CHAPTER FIVE
Peri had expected to be seasick during the voyage. Friends and neighbours had warned that everyone suffered mal de mer crossing the Narrow Sea.
She could not control the fear that made her belly and her derrière clench as the boat rose and fell in the grey waves, but it was Alys whose face turned green as she retched into the bowl cradled in her lap.
“Forgive me, milady,” the maidservant pleaded, gasping for breath as she trembled.
Peri could only nod, afraid to speak lest she start to babble.
Keeping her gaze fixed on the cliffs of England, barely visible through the driving rain, Peri held on to the flapping canvas the captain had given them as their only shelter. Her knuckles had long since turned white. She feared that if they reached the approaching shore, she would be unable to straighten her frozen fingers.
Despite the canvas, they were soaked to the skin.
Uncertainty as to how they would proceed once they gained the English shore plagued her. Her mind drifted to the hated Conqueror who had crossed this same narrow channel of water on his way to claim the English throne three score years before.
What were his thoughts as he made landfall at Pevensey? She chuckled inwardly—it was well known the brute had fallen in the mud as he disembarked.
She bit her lip. Best be careful when and if they ever set foot on dry land again. Wet clothing was one thing, being caked in mud was quite another.
To her relief, the skies brightened and the rain ceased as they neared the cliffs of Wyke Regis, startlingly white in the sun. Steam rose from their garments as the boat pulled into shore. Within minutes of their arrival, the captain had ushered them off the boat and unloaded their baggage.
Sailors speaking foreign tongues plied hither and thither as the two women clung to each other beside their trunks. “How are we to get to Westminster?” she asked the captain. “Comte Fulk assured my parents someone would meet us here.”
He pointed to two young lads lounging against a nearby wall. “Yon squire is supposed to be waiting for ye, but he is too busy yammering to notice ye have arrived.” He cupped his hand to his mouth. “Oy!”
His shout caught the boy’s attention. He scurried over, bowing to Peri and looking down his nose at Alys. “I am James de Vaudreuil, squire to Sir Valentin de Soucie, lord of the demesne wherein you find yourselves.”
For a Norman, the boy seemed friendly. “We are soaked through, James.”
“My master’s manor house is nearby. Servants will bring your baggage. On the morrow, my lord will provide an escort to Westminster.”
Peri gazed about. “How are we to get to the manor house?”
“My horse is at your disposal.”
Alys snorted. “My mistress does not ride horses.”
James’ eyes widened. “Then I will take the reins and guide the beast for you.”
Peri did not like the sound of the word beast, but her fears eased when James led them to a small palfrey tethered nearby.
“With your permission,” he said.
At her nod, he put his hands to her waist and lifted her up into the saddle. She gripped it nervously, trying not to let her fear show as her heart thudded wildly.
James made a clicking noise with his teeth. She gritted hers as the animal lurched forward. He led the horse up a steep path away from the sea. Alys walked behind, muttering loudly as she struggled up the hill.
Peri supposed they should be grateful it wasn’t raining, but doubted Alys would appreciate the sentiment.
The prosperous looking manor house soon came in sight. Peri thought to take advantage of her escort’s friendly nature. “How far to Westminster?” she asked.
James hesitated for a few moments before he replied. “About three days.”
Her heart plummeted. Three more days of uncomfortable travel was more than she had counted on. “By cart?”
He looked back at her. “Non, milady. On horseback.”
She heard a strange noise behind her and turned gingerly in the saddle. Alys lay in a heap at the side of the path.
“Hold, James, my maid has swooned.”
James looked back at Alys then shrugged. “I will send a servant for her.”
Peri did not want to leave her faithful maid, but had no idea how to get off the horse. She allowed James to lead her into the courtyard of the house belonging to a knight whose name she had already forgotten.
~~~
After three and a half days in the saddle Peri had blisters on her blisters. Her derrière ached like the devil. She eventually got the hang of having the horse follow her commands, thanks to tuition from James, but swore she would never ride a horse again.
Alys had a more difficult time and within an hour of their leaving the manor house in Wyke Regis, the exasperated captain of the men-at-arms assigned to escort them took her off her horse and put her behind him on his own mount.
To everyone’s relief, she ceased complaining after that. Indeed, with her arms clasped tightly around the man’s waist, she seemed happier than Peri had ever seen her.
It had to be acknowledged that the road they followed was better than any she had travelled in Bretagne, or Anjou for that matter. According to James, King Henry had decreed that royal roads must be wide enough to allow two wagons to pass each other, or to accommodate sixteen knights riding abreast.
Sir Valentin de Soucie had turned out to be an aged knight who rarely left his bed. His men-at-arms, Normans all, were disdainful of the Angevin women they escorted. James was the exception. Peri suspected the young squire relished getting away from his ancient master for a few days.
They arrived at the Palace after midnight where they waited in a draughty hallway for long minutes. There were no chairs. Peri swayed, beyond exhaustion. Alys slumped to the floor, her back against the wall. Peri did not have the energy to reprimand her.
Eventually they were led to a small chamber by a servant who eyed them curiously, then rattled off a list of instructions for the morrow that Peri barely understood.
Her chamber-mate was already asleep and did not stir as Alys helped Peri undress. She crawled between the ice cold musty linens of her tiny bed, feeling like an old woman. Her maidservant curled up on the floor and within moments was snoring loudly.
~~~
It was still dark when Alys shook Peri awake. Had she slept? Yawning, she looked over to the other bed.
“Already gone,” her maid explained. “She left some water in the ewer. Seems nice.”
Peri’s spirits lifted as she stretched her arms above her head. This was high praise indeed from the forthright Alys.
She had longed for a bath, but had to be content with sponging her body with the water remaining in the ewer, while Alys worked frantically to make the wrinkled gown presentable for her first day as lady-in-waiting.
Already exhausted after struggling into the gown and having her hair braided tightly, she left in search of the chamber where she was to receive instruction in her duties.
Confused by the endless labyrinth of hallways at Westminster, she soon got lost. Two people gave her directions that led to the wrong places. A third ignored her desperate request for help, no doubt thinking a madwoman had accosted them.
At last, exasperated, she stumbled upon the chamber, a few minutes late. She heard the faint crowing of a cock. Breathless, she muttered her apology to the richly dressed matron who stood with arms folded, tapping her foot. Three young women were lined up in front of her, heads bowed, studying their feet.
Apparently, Peri was not the only new recruit.
She held her arms rigid at her sides, fisting her fingers into the fabric of her olive green gown.
“I assume you are Peridotte de Pontrouge—the Angevin,” the doyenne declared loudly, her elaborate lyre-shaped wimple teetering alarmingly.
“Oui, milady,” Peri murmured, stifling an urge to yawn at this ungodly hour.
The woman harrumphed, her eyes raking Peri from head to toe, and
back. “I am Lady Ermintrude de Calumette, senior lady-in-waiting. You will address me as Milady Ermintrude.”
“Oui, Milady Ermintrude,” Peri parroted, mortified to be the centre of attention in such a manner. It was a poor beginning.
Lady Ermintrude looked down her long nose. “I have already assigned these punctual young women, Norman women I might add, to their duties. Since you are late, you will be chambermaid to The Empress.”
Elation flooded Peri’s heart. Despite her tardy arrival she was to be allowed to serve the Empress in her bedchamber, a high honor indeed. Ignoring the titters of the other girls, she straightened her shoulders. “Merci, Milady Ermintrude.”
The dragon lady droned on and on about court etiquette, enumerating rules concerning this and that. Peri’s mind wandered as her gaze fixed on the ornate embellishments of the chamber’s ceiling. Her legs seemed to think she was still on horseback.
The repeated snapping together of a finger and thumb jolted her attention back to Lady Ermintrude, who glowered at her, then suddenly turned on her heel, bidding the girls to follow. “Pay heed. I will explain your duties to each of you in detail.”
Peri fell in at the end of the line as they followed the swish of Lady Ermintrude’s heavy gown. She mused absently that a woman of grey complexion did not look attractive in bright red. Moreover, the overwhelming perfume of roses did nothing to mask the sweaty odour of the lady’s body for those in her wake.
Peri tapped the shoulder of the girl in front of her. “I’m Peri de Pontrouge,” she whispered.
The girl’s shoulders stiffened, but she offered no reply.
First stop was the steam-filled laundry. The oppressive heat almost felled Peri. She pulled her sticky gown away from her midriff. Lady Ermintrude turned to the girl at the head of the line, her gnarled hand on a heaping pile of gowns. “Francine Beaujoie, these are Our Empress’s soiled gowns.”
Peri peered into the mist beyond Ermintrude. Youths and young girls laboriously stirred huge cauldrons of steaming water. The sun had barely risen, yet they looked like they had been toiling for hours. Many had shriveled patches of skin on their arms, legs and faces, no doubt the result of being scalded. She hunched her shoulders as a strange foreboding washed over her.
Dragging her gaze back to the garments, Peri noted several stains on the gown on the top of the pile. Nearby, two older noblewomen sponged other frocks. Another plied a needle. All three wore heavy gowns unsuitable for such a place. They blinked away sweat dripping from their brows.
“You will learn from Lady Julie and Lady Latourneau how to clean and mend these gowns. They must be spotless before they are returned to The Empress’s Wardrober.”
Francine Beaujoie did not look joyful at the task she had been assigned, but she nodded gracefully and joined her teachers. As Peri watched one of the older women dab away the sweat trickling down her nose, she was heartily glad to have avoided that task. She hated sewing. Buried in the laundry, Francine would likely never meet the royal personage she served. She gave the girl what she hoped was a smile of encouragement as they left. To her surprise, Francine smiled back. Peri hoped this was her chamber-mate.
They continued on to the kitchens, where Tandine de Grisjaune was instructed on how to taste food prepared for Maud. “There is ever the danger of poison,” Ermintrude declared, glaring at the nearest cook, who snarled back like a caged beast. Tandine looked ready to swoon.
Peri enjoyed the kitchen at Pontrouge where there was always a tasty morsel to be coaxed from the jolly cook. She doubted she would have lasted long in the smoky and noisy confines of Westminster’s kitchens.
Weary-looking children sat amid mounds of carrots, parsnips, leeks, and onions, their hands raw from peeling. An army of cooks screamed commands at pasty-faced scullery maids and sullen serving wenches, who darted hither and thither. Grease from roasting animals spat and smoked as it hit the hungry flames of roaring fires. Steaming cauldrons boiled. Aromas that might have been tantalising on their own mingled into a belly-churning miasma.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Peri tagged behind the girl who still had not acknowledged her in any way.
Ermintrude ushered them into the royal bedchamber, a forefinger pressed to her chapped lips. Peri gaped at the elaborate bed that took up most of the large chamber, surprised Maud had already risen. If Peri were Empress she would not be up before dawn, especially if she could luxuriate in such a bed.
Raised on a dais with three steps, it was at least four times thicker than Peri’s bed at home. Heavy damask curtains hung on three sides, cascading down like a shimmering blue waterfall from a rail suspended high in the ceiling. A coverlet had been made of the same material. Threads of gold glittered against the blue of the damask.
The bed did not look as though anyone had ever slept in it.
Massive ornate wooden chests sat against the walls. An enormous carved armoire five times the size of Peri’s chamber at home took up part of one wall. Extravagantly detailed wall sconces of wrought iron held thick beeswax candles, snuffed now in the light of day. Arabian carpets warmed the floor. Peri itched to tear off her shoes and stockings so she could wiggle her toes in the rugs, but Ermintrude warned them off with an imperious wag of a gnarled finger.
Pride filled Peri’s heart that she, a person of no significance from Anjou, had been chosen to serve here amid this opulence. No matter how hard a taskmistress the Empress might turn out to be, Peri would bear anything to work in such splendor. She vowed to write to her parents this very night to tell them of her good fortune and the favour she had found.
Ermintrude’s harsh voice jerked her attention back to the other newcomer. They stood by one of the chests, now open. “When The Empress disrobes, her ladies place her clothing in this chest. You, Philippa de Grosmont, will have the honor of taking it to Francine in the laundry.”
Philippa frowned. Peri struggled not to let pride become smugness. What did it matter now that the girl had spurned her quiet offer of friendship? She resisted the urge to pin a gloating smile on her face.
“Come with me, Angevin,” Lady Ermintrude commanded.
Sticking out her chin, Peri spun around to follow, her skirts swishing against her legs. Ermintrude stood by a heavy curtain that she thrust aside with a flourish. An acrid smell emanated from the cubicle behind the curtain.
“The royal garderobe,” Ermintrude declared.
Peri suddenly felt dizzy.
“Kneel to reach beneath the privy,” Ermintrude ordered.
Surely not!
Peri slowly lifted her skirts to kneel by the wooden privy. Holding her breath, she felt beneath it for the chamber pot. Disbelief pecked at her that a palace as grand as Westminster had no privy shafts. Even her parents’ modest house had the convenience. Her fingers closed on the handle of a receptacle. The cold stone of the flooring dug into her knees as she drew the pot out, gagging when she saw the contents.
She closed her eyes as dizziness tilted the cubicle to a peculiar angle. Ermintrude towered above her. “Get to your feet. You must carry it out to the yard behind the kitchens where slopboys will dispose of it. Then you wash out the chamber pot and return it here quickly.”
Peri recognized then the full weight of Lady Ermintrude’s disdain. She was required to carry the royal excrement through the palace. Everyone would turn away in disgust at the lowliness of her station.
She held her breath and came to her feet, fearing the pot might slip from her trembling hands. Lady Ermintrude produced a linen cloth which she unfurled with a snap then draped over the chamber pot with great flourish. “Be off.”
Peri lifted her chin and walked out of the chamber, past a snickering Philippa de Grosmont. She resolved to carry out this odious duty with dignity. None of these arrogant Normans would see her heart was breaking, and she would hate them until her dying day.
CHAPTER SIX
“We must harass France!” King Henry declared, exasperated with his daughter’s apparent lack of interest
in the deliberations. She seemed intent on some discussion with that harridan Ermintrude. He snapped his fingers. “Can you not see that, Maud?”
Ermintrude de Calumette pouted at the interruption, infuriating him further. When had the woman become so impertinent? The widowed Empress shot her father an annoyed glance, fidgeting with the sleeve of her gown. “I mislike talk of politics.”
Henry rolled his eyes and thanked the saints only his most trusted advisors were present in the private solar at Westminster to hear his daughter’s feeble protests. He brought his fist down hard on the arm of his massive chair. “If you wish to be Queen of England, you must make these decisions. Did you learn nothing as the wife of the Holy Roman Emperor? Most of my English barons are loath to support a woman. If they deem you incapable of leadership, they will rebel.”
Maud pouted. “Heinrich shared none of his power with me. He was a hateful man. He did not speak my language, and I had to learn to speak German—a guttural tongue I hate. I never expected to be Queen. My brother was to be your heir.”
The familiar ache that had lain like a stone in Henry’s heart for seven years resurfaced. Grief had aged him. No wonder his second wife had not conceived. Her youth made him feel ancient. The robes that once emphasized his regal bearing now clung to his body like a shroud. The handsome brown mustache of earlier years had become a wispy grey beard that fluttered from his chin.
He was heartily sick of the never ending plots and conspiracies that swirled around him, weary of twenty years of sporadic war with France. Louis the Fat had to be dealt with once and for all.
If only William had lived to help shoulder the burdens—but such hopeless longing led to despair if dwelt on too long. How he had loved his bright boy.
“To dwell on your brother’s death does us no good. We must look to the future. The nobles of Flandres have chosen my upstart nephew, Clito, as their new Comte after the grisly murder of Charles of Flandres at Bruges. It’s plain they have acted at the urging of Louis of France.”
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