Elizabeth Chadwick (51 page)

The door burst open and two boys accompanied by a large wolfhound hurtled into the room to find their mother filling two cups with wine and their father seated on the bench, his legs outstretched in a casual pose. Being boisterous boys, unconcerned with outward appearance, neither noticed for one moment the telltale stalks of straw adhering to their parents’ clothing.

Whittington Castle, Shropshire, Summer 1216

Four months after her fourteenth year day, Hawise was married at Whittington to William Pantulf of Wem. It was a huge gathering with guests from both sides of the baronial divide arriving to celebrate and use the opportunity to discuss their differences, arrange pacts, choose loyalties. Llewelyn declined to attend, but sent his congratulations and the gift of a small brooch fashioned of Welsh gold for Hawise.

The young men held a mock tourney on the sward behind the keep and the older men joined in, lured by memories of their youth. Looking on in the June sunshine, the women laughed and chattered among themselves, exchanging gossip, commenting on the play. Matrons considered matches for their daughters, and daughters considered too, giggling behind their hands.

In the evening there was dancing in the keep and on the torchlit sward, for the air was as warm as new milk and the dusk lingered in a translucent green-blue gloaming above the firelight. Adorned in a wedding gown of teal-colored silk, her red hair unbound in token of her virginity and crowned with a chaplet of white dog roses, Hawise was a stunning bride. Smiling with pride and delight, resplendent in blue wool, William Pantulf did her justice and guests agreed that it was a fine match.

Maude and Fulke had received several offers of marriage for their sons. A Welsh lord, Madoc ap Griffin, who already had marcher relatives among the de Laceys, had proposed a union with Fulkin and his daughter Angareth, an engaging, black-haired moppet of five years old. The notion interested Fulke. Llewelyn might be the greatest lord in Wales, but he was not the only one and alliances across the border were always useful, especially when there were connections with the powerful de Lacey family. He had agreed to consider it, but bearing in mind the ages of the children and the fluid political situation, would take his time.

Maude smiled and curved her arm around Fulke’s. She thought he looked very fine in his court tunic. The dark crimson color suited him and the gold braid edging cuff and hem added richness. Her own gown was of oyster-colored silk with a trim of sage-green embroidery. There had been compliments aplenty for the bride and groom, and that was how it should be, but there had been compliments for herself and Fulke too. Some of the shine of Hawise’s wedding day had rubbed off on them, and she could feel the magic glowing in the air.

Fulke had come to Edlington in late October, had brought her home to Whittington in November, and stayed. It was now June and the truce was still holding. While the rebels had continued their fight, Fulke had remained at Whittington, tending his own concerns, his ears cocked to what was happening, but not actively taking part. Sometimes she had felt the strain in him, had seen him rise from their bed and prowl the keep like a caged wolf, and she had felt like a jailer. Prince Louis of France had landed on English soil six weeks ago and was going from victory to victory as the rebel barons rode into his camp. Maude was aware that Fulke had been considering joining them. He had not said as much, but she knew him well enough to recognize the signs.

This wedding had been good for him, she thought. He had been able to invite guests from both sides, to meet them on his own ground and discuss the situation. While he wanted to see John acknowledge the charter and stand by its terms, he did not want Prince Louis to claim the kingdom, set up his Frenchmen in positions of authority, and make the terms of the charter completely impossible. And while he hesitated, Maude prayed.

Fueled by drink, the laughter was developing a raucous edge. “Time, I think, for the bedding ceremony,” she murmured. “If you go and fetch Will, I’ll take charge of Hawise.”

He nodded, but did not move. She watched him rub the back of his neck and was filled with amused tenderness.

“I know,” she said softly, “it doesn’t seem a moment since she was a babe in arms.”

“She is still that to me,” he said.

She saw him swallow and knew that he was remembering the times Hawise had clambered into his lap and fallen asleep against him. Her squeals of delight as he took her up on his saddle. Her small hand engulfed in his. All that care, all that protection was now to be yielded into the hands of another, and because Hawise was so confident in the love of her parents, she had run joyfully to her bridegroom and not looked back.

Maude touched his arm. “She will be all right,” she murmured. “You chose well when you chose Will Pantulf.”

Fulke wriggled his shoulders as if the words were heavy raindrops. Maude could guess that just now, he was wishing he had not chosen anyone for her. That the thought of seeing his daughter, his “babe in arms,” getting into bed with a man and coupling with him was difficult to bear, although he knew it was a necessary rite of passage. She felt a shudder go through him.

“Come,” he said with sudden gruffness. “If we don’t do it now, they’ll all be too drunk to bear witness, and I will lose whatever courage I have.” Drawing a deep breath, he plunged among the merrymakers, adopting the mask of affable host and parent.

Smiling through a sudden sting of tears, Maude went to fetch the bride. She arrived at Hawise’s side just as Fulke, Will’s father, and the senior male guests surrounded the groom and took him away to disrobe him. Jests flew thick and fast from wine-loosened tongues, although the presence of the senior men kept them just within the bounds of decency.

Hawise was laughing, her eyes a little over-bright because she had drunk too much wine, but she showed scarcely a sign of fear or nervousness as she was ushered into the main bedchamber. Garlands thick with May blossom decorated the walls and the bed had been draped with new hangings of thick Flemish cloth.

While helping Hawise to remove her bridal chaplet and the heavy, embroidered wedding gown, Maude used the moment to ask her daughter if she was all right.

Hawise wrinkled her nose at her mother in an unconsciously copied mannerism. “I know what to expect,” she laughed.

“You do?” Maude lifted her brows and tried not to look worried.

“Oh, Mama.” Hawise gave her a nudge. “You’ll have the proof of my purity to hang on the wall behind the breakfast trestle.”

Maude grimaced, remembering her own wedding morn and the young knight with the flint-hazel eyes who had looked anywhere but at the bloody sheet, hanging like a victory banner for all to see.

“I know you’re virgin still,” Maude said, “if not quite as pure as the driven snow.”

Hawise looked sidelong at her mother. “Did you and Papa bed together before you were wed?”

Maude shook her head. “No,” she said. “We had the opportunity once, but I was still another man’s wife and we both held back.” She smiled and stroked her daughter’s hand. “Your wedding night will be different to either of mine—I wish you well.”

“How different?” Hawise asked curiously.

Her mother’s lips twitched. “My first husband was more than thirty years older—a good man, but I was very young and he was not my choice, although I came to love him dearly. With your father…” She gave a small shrug and her smile deepened.

“Mama?”

Maude laughed and felt warm color flush her cheeks. “Wildfire,” she said. “He snatched me from beneath King John’s nose and took me into the woods. I became an outlaw’s bride and our wedding bed was a bower of bent-over saplings under the stars. It sounds the stuff of a troubadour’s tale—indeed, it was, but we were living on a blade’s edge. I knew that every time we parted it might be the last time I would see him alive.”

“And nothing has changed,” Hawise said.

“No,” Maude said wryly, “and that is why your wedding night is different and you are perhaps even more fortunate than I. Fear might lend a spice to pleasure, but too much seasoning destroys it.”

Their murmured speech was curtailed as Clarice arrived with a silk bed robe to arrange around Hawise’s shoulders. The way the young woman’s glance flickered between the two of them revealed that she had overheard the tail end of their conversation, although she said nothing except to say that Mabile was sleeping and one of the maids keeping an eye on her.

Maude studied Clarice. She was wearing a gown of rose-colored linen, the skirt made to flare by the insertion of several gores. The color suited her. Her features were ordinary but she had flawless skin, glossy hair, and the loveliest eyes. Several looks had been cast her way during the feast and more than one inquiry made.

“I saw you in the dance with Rob d’Uffington.” Hawise smiled and wagged a playful forefinger. “And it wasn’t your cheek that he kissed at the end.”

Clarice flushed. “He was wine-merry,” she said. “It meant nothing.”

“Well, what about Simon de Warren? He was watching you all night.”

“Simon de Warren has so high an opinion of himself that there is no room for anyone else,” Clarice said shortly, making it clear that she did not appreciate being teased. “I am happy for you, truly I am, but do not try to find me a mate from among your husband’s companions.”

Hawise opened her mouth, but before she could launch into an argument, there was a loud thump on the door, announcing the arrival of the bridegroom’s party. Maude hastened to open it and bid them enter while the other women drew Hawise over to the bed and placed her in it. Will, attired in a chemise similar in style to that of his bride and topped with a cloak, was pushed into bed beside her with much laughter and bawdy jesting. The latter subsided as Father Thomas advanced to bless the bed and its occupants, sprinkling them with holy water, but resumed as soon as the priest had pronounced the final amen. There was much military innuendo concerned with thrusting spears into targets, shooting arrows, and oiling scabbards.

Fulke let them have their sport; it was all part of the ritual, but it was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. “Enough!” he finally roared, spreading his arms and ushering the revelers away from the bed. “Time to leave them in peace.”

More loud, good-natured jests followed that statement, as he had known they would, but the guests allowed themselves to be herded from the chamber and back to the trestles, where food and wine still waited to be consumed and the musicians continued to play. As the chamber door closed at his back with a soft thud, Fulke felt as if a part of his life had closed with it.

Since the newlyweds had been given the main bedchamber, Fulke and Maude intended sleeping in the hall with the other guests, but no one was ready to retire just yet. The evening was warm, spirits were high, and folk were reluctant to abandon their revelry. With a fixed smile Fulke performed his duty as host and wished himself far away. William and Ivo were busy emptying a flagon between them and carousing in true bachelor fashion. Although both of them had manors and lands to tend on the FitzWarin estates, neither had chosen to settle in marriage. Richard ambled up and joined them, partnered by a squire of William Pantulf’s and four venison pasties. Fulke’s gaze wandered further and found Philip seated at a trestle with his wife, Joanna, who was the daughter of a Leicestershire knight. They had been wed for less than six months, but in true FitzWarin fashion, she was already round with child. Alain was courting a ward of Robert Corbet’s and they were dancing with others on the sward, using the opportunity to draw close to each other and hold hands in the movement of the carole.

Maude arrived at his side, wrapping her arms around his. “Come,” she said softly, “they will not notice if we slip away for a while.”

“I could think of nothing better,” he replied. With a last glance at the guests to reassure himself that no drink-fueled quarrels or fights were about to break out, he followed her tug.

Together they walked around the perimeter of the keep, Fulke’s wolfhounds padding at heel. Maude paused at the wattle fencing that bordered the herb garden and, with sudden decision, opened the gate and stepped within. The beds were illuminated in hues of silver-gray with the faintest tinge here and there of natural color. Bidding the wolfhounds stay, Fulke followed her into the garden.

“I was thinking of our own wedding night,” she said as she wound her way past the beds of sage and betony, hyssop, tansy, and marigold, toward the vine arbor at the garden’s end.

“Were you?” He slipped his arm around her waist.

“How it was.” She turned so that she was facing him and traced his jaw with her forefinger.

The sounds of laughter and music came to them, slightly muted by distance, making them watchers on the banks of a river rather than swimmers in the tide. He pushed her back into the shadows cast by the vine leaves. “How it was?” he said indignantly.

Her smile was teasing. “Why do you think I brought you here?”

“To look at the plants? For the delight of a stroll?” he teased in return, and was aware of a pleasant shortening of his breath. She tried to pinch him and he grabbed her hand, trapping it against his breast. “Or perhaps to remind me of my misspent youth when I have been feeling my years…to remind me that I am a husband as well as a father?”

Maude pressed against him. Her free hand went around his neck. “I am hoping,” she said huskily, “that you do not need reminding of anything.”

***

Three days later a messenger arrived from William Marshal. Hawise and Will Pantulf had left for the keep at Wem that morning and most of the wedding guests had departed too; only a few lingerers were milking the last dregs from the celebration.

Fulke broke the seal and unrolled the sheet of vellum. It was a scribe’s neat writing, but Marshal’s blunt words that leaped from the page.

“What is it?” Maude came anxiously to his side, her head tilted to read the script.

“John has confiscated my lands at Alveston because he does not believe I will hold to the letter of the truce,” Fulke said furiously. “Apparently it’s a warning to keep me loyal—a hostage for my good behavior.”

“What does Marshal say?”

“Entreats my patience! Says that John trusts no one just now because even Salisbury has deserted him.” Fulke laughed harshly. “Whatever patience I had, the last grains have run out like sand through an hourglass. John has just drawn a sword and cut me loose!”