hard. Gilbert Ghent was just behind him. Raife was shouting something, and only after a moment did I realise it was my name.

Someone, a falconer, pointed to where Alianor and I sat, and Raife rode over to us at such an abandoned pace that servants and cooks and other dismounted hunters scattered to avoid his steaming horse.

‘Maeb!’ Raife jumped down from his horse. ‘You are well?’

I frowned. ‘Of course. Raife, what is this fuss?’

‘You vanished from the forest and this … this bastard cur of a dog,’ he indicated Ghent, who was standing behind looking deeply chastened, ‘had misplaced you. We feared you were still lost among the trees!’

‘Well, as you can see, I am perfectly safe and well, and was enjoying the peaceful sun until you rode up. But what is this about Ghent? He accompanied me all the way to the forest edge.’

I looked to Ghent to confirm this, and with a sudden drop of my stomach realised he was, indeed, wearing a blue surcoat.

Not the gold and silver surcoat of my companion.

Ghent wore no helmet or maille, unlike my companion.

His horse was a chestnut, not the white, diamond-gilded mount of my companion.

‘My lady,’ Ghent said, ‘I did not. I lost you soon after we entered the forest.’

‘But …’ I said.

‘Maeb?’ said Raife. ‘What is it? Did someone follow you?’

‘A knight accompanied me,’ I said. ‘I thought it was Gilbert, but the sunlight made it hard to see properly. I was
sure
it was Gilbert! But he wore a gold and silver surcoat … not that blue that Gilbert wears now.’