Gifts of the Queen (19 page)

'For,' he was quick to note, 'who will there be to attack us?

They'll all be at the tourney, those Norman lords, all, that is, who can creep and crawl. They'll straddle horse even if we have to hoist them up, the prospect of a joust will so please them. Out from their holes they'll come creeping, like weasels, sniffing out for glory's crown. We'll knock them back in soon enough.'

The word 'weasel' made me think of Jean de Vergay, and I wondered aloud if he and his family would be there. 'Bound to be,' Walter maintained. 'If de Boissert leads one side in the mêlée as he claims. Sir Jean will act as marshal of the field. His voice is loud enough when he sings; but, mark my words, he'll put his sons to fight in his stead, not liking to venture out himself. In any case, all these preoccupations will keep their attention away from Sieux.'

Nor did Raoul mention again his promise, or threat, I give you leave to judge which it was, to take me along with him. I suppose I could have argued I should not leave my son, and in truth had little liking for that, but he was weaned, the village women loved him as their own, the guard at Sieux would have died for him; to give him as excuse was to make but a flimsy one. And I was proud. I would not have it said that for fear of those Norman lords I hid at home. Nor would I have Isobelle de Boissert and her friends have reason to put scorn on me. And when one day I heard Walter and his companions discussing that lady, their comments made me determined not to lag behind.

Walter had been strumming on his lute, idly plucking at its strings, a love song such as filled his thoughts these days, better than a Norman war chant at least.

'Those French ladies,' he was saying in the manner of one who has made a pleasing discovery, 'that Lady of Boissert is generous in her love, or so 'tis said, the higher born, the more she has to give.' He struck a chord. 'They say she and her women pick out lovers as freely as a man might choose a maid. Myself, I think that strange, unnatural, for a lady to be so bold.'

'But one you'll profit from if you can,' Matt put in, not having reached that stage himself.

Walter pulled Matt's hair affectionately, 'Be patient,' he told his friend, 'your time will come. Myself, I would most prefer to visit in those courts in southern France, in Poitiers. They say that there ladies hold a gathering, whereby they dictate the laws of love, what it is, how bestowed, by whom, and afterwards rate performances and keep a list. But they are discreet, as this Lady Isobelle is not, and never brag, so husbands and fathers are not forced to vengeance, seldom having proof and being too lazy to search for lovers under their beds.'

I almost smiled to myself as I passed on. But I remembered what Walter said. And when ladies arrived to wait on me, not unexpectedly of course, since Lord Raoul had promised them, I watched them carefully. They were young for the most part, kin to Lord Raoul's vassals here in France, a half dozen or so, if not exactly dragged to Sieux at least come with no great show of enthusiasm, lured, I am sure, with promises of the tourney. I eyed them as they eyed me, set them to embroidering of the finer work, and since they too had come with but one intent, and in their quiet way determined on it, I had little choice but to go along with them.

The day we set out, early, before Matins, was a-drizzle, like that day a year ago when with high hopes we had first returned to Sieux. At the last moment I ran back to my villagers with whom I had left my son. They stood beside the castle gates and held him in their arms to watch us pass. He did not smile or cry, but stared intently with his blue-gray eyes, as if he wished to take in everything, as if he wished to understand all that we did. To turn his gaze, I dangled a bauble I had strung about my neck, no bauble but the great ring the queen had given me, too large for me to wear on any finger, so I had hung it on a chain. 'See here, my love,' I said to make him look at me, but he kept his gaze fixed over his nurse's shoulder at the men. I smoothed his hair, his face, his hands, marveling as I always did at their delicacy, seeing, as if with new intent, how fast he grew.

'And if there be need, or word to send,' I cried in one last fit of anxiety, 'trust anyone who bears this ring, no one else. It carries message from me alone.' They repeated word for word among themselves, these village women I had come to love, no thought of treachery, no suspicion of falsehood in hearts so clear. Who defends such innocents against the burden of their innocence? They nodded at a thought their minds could not conceive. Robert bounced in their arms as the riders went by. I loosened my grip on him, walked slowly back to where my ladies, mounted, were waiting me. Another year, Raoul had promised Robert a horse; he should ride and walk at the same time. And another year, another time, it would be I who stood here and watched him go, and should never know when he would return . . .

At the top of the cliff path, Raoul leaned forward in his saddle impatiently. I had forgotten how he never liked to stand, but when mounted was prepared to ride out upon the instant. Well, today he must wait. He had already bidden his son goodbye, so should I. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him come up, his black horse skittish, as if scenting battle on the wind; it shied, pawed, tossed its head. My ladies, so-called mine, these Norman chaperons, shrank back, unable to hold their own horses still until the squires ran up to help. I saw Raoul's scowl.

'We await your pleasure,' he said, wheeling past, 'your ladies attend you this half hour. We linger but to give the signal at your need.' I sensed the satire beneath the words. They put me on my mettle as he meant.

'Give it,' I said. I scrambled up in a flurry of skirts, a sidesaddle which I seldom use hindering me; half in the saddle, I kicked my horse forward even as he raised his hand. He cantered on, no more courtesy then from him. But I rode a step behind, grim mouthed, hair flaring wild. My ladies, in the rear, bumped along helplessly. Let them tumble off, I thought, let them see how it is to be unhorsed; that is the sport they anticipate. But he'll not outpace me. Down we went in uneven line, Raoul, his guard, myself, fast; Walter and Matt hotfooted after us; the ladies and their escort complaining loudly in our dust. Let them ride as best they can, I thought again, they came here of their own free will to serve me, let them work for it. But when at last we did slow down, they were left too far away to be of service even if they would.

'God's wounds,' I thought I heard Lord Raoul say, as if to air, 'she'd lead a charge if she had the mind.'

I shook the rain from my cloak and pinned back my braids.

'Women have done as much,' I retorted to his back, 'a Celtic army once was so led. And the men those women defeated were Norman men.'

His guard turned aside to hide their grins and we rode on. But when we came to the borders of de Boissert land, in good time although not so gently as we might, and stopped to let the stragglers catch up, 'We joust well, lady wife,' he said, and this time there was no trace of smile, "but here we tread carefully, you and I. Make no move out of line, for all our sakes. It is not against Sieux alone they sharpen their spears. Be warned.'

God pardon me, I closed my ears. I was not in a mood to listen to anyone. His hand shot out, grasped the bridle rein. 'I give you one last chance,' he ground out, 'heed it. Or, by the Rood, back you go, with your gaggle of womenfolk. Help you can, but as hindrance I'll not have you round my neck.'

'You need no help from me,' I said, as mutinous as a stubborn child. Nor should he think to send me off as he might order a page do this, do that; I had given fair warning, too. He still held on motionless, his eyes their darkest gray, until I let my own gaze fall. Well, it was a cold response, not kindly given, no word of encouragement, God forgive me, no hope of success. A cold reply and as coldly taken. We rode forward, more sedately now, and came within the boundaries of the tourney field; side by side we rode, but might have been a mile apart.

Much has been written of the tourney at Boissert Field and all it meant. For me, who had not seen such things before, it overwhelmed. Ralph de Boissert had certainly had much practice in such affairs. Pavilions had been strung up for our use at the edge of a vast tract of land that stretched, as he had described, toward the hills. The hills themselves might have been scooped out to create such a gigantic hollow place, sloping slightly at either end, flat and level in the center part. At one side, wooden stands had been set up with a barricade to form two lanes, down which the jousters would ride. It was deserted now; everyone gathered to watch more humble sport, tilting at the quintain for the squires and younger lads. The rain had already blown away, the sun was coming out behind massed clouds. Had it been another day, another time, I should have been off my horse, or tumbled off myself more like, so eager to take in all the sights and sounds. By now, my ladies had revived, so many horses, so many knights, even those overweight and bleary-eyed more noble on horseback, so many ladies fine bedecked, to keep them amused.

Ralph de Boissert and his retinue advanced to welcome us; on foot they came, he in new byrnie of mail that shone and rippled as he moved, not too old then to take part in the tourney himself, bareheaded as mark of respect, I suppose. He had not been so polite at Sieux, and for a moment I feared he might remember me, although not much chance, I today in my green wedding gown, with my hair once more confined and smooth. Beside him came Jean de Vergay, more like a rabbit with twitching nose. He carried the white baton of his rank, a spectator he, no combatant. After him trailed his family. Lady de Vergay, portly fat as he was thin, his sons, two of them, both plump, the oldest Raoul's age, overstuffed in pale mauve. The de Vergay men muttered platitudes and bowed and scraped their heels like restive steeds. I did not think they had the breath to plan more than a dinner to feed themselves, and seeing them together, again I could not believe their father capable of mounting a surprise attack. Lord Raoul returned their greeting briefly, ignored their effusiveness, and, dismounting, came to lift me down, a sign of courtesy in him. But his hand about my waist was hard; I took it rather as a warning. My ladies clambered off with sighs of relief.

We strolled across the grass, sodden and muddy underfoot, to where great fire pits smoked, sending wafts of wood and roasting meat. Pages dressed in the de Boissert colors of black and white scurried with platters laden with food. There were roasts of every kind, from oxen whole to small birds, grilled and stuffed fowl, and sweetmeats for more delicate tastes, spun sugar swans, and honey cakes, and wine in flagons—such a display would have beggared us. Yet we did not look so impoverished; our horses were sleek and the red and gold pennons fluttered behind us. For once, Raoul looked his part, a noble lord, his mail coat slung over his squire's horse and his hair bound back under a golden band. Despite myself, I felt a glow of pride.

A shout went up to make us all spin around. The younger boys as I have explained were already tilting at the quintain, with a crowd of underlings to cheer them on. One of our squires had caught up a lance and ridden full gallop at the ring of steel that hung from its thick chain. He rode too fast, even I knew that, lance askew, and as we watched, the bag of sand that hung on the other end of the chain swung round and hit him squarely on the back, sending him headlong over his horse's neck. I knew his style. He was my impetuous Matt, more like to ride an enemy down than fight with him; but as he fell, with some strange twist, he pulled himself right way again. He grabbed the reins, sawed the horse round, feeling his way back over the high saddle, feeling too for the stirrup irons, weaving from side to side as if about to be tossed a second time. The horse was snorting with alarm. Matt breathless with effort and chagrin. Back he rode to snatch a new lance, rode as fast and fiercely as before. This pass, with more luck than skill, he hit fairly, rode on, reins flapping, wiping blood from his split lip. The peasants cheered; I cheered myself until I saw Raoul give his half salute that made Matt grin. He disappeared, still wildly lurching, and I caught Raoul's smile, the look he exchanged with his other men. That one will do, it said; aye, do for blood and war and death. I folded my arms firmly under each other, would not smile myself, and stalked on.

'Save you. Countess of Sieux,' Lady de Vergay came panting after me. She had her daughter's voice, the same sharp tongue which flicked in and out as she licked her lips. 'You and your ladies lie within.' She pointed to where a large tent, striped red and yellow, stood to one side. 'Your serving maids,' she emphasized the word, 'must direct your men to unpack your things. We have fair bedding, from our own geese plucked, and white, fresh laundered linen for your use.' She gave a sniff as much as to say. You may need them. We know you are accustomed to sleeping on the ground. Perhaps she thought to hear me confess, as her daughter had, that we owned no bedding of our own. At my silence, she went on. 'Count Raoul and his men sleep there, with the other contestant lords.' She pointed again, out came her tongue. 'My daughter, Alyse, whom you know, bid me tell you our maids are at your service if you so require. They are well-trained, too, no common sluts.' Carefully were her words chosen, as if she had learned them by rote, as if her husband or her over-lord had rehearsed her in what to say, but beneath them resentment lurked.

There was another commotion at our backs. I should have explained that all this while, other men had come riding in, each one of import making a circuit of where we stood, to see and be seen; it was still early in the day, no haste, plenty of opportunity to let themselves and their horsemanship be admired. Now a group of ladies came riding up. I knew the one at their head, although I had never seen her except in dreams. She sat sideways and bent her neck, letting a page in black and white lead her along. Not old, not young, her fair hair was bound into a kind of snood to free her profile of wisps and curls so that, as she passed, one could see the lofty tilt of her chin. She too was sumptuously dressed, in samite silk, pale cream and gold to bring out the color of her hair, her pale skin, and when her men lifted her down, she glided like a swan, her fur-trimmed gown barely touching the ground, her little feet in their violet silk swishing in and out. I heard Walter suck in his breath and could have hit him for a lout.