Knowing that he was observed by so many women, the knight, like a happy bee among flowers, sauntered to his horse, smiled at the throng as he slid onto the red leather saddle, gave a final salute to the abbess and with a nonchalant wave of gauntlet directed the company forwards.
The chariot rattled past the novices. Lady Alys kept her gaze aloof, and Herliva, her thin mouth curled in complacency, took care not to look at Adela but through her. Only the elderly priest, seated beside Herliva, waved and bestowed a farewell cross in blessing.
‘Well, inside now, don’t dawdle!’ ordered the novice mistress, herding up her young charges with dogged tenacity. ‘As for you!’ Pincers of flesh gripped Adela’s ear. ‘Why are you not cleaning the guest chamber? Get on with it! Go!’
Adela went inside and took out her shame and fury upon the hearth. Every mouse turd must be swept away, every cockroach dropping vanquished, and she was still on her knees brushing beneath the bed when the hospitaller came in an hour later to find fault as usual. Instead of running her fingers along every surface for dust, Sister Bertha folded her hands within her sleeves.
‘Stand up, girl!’ Her voice prickled with vicious thorns.
Adela wriggled backwards. Clambering to her feet was better than risking being kicked.
‘I hear you asked our noble guest for money.’
‘In return for my services, sister. It is customary for guests to reward diligence.’
‘Diligence? You are required to clean and you are required to serve. You are not required to perform other offices.’
‘But the lady asked me to braid her hair.’
‘Well, I am informed it was the other way round. I am also informed that you wasted the infirmarian’s time getting her to make you some foolish cosmetic.’
‘I paid Sister Marie for the ingredients, a lotion to make my lady’s hair fairer.’
‘Well, Sister Marie should not have taken payment and, anyway, where did you get the coins?’
‘From my lady. I didn’t thieve and I didn’t beg.’
‘Yet I am told my lady and her woman slept with her jewel coffer between them last night because they had seen you looking covetously at her rings.’
‘That’s n—’
‘Enough! You will present yourself for a scourging after confession.’
‘Scourging!’
‘Our city is full of beggars who would give their right hands to live within these holy walls, yet you, a foreigner and a braggart, betray our trust. Present yourself in the abbey at matins tomorrow so all may witness your humility and gratitude! Now scrub the hearth again!’
For a moment after the latch fell, Adela stood, numbed. Then she slammed her fist into the palm of her hand. All through the winter she had burned to travel to the land of Lord Richart. Now the time had come and she was restored to health, she would let no one stop her. Seizing up the pail of my lady’s excrement, she hurled it at the wall.
Perhaps it was the Devil who whispered to Adela to flee the convent. Yes, it had to be Satan manipulating her pride. Common sense told that her pursuing Lady Alys’s retinue was brazen. Foolhardy! Fleeing Bordeaux and throwing herself on the lady’s mercy might not end well, yet the promise of Mirascon gleamed before her like the star of the Magi. Surely if the vicomte was a just man who ruled wisely, his contented citizens might offer her refuge and the home she so dearly longed for. Maybe she could use her scholarly skills and find a worthy occupation as befitting the daughter of a gentlewoman. Heaven willing, maybe a husband.
Heaven, however, was out of temper. A heavy rain shower soaked her thoroughly as she crossed the inner city and the clouds that followed from the west were not in piddling humour either but let forth with absolute malevolence as she left Bordeaux. Ditches overflowed, hidden potholes needed to be fathomed and mire sucked at each footfall, oozing over Adela’s thin leather slippers. At least, she comforted herself, the weather would slow the progress of the bridal retinue.
In the downpour, she took the wrong fork at the crossroads in one of the outlying villages. Not exactly an error of judgement for she managed to catch up with a procession of wagons that looked familiar, but the hindmost of the riders laughed at her scornfully.
‘Never heard of a Lady Alys,’ he sneered, brandishing his riding crop at her. ‘Be gone, you filthy drab!’ He rode towards her and Adela stumbled back, afraid of both the beast and its master.
‘Hey, if the slut wants a ride, we’ll take her right enow!’ bawled a second horseman, reining back. ‘Give her a merry tupping every night, couldn’t we, lads?’ The two began herding her towards the wagon’s board.
With a curse that contained the words ‘piss’ and ‘whoreson’, Adela bent swiftly, grabbed a handful of mud and hurled it at the nearest horse’s eyes. The creature shook its head violently enough to rebel and in that instant Adela flung herself between their stirrups, sprang across the ditch and scrambled over the dripping nettles. Burrowing into the ancient hawthorn hedge, she found it was one of those that hid a deer path. Ducking, she ran along through the mire and then crouched low. With relief she heard the last wagon struggling past, and cursing, she retraced her muddy steps back to the crossroads. The shivering that had now seized control of her flagging body boded ill. Despair was tempting her to lie down in a ditch and die like a dog, but there was still a strip of steel in her that would not bend. Once the damp twilight surrendered to night, she staggered off the road and spent the night in someone’s barn, keeping company with a donkey.
The cursed rain continued all next day. When she finally came upon the lady’s retinue, it was dusk and the covered carts and my lady’s chariot were drawn up beneath the dripping trees. The company had clearly made early camp because of the weather. The glade was sodden and deserted bar the two fine tents that had been set up. Welcoming candlelight glowed through their canvas walls. Weary and hungry, Adela was desperate to find shelter, a corner of one of the carts would gladly serve, but as she skirted each, she heard men’s voices from within, dicing and drinking. If only she could find Maud. Shivering and so wretched now, she crouched beneath the outermost cart, close to where the packhorses were tethered. At least the rain was easing. Above the boughs, the clouds were rolling back from the face of the rising moon, but she was wet to the skin and must stay so till morning.
Exhausted, she made the mistake of leaning against one of the iron-shod wheels of her shelter and to her horror, the wain shifted. In an instant, heavy feet sprang from the back board and the sentry guarding the horses came running as well. Fierce hands hauled her out. At least these two men were well disciplined. They did not mock her; perhaps she looked too disreputable to ravish. Instead, they marched across to one of the two tents and roused Sir William.
Yawning, he held a candle to Adela’s face and then chuckled. ‘Why, it’s the servant from the convent. What are you doing here so far from the city, girl?’
She could scarce speak for shivering. ‘G-Good sir, I … I b-beg you let me have speech with L-Lady Alys.’
It was charitable of the man to agree. He ordered a blanket to be cast about her shoulders and with a hand on her elbow personally escorted her across to Lady Alys’s tent.
‘It’s Sir William here,’ he called out. ‘If you are decent, my lady, I’ve a surprise for you.’
A preening Herliva pulled back the canvas flap only to snort with outrage as the knight pushed Adela inside.
The dry, scented interior of the tent seemed an elven world. Clad in her gleaming wrap with her hair spread unleashed across her shoulders like a golden mantle, Lady Alys could have been the Queen of Faery confronting mortal strangers. Her amused gaze lingered upon the knight’s face before she pursed her lips and studied the intruder.
Then Adela wasted not a moment. She fell on her knees and clasped her hands beseechingly. ‘Please let me serve you. Oh, please, it’s too far to send me back.’
Herliva started forward. ‘Godssakes, madame—’ but Adela continued desperately, ‘I can make
you look like a queen, my lady. Is not the Vicomte of Mirascon a most handsome man? Would you not wish to be the Queen of Beauty for his sake?’
Lady Alys lifted an eyebrow at Sir William before she perused Adela from her seeping cap to her mud-coated feet. ‘You have skill, girl. I grant you that.’
‘Yes, and an oily tongue.’ Herliva grabbed Adela by the hair and wrenched her head back. ‘She’s here to steal, I warrant.’
‘No, I beg you, madame,’ pleaded Adela. ‘God be my witness, I am honest.’ She closed her eyes in pain, praying that Lady Alys would wish to seem charitable in front of the knight.
‘If you want my advice, my lady,’ he said, ‘decide this matter in the morning.’
Fortunately, Lady Alys did desire her halo to glitter. ‘Oh I am decided, Sir William,’ she purred. ‘Perhaps I shall have need of her. Meantime, she shall help Maud with the laundering.’
Herliva thrust Adela forward onto all fours like some grovelling slave.
But to use my skill, I need to let my hands heal and soften, Adela wanted to plead. Instead, she knelt up with all the dignity she could muster and carried Lady Alys’s hand to her lips.
‘Thank you, lady, with all my heart.’
The knight added softly in Norman French behind his hand, ‘If she’s one of your father’s by-blows, perhaps you should have more care of her, my lady.’
‘Pah, I doubt it,’ muttered Lady Alys. ‘A serf’s get, I assure you. If she fails to please, I’ll turn her off.’ Her gilt eyelashes danced as she added with great sweetness, ‘Now since you are here, Sir William, shall you stay and drink a cup of wine?’ Then she condescended to remember Adela’s presence. ‘Well, you can stop grovelling, girl. Herliva, see to her!’
I never grovel!
But at least Adela had gained a foothold in the retinue. She was on her way to Mirascon.
Chapter Six
… if ye tarry here till morning light, then must ye surely be slain
Frauendienst by Ulrich von Lichtenstein
East of Toulouse, June 1209
The empty pannier stood accusingly upon the bank as Adela came down to the brook. Two of my lady’s chemises dripped in the sun upon the nearby thicket, but a stew of dirty clothes was still in its pail. Maud must be off cavorting again with Emmott, one of the men-at-arms. With a sigh, Adela knelt down by the bowl of lye and picked up the abandoned scrubbing bat.
Her feet ached from walking in the sticky heat since sunrise and her back screamed silently as she bent to her labour. Her work was even harder in this wild, wooded country. There were no laundering places walled with stones, such as there had been in the villages they had passed through between Bordeaux and Toulouse. Instead, when the party set camp each afternoon, she and Maud had to find their way to the shallows of the nearest stream and battle the reeds and bushes for a kneeling spot where the water ran clear.
After she had scrubbed the first of Lady Alys’s underskirts, she sat back and drew her hand across her perspiring brow. Her presence had disturbed the stream’s tiny dwellers but now a damselfly clad in iridescent armour returned, then a trio of water skaters came skimming back, anxious to reclaim their manor. The laughter of the water soothed Adela’s soul. For a rare, snatched moment, she sat idle, delighting in the play of light dappling the ivy-covered bank.
Then a splash and movement startled her. A kingfisher in gold-and-turqueis livery, the colours of the Vicomte de Mirascon, landed on a willow bough opposite, a wriggle of silver struggling in his beak. From his perch, the bird eyed Adela with a nobleman’s freedom and then with a proud toss of head, swallowed his meal with a single gulp.
She laughed and felt her face blush. Each night, before she fell asleep, she imagined how the new vicomte might take her in his arms, and how his loving gaze might warm her face like sunlight. It was wicked to entertain such lascivious thoughts when it would be Lady Alys who would have the right to tangle her fingers in his hair and draw his face down to kiss.
Oh! My lord kingfisher flew off on other business. Biting her lip, Adela returned to her task, but as she began rubbing once more at the dirty hem, she felt her own skirt tweaked.
Maud, her neckline somewhat awry and her head cloth definitely askew, plumped herself down, grabbed my lady’s petticote from Adela and started walloping it with the washing bat.
‘I ain’t feeling guilty,’ she said defensively. ‘You have to take pleasure when you can.’
‘Until you get caught. Herliva will think herself gone to Heaven if she ever finds out.’ Adela took the chausses that had been soaking in the lye pail and swirled them in the stream.
‘Ha,’ snorted Maud. ‘Reckon a bit of tupping behind the bushes might do the woman some good, rattle the spite out of her.’
‘Maud!’
‘Come on, sweetheart! I reckon ’is ’oliness in Rome oughta make a saint of you for the way you put up with that cow. Wouldn’t be surprised if she has webbed feet and a spiky tail. Ah, maybe that’s why she daren’t let a man put ’is hand up ’er skir—ouch!’ she exclaimed as Adela took a playful swipe at her.
Maud’s revengeful whack of bat splashed them both. ‘Leastways we’ll get them skirts dry now the weather’s changed for the better, but I’ll be right glad when we reach Mirrorscone an’ ’ave some decent troughs, or so I’m prayin’. Can’t be worse than Tooloose, eh? Dust everywhere wi’ all that buildin’ goin’ on.’ She directed an expert eye at Adela’s ankles. ‘An’ you watch you don’t get trouble with your tendons, young’un,’ she scolded. ‘Kneel properly, see. Don’t curl your toes else you’ll be hobblin’ all tomorrow.’
Adela rearranged herself, grateful for the warning. Without Maud’s friendship, she would have been tempted to find some high crag and throw herself off. Many a time she reckoned breaking her neck off the Corfe ramparts would have been a mercy except she would have put her soul in torment.
‘Aren’t you exhausted, Maud?’ she asked with a groan as she straightened to ease her aching back. ‘Walking all day in such heat and then having this labour?’
‘Trouble with you, my treasure, is you should have been born a lady.’ Maud glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was near. ‘Go on, do it!’
Adela laughed. From looking chastely downwards, she raised her gaze and with a flutter of eyelashes and a provocative drawing in of her lips whispered coquettishly, ‘Oh, Sir William, noble Sir William, there’s a nasty, wicked spider in my bed. Pray do come and rescue me from its wicked fangs.’ A push from Maud and she rolled sideways laughing.
‘See, perfect,’ chortled the laundry woman. ‘Scrub you up and I reckon you could pass. Almost twins.’ Her stare became searching. She had been trying to wring Adela’s past out of her for several days. ‘You sure you’re not begotten by the same father?’
Adela gave in. ‘My father was a priest.’
‘Ohh hoo, there you are, then!’
‘No.’ Adela laughed, swatting her. ‘Mind, many called him handsome.’
‘Like that, eh?’ Chuckling, Maud wrung out Herliva’s shift. ‘Then you’d better ask yer da where he sowed his oats. Or maybe your mother was no better than she should be. Aw, come on, lovey, spill! I love a meaty tale.’
‘If you must know …’ Taking her time, Adela unravelled the tangle of Lady Alys’s stockings before she added, ‘my mother was of gentle birth.’ Ignoring Maud’s mocking whistle, she continued, ‘Although it was never spoken of, it’s my belief that her family cast her off for falling in love with the family chaplain—my father. They ran away together, but God was merciful.’
‘How so?’
‘Because Mary, the Abbess of Shaftesbury, who was a distant relative of my father though she would never own to it, took pity on them and gave him a benefice at Handley, one of the manors in Dorset owned by the abbey. None of the villagers thought worse of him for having Mama as his concubine. We were very happy until she died in childbirth, God rest her soul.’ She frowned in painful recall. Seeing her mother’s coffin bo
rne between the gravestones was still a vivid memory.
‘Then what happened, lambkin?’
‘My father was devastated. He rode off for counsel to an old friend, Roger, Abbot of the monastery at Abbotsbury, the other side of the shire. When he came back, he told me he had decided to become a monk. “God was calling him,” he said.’ Adela squeezed her eyelids tight against the tears. The pain of that betrayal rose again in her breast.
Maud snorted in disgust. ‘Then I reckon your father was right selfish. What of his obligation for his children?’
‘There was only me. I was fourteen years old. He wanted me to become an oblate so he took me to Lady Mary.’
‘You mean to Shaftesbury?’ Maud’s mouth gaped in awe. ‘Lords-sakes, what did he think you were, a princess?’
‘Oh, you are right, the abbey expected a dowry, but Father had a little money set by and he told Abbess Mary that I was well schooled in Latin and in French.’
‘Glory be! Are you a-sayin’ you can read an’ write, too?’ The laundress’s jaw sagged even lower.
‘And here I am,’ Adela muttered dryly. ‘Anyway, Father persuaded them to take me, and all would have been well, I daresay, save the Devil got into me. I was sullen, rebellious and showed no inclination to make my vows, so when my father’s gift was spent, the nuns began to use me as a servant.’
Maud made no judgement, but she slapped Sir William’s braies hard against the stones for a few moments and then she asked, ‘Where did you learn to dress hair so well? Fat lot of good for the nuns ’cause they ain’t got none. Nun, none, ain’t I clever, eh?’
‘Well, Mother taught me her skills.’ Adela’s voice grew wistful. ‘When I was a child, I used to weave anything within reach—reeds, straw, harvest dollikins. As for braiding hair, I was fortunate that when a wealthy old widow came to live out her last years at the abbey, she employed me as her companion. I used to read to her, dress her hair, write her letters. And then not long after she died, Queen Isabella visited the nunnery and Lady Mary recommended me to her.’
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