The Exiled (12 page)

Soon the household was in a bustling stir as Jenna dressed Anne to go to the mass. Today, as she’d promised herself, Anne was wearing a new dress bought with almost her last stock of silver. Figured leaf-green brocade with a veil of silver silk-tissue flowing from a low crowned cap of purple velvet — the colours sat well with her russet hair and matt-white skin.

Anne was very grandly dressed for a working day and there was a reason for that, for after the mass, she would see Duke Charles at the Prinsehof, the Burgundian Ducal palace; that is, if her trade goods made it ashore to Sluis and could be brought to her in time.

But now, as her stomach contracted with a fizzy mix of pride, excitement and terror, she clasped her hands together tightly, praying silently for strength and courage: the duke was the key to her future now.

D
uke Charles was restless as he strolled out of his chapel in the Prinsehof on his way to the breakfast. Magnificently dressed in a tight jacket of green velvet, in honour of the season and because green, as all the world knew, was the colour of young love, he too was impatient this morning.

He was fretting to be away to the hunt because very soon the season would be over. Winter’s ending always made him unaccountably sad because he lived for the chase — of many kinds.

The chase. That made him think of Anne de Bohun. He had promised to meet her after the court finished its meal this morning and he was looking forward to that — she was intriguing — though it would cost him a little time outside the walls of Brugge in his hunting preserve. For someone so young, Anne seemed very self-possessed and so well connected it was a puzzle, and a scandal, that she lived alone, except for servants, in her guardian’s house.

The duke frowned as he thought more. He did not like his merchants, even the foreign ones, to be unhappy because that was bad for trade and therefore, bad for his peace of mind. Perhaps the time had come to listen to William Caxton and use his influence to intervene in the matter of this girl’s marriage. Caxton, it seemed, had been rebuffed. He’d heard too of the attempted kidnapping earlier in the year — perhaps her very presence was bad for public order, then?

No. The timing was not quite correct. And this moment, he was not expecting Edward Plantagenet to bring his sister to Brugge for their marriage, but that might change; and if it did, he would seek advice from his new brother-in-law. Perhaps there was someone amongst the many English courtiers who would accompany the bride who might be suitable for Anne, especially if it pleased King Edward to arrange matters. Anne could hardly object if her own king willed it so, and that would solve the problem. In the meanwhile, he would enjoy his breakfast and then await, with interest, what Anne had to say ...

Anne had one nervous habit that would have been clear to those who knew her as she waited for the duke in a small anteroom to the presence chamber in the Prinsehof, the townhouse in Brugge of the Dukes of Burgundy. Mechanically, without being conscious she was doing it, she smoothed the precious brocade of her dress first one way, then the other.

She knew that her green dress was something of an affront as it was the fashion at court for ladies to dress in scarlet and black — the red coming from the expensive imported dye, grana.

Anne did have one red dress, it was true; she’d worn it for the portrait because red always caught the eye, but her tastes ran to more subtle colours generally, like the lustrous, changing green of today.

‘It seems we think alike, Lady de Bohun.’ Her thoughts had been away, far away, so she’d not heard the duke enter the room, but as she looked up at him, startled, she was struck, as always, by his charisma. And the great good luck of his also wearing green today.

Duke Charles was not very tall, it was true, but his energy, the vigour of his movements and the quick flash of his still-sound teeth in an alive, brown face was very attractive.

Anne dropped her head respectfully as she curtsied, thinking how lucky Princess Margaret would be to have such a husband. She sighed as she rose and the duke picked up her hand to kiss, in the French fashion.

‘You sigh, lady? Come now. How can there be secret sadness on such a wonderful day as this?’ He was leading her into the presence chamber, followed by several of the courtiers he would share the morning meal with. All of them pressed as close as they dared, discreetly intent on gleaning all they could from the duke’s conversation with this unusual English girl.

‘Ah, Your Grace, I am not unhappy, but spring is a strange season, is it not? It makes the blood restless. I feel certain you understand that. But how fortunate we are both wearing green. I thought to honour your new bride to be — and I see that was your thought as well.’ The duke laughed delightedly. It was said the English were governed by a phlegmatic humour, but this girl was warm and sparkling. She made him laugh and that was a charming quality. Charming!

Ceremoniously he conducted his guest to a small x-shaped gilded Italian stool which was placed for her in front of his own Cathedra under its Cloth of Estate. Having handed her into it, he waved away his few attendants and sat as well, allowing himself to look at Anne frankly. As always with this girl, he liked what he saw. After a moment Anne grew uncomfortable, a warm flush mounting up her neck and into her cheeks as he examined her face feature by feature.

‘Tell me why you are not married yet, Lady de Bohun?’ His directness shocked her, but she gathered her wits quickly for there was an opening here.

‘Because, sire, that is my choice. I have no family to dictate where I should marry and I am minded to independence, which luckily my guardian, Sir Mathew Cuttifer, is happy to allow.’

The duke smiled. He liked Sir Mathew. ‘Ah yes, your guardian. I believe he has returned to London?’

Anne nodded quickly. ‘He has, sir, and Lady Margaret, his wife.’

‘But please continue, Lady Anne. Why do you not wish to marry? Many of your compatriots worry for you, and that makes me concerned.’

Anne blushed, but somehow kept her voice steady. ‘Sir, it is my observation that ladies when they marry become absorbed into the lives of their husbands and their children. That is not my wish at this time.’

‘But perhaps you have not yet met the man who could change your mind, Lady Anne.’ He was interested to see a strange expression chase over her face briefly — a yearning? ‘That was well said. Forgive me. And sufficient answer to my impertinent curiosity. But I am curious, Lady Anne, why did you ask for this audience today?’

‘To wish you joy of
your
marriage, sir and, if you will permit me?’ Anne rose and clapped her hands and the doors of the duke’s presence chamber were opened once more to admit a small procession. At its head was Ivan, magnificently dressed in a sweeping coat of many-coloured furs, a pointed fur-trimmed felt hat on his head and soft, baggy breeches over red leather boots. They were the clothes of his country, which was still inhabited by fierce tribes of roaming horsemen, tribesmen, of which he’d once been part.

Ivan was carrying a large curved sword across his open palms sheathed in a scabbard of embossed gilded leather. Behind him marched Maxim, ceremoniously carrying a tiny silver box nestled on a velvet cushion, whilst beside him strode Leif Molnar, Sir Mathew Cuttifer’s own Norse sea-captain, the tallest man in the room by several hands’ breadths. Leif too had a box, but his was made from black wood, ebony, patterned with a white inlay of African ivory.

And behind them both walked Deborah, proud and straight, bearing a bolt of peacock-blue silk and another of tissue of gold.

At a signal from Anne, her servants bowed low to the duke and then, one by one, brought forward the gifts they carried to lay at his feet.

‘Duke Charles, these poor gifts are for you and your bride. Allow me to show you.’

Anne lifted the scimitar and carried it to the duke. ‘This, is from the Holy Land. It is reputed to be the very sword that one of my country’s kings, Richard, the first of that name, used in the battle of Acre, even though it was a weapon of his enemies.’ Carefully, she slipped off the embossed, gilded leather scabbard to expose the beautifully chased, gleaming blade of white-blue steel. ‘It was forged in Damascus and my people tell me it has a name. It is called “Smiter of the Faithless”, and the legend of its making says, “He who bears this blade into battle will always be invincible”. It is reputed to contain a bone from Elijah’s hand in the pommel, under the great turquoise. King Richard had it put there.’

She curtsied low and carefully placed the magnificent weapon across the duke’s knees, beckoning Maxim forward.

As the steward advanced, the duke gently fingered the edge of the blade. It was marked like certain kinds of silk: a gift more than fit for princes.

‘And here, Lord, some poor stones from the Levant, with which to adorn your bride.’ Maxim knelt before the duke as Anne opened the tiny silver box in front of him. Nestled inside, gleaming with their own bloody light, were two square-cut rubies.

‘“A price above rubies,” I believe that is the quotation? You surely have surpassed even what the Bible might expect with these stones, Lady Anne. I am overwhelmed.’

‘To hear your gracious words for such trifles fills me with happiness, sire. Rubies, Your Grace, are a symbol to me of heart’s blood: one drop for you and one for your bride.’

As Maxim rose and backed away, Leif took a step forward and placed the black-and-white wooden box within reach of the duke’s hand. Carefully, Charles lifted the lid of the little coffer and immediately the room was filled with the scent of roses and the heady smell of jasmine.

Inside there was a nest of tiny, stoppered bottles made from dark blue glass, and as Anne opened each one in turn, scent drifted like smoke. ‘Here, Your Grace, is ambergris from the Euxine sea. And this, attar of roses from the Lebanon. Jasmine from Palestine, gilly flower essence from France, myrrh from the Holy Land, and finally, this: the scent of violets, distilled from flowers that grow in our heber.’

When this last stopper was removed, the cool, green smell of violets wove through the air like music as Anne scattered drops of the intense perfume around the presence chamber.

‘It is hard to tell which scent a woman may prefer, so here there are a number for the princess to choose from. I can always find more, or make more, if nothing here is to her taste.’

A sensualist, the duke picked up the vial containing ambergris. ‘Come here, Lady Anne.’ The girl moved closer, curtsied to him, and he lifted one hand, gently rubbing a tiny golden bead of scent inside her wrist.

‘There. This would suit you. You should always wear it — it has an intense, subtle beauty ...’ For a moment it seemed he would complete the sentence, but then he paused, contented himself with kissing the wrist that bore the ambergris, as Anne beckoned Deborah forward.

‘Finally, Your Grace, we have something else, something to adorn your bride.’

Deborah unfurled the bolt of peacock-blue silk, allowing it to spill, to ripple through her fingers. In that dim, quiet room, the lustre of the cloth was a piece of sky trapped within darkness.

‘From the lands beyond India, my Lord, the land of the Khans. The gold tissue, if I may make so bold, will serve your bride as a veil or perhaps a light cloak when the weather is warmer. I am so delighted that our ships were able to arrive this morning, in time for me to proffer what I have on behalf of Sir Mathew Cuttifer, and myself.’

‘Lady, your kindness will not be forgotten. I have a portrait of the Princess Margaret, and I believe your choice of colour will suit her marvellous well. Such an intense and brilliant blue; I have never seen its like, ever before.’

‘There are only two bolts like it in the world, so far as I am aware?’ She looked questioningly at Maxim, who nodded discreetly, kneeling at the duke’s feet.

‘Maxim, our steward, was under personal instructions to find this silk in Florence, or not come home! I had heard tell of it, this shot, peacock-blue, but never seen it before.’

The duke was silent. These gifts would not have shamed a fellow prince, and for this girl to be the donor almost beggared belief. When his courtiers spread the word of this most remarkable extravagance the world would talk of nothing else.

‘Lady Anne, your generosity, and that of your guardian, is princely. My brother-in-law-to-be and my bride will also be most grateful. Perhaps you can advise me — I should like to present the Princess Margaret with a gown made from this most wondrous blue silk.’

The duke had taken the bait! Now all Brugge would know of her goods and the frenzy of new trade would begin.

‘Ah, sir, I should like to do that, but there is one small hurdle I must overcome.’

The duke smiled. ‘Yes, Lady de Bohun?’

‘Simply put, Duke Charles, I cannot trade as I would like to — as part of a joint venture with Sir Mathew, my guardian. The English merchants oppose us in this.’

The duke looked sharply at the girl in front of him who was now modestly, steadfastly, gazing at his feet, as was proper.

‘But, sire, they could not stop me trading, on behalf of my guardian.’ She was careful to drop her eyes from his, careful to speak humbly. ‘If I had your permission to sell our goods, the cargo just landed.’

He laughed. She was breathtakingly frank; he found he liked her for it. ‘But would I not upset your trading community very much, Lady Anne, if I agreed?’

Anne, the blood booming in her head, became a little reckless. ‘It has happened before, has it not, Your Grace?’

The duke raised his eyebrows; she must have heard of the disputes between his father and the English. ‘And, honestly, sire, I feel these merchants are more than old-fashioned. Sir Mathew and I, we saw an opportunity they were too frightened to take up for themselves and we have landed our cargo first.’

‘And so you feel it is fair if I allow you to trade it?’

Anne nodded and, greatly daring, looked square into his eyes. He held that direct glance, until, after a moment she dropped hers.

‘Hmmm. I do not like my merchants to be unhappy. Any of them. However, I like courage more.’ He laughed mischieviously. ‘Very well, Lady Anne. You may trade this cargo, with my blessing. And assistance — if your English brothers become, how shall we say, a little agitated?’