Gifts of the Queen

by Mary Lide

  From first light, peasants had come crowding in, lining up against the wooden palisades for better view, laying wagers on this knight or that. Village lads, more shrewd, stationed themselves to be of service to a fallen knight, to catch his runaway horse or drag the rider from the field. Meanwhile, the ladies in our tent made their preparations, too. Mother of God, how they elbowed each other for space, swearing worse than any trooper does, letting curses fall from those dainty lips. Several beat their serving maids for imagined faults; I saw one in tears because a rival had used a looking glass before she could. I watched them pack out their wheaten hair with bits of straw tied underneath, color those pink cheeks with special rouge, blacken their lashes and eyebrows. At Sedgemont, we would have been whipped for such lack of common decency. And the clothes they wore, such displays of silk and fur, enough to cover an acre of ground. I could not help marvel how they would drag such finery through the mud, still deep in parts, or how they could bear to sit and stew in today's heat. But when the time came for them to depart, they were too lazy, or too great, to walk; rather, mounted on white mules saddled in gold brocade, they were led along by pages dressed in their own livery. I waited until most of them were gone, my own ladies fidgeting at the delay, and dressed myself to my own taste, looped up my skirts, bid them walk ahead. You would have thought I ordered them down a road to Hell, such faces they put on, and I could guess how they winked and nudged behind my back. Then too I had brought only spring flowers and leaves to bind into chaplets for our hair, no pearls and jewels such as the other ladies wore. Indeed, I had no jewels so could wear none except the queen's ring, which, by binding it about with a thread of wool, I made small enough to set on my right hand.

  We had not far to walk, dear life, you would have thought it a monstrous chore, for during the night serfs had built long benches beside the palisades, and there most of the ladies were already bestowed with those lords who did not take part, seated under awnings which gave some shade. I found a place for us, low down, not over comfortable, to one side. Matt and Walter looked distressed, the more when Lady de Vergay sent word I should join her in a central box and I refused. 'We are settled now,' was the excuse I gave, 'no need to upset everyone so late.' In truth, I had no wish to sit beside these ladies and their noble lords and hear Mistress Alyse tell me how beautiful Lady Isobelle was. And, thanks be, the trumpets blew again; it seemed they blew all day long, to cut off argument. My ladies stopped their grumbling and craned out to see what would happen next.

  Now, as you may recall, a tournament of this kind was not common in France even then, the third day's mêlée or open charge being more usual, and that I will explain in due course. Today the knights would joust, one by one, and jousting was a novelty, as was having women to watch and a crowning of a queen—all fripperies such as Ralph de Boissert had complained of, and Raoul too when he heard of them. All this was new to him since he had last been in France, and in England we did not yet know its name. Not so my womenfolk. I had guessed right that cracked heads or broken bones were counted among them as a kind of prize. And since Walter knew as little as I, we all watched and listened in amazement.

  First, Sire de Boissert, as giver of the joust, rode out with six marshals all dressed in black and white, chief among them, Sir Jean. Behind them came the heralds, not yet out of breath, sufficient wind to shout out the name and quality of each man taking part. De Boissert made a commanding figure on his horse, a narrow-chested bay with strong legs. It pranced from side to side as the peasants cheered. He surveyed the field to see all was prepared, the spectators held firmly back, the lances ready, and the palings and barricade firm. Then he raised his white rod, and his marshals shouted that the jousters should prepare. They themselves, not being combatants today, scrambled off their horses into the stands.

  Another blast of trumpets sent the birds flying in the distant trees. Then, two by two, the trumpeters stepped out, on foot, and after them the knights, also two by two, fighting to hold their horses back in line, their squires and pages straining on the leading ropes. Since only a knight could joust, I saw how my squires leaned forward, breathless with anticipation as these knights went by. The sun shone, the knights, still unhelmeted, waved to their friends; the serfs shouted and pointed and made their bets. Each lord seemed to wear a different color or device; some had strange closed helmets hanging from their saddle bows, with streamers flying from the crests, carved also into strange shapes of birds or beasts. But, strangest of all, as these knights passed the ladies rose to welcome them, and stripped off pieces from those fine clothes which they had just forced on their backs.

  Sleeves they tore away from their lacings, girdles, hair ribbons, even fur linings from their hems until you thought they would strip themselves down to their shifts. And, as strange, the knights leaned out, caught each fluttering piece of silk or stuff, tied it round their lances or their sleeves or tucked it inside their mail coats.

  Those are honor's gauges,' my women explained, scandalized by my ignorance. 'Each knight will wear a ribbon for a lady's sake. And he who fights and wins most times will be proclaimed champion of all who fight, and will have the right to crown his lady as the queen.' They rolled their eyes at my questioning; better, I thought, they might have shown shock at those lewds who would have gone naked in broad daylight, as doubtless they had stripped themselves in the dark last night. I admit, though, to disappointment when the guard of Sieux rode by, resplendent in their red embroidered surcoats with gold hawks. Never a look they cast at us, but I was sure they stopped in turn at the central box, deftly caught the ribbons the ladies there tossed to them. And Raoul, riding his black stallion with his men, I was sure the ribbons he tied on his arm were black and white.

  Now the jousters were ready to begin. They lined up in turn at either end of the list. Some stayed in their saddles, testing one last time at girth and rein, balancing the weight of their lances. Others dismounted and let their squires walk their horses up and down to keep them calm. At the herald's blast, two knights rode forth, one from each side. Slowly they advanced at first, their faces hidden beneath those cruel helmets, with closed fronts and slits for eyes. Then, at the trumpet's sound, they urged their horses into a run. Down the lists they galloped, close to the central barricade, turf flying in clods.

  Midway they met, each thrusting with his lance across the dividing rail. There was a crash, a splintering sound, both knights reeled in their saddles from the blow. Their horses, unchecked, galloped madly on. The knight closest to us had lost control; his head flopped back, he grasped his side, and slowly toppled to the ground. Too stunned to move, he lay there until his squires came rushing out to carry him away.

  'One!' screamed the ladies in delight. They leapt to their feet and waved their hands, shouted until their faces grew red. That fallen knight must pay a price, in armor or horse or sword and shield to the knight who had unhorsed him. But no one thought of how he then should live without his gear, how endure the injuries that he sustained.

  Again the trumpets blared. 'In God's name, let the contestants ride forth.' Again we saw two men meet, one to win, the other lose. Three more times I watched and felt my body jar as did theirs, felt each thud, each cry of pain, each howl of delight.

  'These be the younger knights,' my women now explained, their eyes bright, their voices quick, more vivacious than I had seen or heard them. They tasted blood as a hound scents it. One man had already broken his arm, another lay with a cracked rib. 'Later will come the experienced knights. Then we shall see greater sport.'

  I began to count how often the victorious knight wore the black and white of the de Boissert house. She gives her favors to many men, I thought, and then, almost bitterly, Which one of them will crown her queen as she desires?

  On an impulse I cannot explain, I slipped down from the wooden seat and made my way to the back of the stands. No one, not even my squires, saw me leave, nor did the serfs turn their heads. An old chained bear slept with his graying muzzle
on the grass, dreaming, no doubt, how he too could rip his enemies with his claws. I walked rapidly away, the sun hot now, away from the noise and the crowds and the violence, until I came to one of those distant clumps of trees. The people, the jousts, seemed a long way off, the shade under these young oaks was cool and peaceful. The new foliage was not yet quite out, the sun filtered through a pale green haze, and the ground beneath was soft with a litter of last autumn's leaves. Finding a comfortable spot, I threw down my cloak, pulled off the chaplet that bound my hair, and put my head down wearily, upon my arms. The night had been long and sleepless; the day before fraught with care; today, who knew what perils faced my stubborn yet noble lord. And presently, I thought I was far from France, back at Sedgemont as once I had been with my friends: Cecile, my faithful companion, and her betrothed, and Giles, my beloved squire of those days. We sat upon the ground at the forest edge. Some of the castle guard had brought their horses to drink. The great beasts rolled and splashed; the men in their shirts laughed as they wiped them dry; the wildflowers grew pale pink and white; and where the hooves had crushed, wild mint made the air smell sweet.

  'Shall you be wed, Lady Ann?' Cecile said. 'He watches you, Lord Raoul, I mean. He must have a man to hold Cambray and many lords will bid for it. And he must wed, too, and be betrothed, to knit his lands with hers, an heiress in France to bring him joy.'

  'Love!' they laughed, 'why, little lady, you dream of that. Marriage is not for love. He would be betrothed to have more lands; he will have you wed to save the ones he has. And you, if you wed, it will be for grief.' Their laughter was not cruel, rather, sad; I could not see their faces, once so dear to me, my earliest, best-loved friends, and when I looked for them, they were gone. It was the Norman ladies who laughed in their stead. And when I woke, it was those Norman cries, those Norman shouts of triumph, that filled my ears. The sound of horses, however, was real, the drumming of hooves close to where I lay.

  I sat up quickly and looked through the underbrush. A small group of men came galloping toward the trees on the side away from the jousts so they would not be seen. Their horses were lathered and their cloaks were white with dust, their mail coats blotched with it; they had an air of weariness that made me feel sorry for them. I pulled my skirts about me, made to rise, curious to know who it was who came so late. The one at their head suddenly reined in.

  'Mark that one,' he said over his shoulder to the men behind; there was something in the way he spoke, something peremptory, that made me ill at ease. I had heard that sort of command before. The men pulled in their horses at his sign.

  'Maiden,' one of them said, an unusual way of speaking he had, rolling his vowels, 'our master would know your name.'

  I know not why, but some devil prompted me. 'As first I should know his,' I said. I began to brush the leaves from my skirt. Some rogue I thought, well, I knew how to deal with insolence; but his remark vexed, that he and his 'master' should break upon my peace without a by-your-leave to question me. If his 'master' wished to know my name, he could speak for himself, not have his underlings do it for him. They did not view it that way at all.

  'Show courtesy when you answer,' the man barked out, anger darkening his face. 'In good time as he wills it. It is not your place to address him.'

  'Nor he me,' I broke in. 'Courtesy is due to everyone, I think, much more to women than to men.'

  He swore at that, leaned over his horse's side to grasp my arm. I backed under the low-lying branches in alarm. They were perhaps a dozen or so, all mounted men, and I alone. The little wood that at first had seemed a haven began to take on the appearance of a trap, too far off for anyone to see, too far off to cry for help. They could not ride within the wood, but that would not prevent them dismounting and coming on foot. I had a sudden vision of Raoul's face, taut with rage that I should bandy words with any group of raggle knights, not a mark of rank among them.

  'Would you seek a maiden's name and fright her half to death?' It was their 'master' who now spoke, who edged the other's horse out of the way, came crowding in after me. Like the other men, he was muffled in a cloak and talked through its folds to hide both face and voice, but I could tell it was a young man who spoke, and the ease with which he checked and spurred his horse, forcing it through the undergrowth, showed him to be trained in knightly skills. He put up his arm to drag the branches aside, and the cloak fell back. I saw his face. It was not a face I knew, and I had never seen its like before; but simply put, it was the most beautiful face I had ever seen, or hope to see again. Not beautiful as a man's face is, not like Raoul's with its faint scars, its emotions to etch lines and shadows on living flesh, its blood running beneath the skin, but beautiful as a statue carved in stone, such as since I have seen, with thick curled hair, smooth marble skin, dark eyes that too seemed shaped of stone. And a smile, as now he smiled, half human also, half something else; wild perhaps, pagan, like the men who carved those statues years ago. The only flaw was a slight chip on both front teeth, yet that flaw served a purpose, made his smile at least seem alive. And, when he spoke, the voice, by contrast, was warm and admiring.

  My first reaction was sheer panic. I was poised to escape, as a rabbit bolts from fox or hound and then is mesmerized, unable to stir. I felt my breath come in rasps, as if I had run a great distance, and I leaned against the tree trunk as if the ground rocked beneath my reels. Men will ride into your dreams. That was how he rode into mine, to be my bane. My only hope seemed boldness and I showed him it.

  'I am come, sir,' I said, as evenly as I could, 'to watch the tourney as you, I think, are come to take part.'

  'To sleep more like,' he said, almost amused. 'You expect someone I think?' His glance raked my hair, my rumpled dress. Yet perhaps when I moved, seeking, as he in turn moved his horse, to put a barrier between us, he caught a glimpse of silk beneath the cloak I had snatched up. His manner changed in subtle ways, more cautious perhaps. A man may take liberties with a serving wench that he would think twice about with a lady born. Or perhaps it made him more curious.

  'With whom are you come?' he now asked, patting his horse to make it stand, thinking it alarmed me; a great brown horse it was, beneath the dust, its trapping rich and elaborate. He smiled again, that charming smile that never moved above his lips, his eyes cold, like marble carved. 'Whom do you serve?'

  I should have told him then who I was, but caution, yes, and shame silenced me. I did not want it said that the Countess of Sieux lay on the ground alone, to sleep; bad enough to have been mistaken once for a dairy maid. And to tell the truth, that half-wild smile made me more nervous than before. I said perhaps the worst thing of all, 'With the Countess of Sieux whose squires will look for me.'

  A feeble attempt at threat, as quickly dismissed.

  'So,' he said, as if satisfied. 'Now that is a chance we could have sought the world to find. Then you know the count? But you, you are not from Sieux. We know the way they speak.'

  It was the use of that 'we' that alerted me, the arrogant Norman-French 'we' that Raoul used when he was angry or spoke without thought, that 'we' of a French lord. And I noticed too, although I should not, the admiring look he gave. Should not; but we are all human, and I have sworn to tell the truth. In a day of humiliation that look was to remain a comforting thought. Yet even then, some sixth sense warned me, danger came in gusts as a wind blows. I could smell it, almost taste, feel it, and instinctively I put my hand up to ward it off. The sun, reflecting off some piece of mail, a shield rim, glinted in my eyes and caught the ring upon my hand.

  'By the Rood,' he said, 'where got you that?'

  I looked at him, startled, not knowing at first what he meant. He took confusion perhaps for guilt. With a sudden movement, he forced the horse upon me, breaking down the branches with his arm and shield. Before I had taken two steps, he had caught me and dragged me back so I was pressed against his horse's side. Close to, his eyes were not as dark as I had thought, more gray than brown, and flecked now with an angry yel
low light. I had seen eyes like that somewhere before. He seized my hand, crushing it in his grip, and pulled the fingers apart. The ring, too large, was merely tied with a thread that snapped, so slid easily off. He held it in his shield hand, fingering it, rolling it round, whilst with the other, he held me on my toes. I would not let him see the pain he caused, pulling thus on shoulder blade and hip.

  I gritted my teeth, cried out, 'Your manners are not over-nice, nor your courtesy to a lady born. The ring is mine. Or rather,' seeing the look of disbelief, 'the countess lent it me.'

  'Then where did she, this countess, get it?'

  I shook my head. 'Ask her yourself.'

  'I shall,' he said. 'Tell her so. Tell her, whether you wish or not, that she look for me, else I shall inform her and her lord, the count, her servant women are thieves and harlots to boot.'

  That was too much. Despite the fact he held me, despite his men beyond the trees, I drew myself up and faced him out. 'Both lies,' I said. 'Were I a man. I'd tear you apart for saying so.'

  'By God,' he said, 'red temper to match red hair. Are all the countess's maids red-haired and hot?'

  A sudden thought seemed to strike him. He let me go, dropping me to the ground. He said, 'I hear Count Raoul of Sieux has brought a Celtic wench to keep him company, from the wildest part of Wales, a Celtic wanton so they say . . .'

  'A lie again,' I spat out, 'as honest a wife . . .'

  'As you are virtuous maid?' he mocked, still playing with the ring. 'Lying here in the sun, yearning for whom?'

  'There be Celts,' I said, telling him what I should have told them all, all those Normans who so belittled us, 'as well born as any Norman alive. And once as great, holders of more lands than you'll ever claim. And respect due to them from wandering scum who think to pass the time of day. Take care, the count will not have me treated with less courtesy than is due his wife.'