The Maiden's Abduction

by Juliet Landon

  "Really. How interesting. Are you staying here in Brugge? At the

  Marinershuis?"

  Ah. Silas again. So, she had interests there, did she?

  "Yes, I am Master Mariner's guest. He brought me over on his ship from

  York to see something of Brugge. It's a beautiful town. I long to see

  more of it."

  "So how long do you intend to stay?"

  The question was blunt and to the point, and Isolde was relieved to be

  joined at that moment by Silas, who placed a tiny skinny monkey to sit

  on her armful of gown. It wore a collar studded with diamonds.

  "There," he said.

  "Seen one of those before?"

  Isolde saw that any reply would have gone unnoticed during the meeting

  of Silas with Ann-Marie Matteus, for the woman's attitude changed from

  hostile to winsome at the bat of an eyelid. He bowed formally but,

  rather than take her hand to kiss, kept his fingers on the jewelled

  pommel of his dagger.

  "Damoiselle," he said.

  "Silas," Ann-Marie simpered.

  "You came as soon as you returned. I'm so glad to see you again."

  "I came here to accompany Master Caxton at the presentation of his book

  to the Duchess, damoiselle, that's all. You and Mistress Isolde have

  met, I see."

  "Yes. She tells me she's staying with you. Is that so?"

  "You are asking me to verify what Mistress Isolde has told you?"

  "Ah ... no, of course not." Ann-Marie's face struggled into a brittle

  smile.

  "But is it wise, Silas? You know how people talk. I shall be pestered

  by people asking me what's going on. What am I going to tell them?"

  Intuitively, Isolde understood both the gist of the woman's

  insinuations and Silas's predicament, and, though she had no sympathy

  to waste on either of them, she did not intend to stand as

  pig-in-the-middle while they batted denials over her head. Even to a

  blind man it was obvious that the woman was doing her best to inform

  her of some previous relationship and that her choice of this public

  place was sure to cause the most immediate damage. But, whether it was

  true or not, the woman was not going to score at her expense, in public

  or in private.

  "Tell them whatever you wish, damoiselle," Isolde said in her sweetest

  tone, before Silas could draw breath, 'but the truth saves a lot of

  effort in the long run. Tell them, whoever they are, to mind their

  own. oh, no! " She peeped up at Silas.

  "Tell them that we have an understanding. Nothing official, yet, but

  our fathers have been friends for years, and..." she made it sound

  like a search for the exact wording 'and. -. er, oh, yes, he's allowed

  to make gifts to me.

  This is his latest. " She took hold of the pearl pendant and held it

  forward.

  "Isn't it a beauty? Oh, and thisT She held out the bewildered

  monkey.

  Ann-Marie Matteus snatched the creature from Isolde's hand and held it

  tightly against her.

  "Is mine!" she said, all smiles now gone.

  "Ah, he gave you that, did he? And do you and Master Silas have a

  similar understanding? He's a very understanding man, is he not?"

  The woman knew when she had met her match. Looking at neither of them,

  she stooped to pick up her flowing veil and train in one practised

  sweep, and left them.

  In some concern, Silas took Isolde's arm.

  "Do you want to go home?" he said.

  Refusing to meet his eyes, Isolde copied the same graceful gathering of

  her gown.

  "Home? No, indeed. I'm just beginning to enjoy myself, I thank you."

  She bent to caress the silky white ears of the little gazehound that

  had come to lean against her legs.

  "Why, little thing," she whispered, 'you are trembling more than I am.

  "

  That was the extent of Isolde's compliance. The young court louts who,

  according to Silas, would come buzzing, were allowed to swarm like bees

  around a new queen, after which the Duchess, her duties discharged,

  took Isolde to her green-cushioned dais, an honour which Isolde could

  have boasted of for the rest of her life, if she had chosen to.

  The whole experience, though exciting, was akin to skating upon thin

  ice, and the mental agility required to avoid mention of the actual

  circumstances of her presence in Brugge did even more to boost Isolde's

  confidence than the earlier acrimonious interview.

  Afterwards, she could not explain why the thought of a woman being

  close to Silas, any woman, should bring such a rush of ill feeling to

  her breast, but she would not ask him for details. No, she'd not give

  him so much satisfaction.

  "So, should I have congratulated the lady, then?" Her sideways assault

  was easily hidden in the babble of voices as they prepared to mount in

  the courtyard of the Princenhof.

  Silas had been particularly subdued, in the manner of one who expects

  an inevitable volley of questions at any moment, and now, when the

  first salvo appeared, his defence was over-prepared.

  "Who?" he said, leading her towards the mare.

  "The one with the diamond-studded monkey." His mouth twitched.

  "No, there's nothing I know of there that deserves congratulations

  except for being a troublemaker. You could congratulate her for having

  a father who's a diamond merchant, but that's about all I can think

  of."

  "But you gave her the monkey, I take it?"

  "No, I didn't. I sold it to her father. Anything else?"

  He lifted her into the saddle, setting her sideways and arranging her

  skirts. When she made no immediate response to his invitation, he

  gathered the reins and held them out of reach on the mare's neck. His

  chin was on a level with her elbow.

  "Well?" he said.

  It was her place to start the attack, so what right did he have to

  issue a challenge? Anyway, there was something else, but with Master

  Caxton and his young assistant looking on he knew full well that this

  was no time for her to develop the theme.

  "Are you going to give me the reins, or shall I be led?" she

  muttered.

  He was laughing, she was sure, as he handed them over, but she refused

  to look and, for some considerable time, had to acknowledge her own

  bull-headed approach to be the prime cause of her aggravated

  irritation.

  It was Saturday, and their detour through the thronging streets soon

  took them into the Market Square, dominated by the massive tower of the

  belfry which she had seen in the distance the day before. The Cloth

  Hall, where good Flemish cloth was prepared for export, was pointed out

  to her, its facade littered with cut work picots, and snippets of stone

  lace. On this busy market day, calls and greetings came at them from

  all sides, waves of feathered hats and whistles of admiration which,

  Silas told her, were certainly not for him.

  Nevertheless, they were obliged to stop more than once as they threaded

  a path through the stalls, giving Isolde and Cecily a chance to see the

  sugar loaves and spices, the cross-legged tailors, the barber's stall

  cheek- by-jowl with flagons of good sweet hippocra
s and the merry

  customers who reeled from one to the other. In many ways it reminded

  her of York, except that this was more compact and therefore appeared

  larger, but her eye was caught by similar sights: billowing sails of

  cloth hanging from lines, mirrors, leather shoes, belts and girdles,

  purses, carved boxes, combs and skeins of coloured wools.

  Isolde winked at Cecily and together they sidled away from where the

  three men were being accosted yet again by acquaintances. Lengths of

  velvet and veiling, fine wool lens and linens lapped like brilliant

  coloured waves and, hypnotised by the sight, they moved nearer, eager

  to feel, compare and choose.

  "I'll hold the mare," Cecily mouthed to Isolde over the din.

  "Go on, slide down ... oh!" Her warning was unheard.

  Isolde shuffled herself forward from her sideways seat but was

  restrained by a firm arm from behind, holding her back.

  "What...?" She turned, angrily.

  "No, mistress," Silas said, leaning towards her from his greater

  height.

  "It's a long way down, and you could injure yourself. And I have far

  more interesting fabrics to show you, if you can wait."

  Frustrated yet again, Isolde could not believe the boast.

  "What, better than these, sir? Look at the colours. I need..." She

  pointed.

  "Yes, I know you do. I intend to put the matter right, I assure

  you."

  He took hold of the mare's bridle and turned her through the crowds to

  Bridlestreet, which linked the Market Square with the equally

  impressive Burg. Alone, they could have kept up a hostile silence,

  Isolde sulking, Silas uncompromising, but with Master Caxton and Jan

  Van Wynkyn still bubbling after their appointment at the Princenhof and

  their expectation of a midday meal at the Marinershuis, she had little

  choice but to resume her pseudo-sociability.

  More than willing to act as tour guide, young Jan pointed out the most

  interesting landmarks as they approached Silas's house from another

  direction, and, angry or not, Isolde was moved by the secluded nests of

  buildings and courtyards, bridges and glimpses of water opposite the

  Church of Our Lady. The sun sparkled beneath the smooth curve of St.

  Boniface's Bridge, and reflections shone across the water in busy green

  and brown willow-patterns, making Isolde squeeze her eyelids as they

  turned to enter their own courtyard.

  "You did not enjoy?" Meester Jan held up his arms to lift her down

  from the saddle.

  But before she could respond Silas's arms enclosed her waist from

  behind and tipped her, slowly and gently, into them.

  "Put your arms around my neck," he whispered, 'or I'll give you to that

  wordy printer's assistant. Shall I? " he threatened.

  "No." She obeyed, wishing with all her heart that he would kiss her

  again here, before them all. But he did not. Instead, he carried her

  into the cool house, where all was dim after the bright daylight, and

  placed her upright to continue the acting-out of good relations.

  The effort was almost too much for her, and by midafternoon , when the

  guests had departed, Isolde had reached the end of her tether.

  Almost before the sound of the hooves had died she paced back into the

  house across the black and white tiles, where she rounded on Silas like

  a whirlwind, her voice almost screeching with pent-up provocation.

  "You knew, didn't you? You knew that woman would be there. You knew

  they'd all be wearing steeples on their heads, not as you said at

  all.

  You wanted to--' "That's enough, Isolde."

  "To humiliate--' " I said that's enoughV He closed the door and stood

  with his back to it, as he had done before, creating a barrier not to

  be broached. His voice, cutting but hardly raised, demanded her

  instant obedience.

  "Sit down, maid, if you please."

  Defiantly, she stared back, eye to eye, until a quick glint of anger

  gave her all the warning she needed. She sat.

  "Now," he said, swinging a stool beneath him, 'you will tell me in a

  civilised manner, not like some screaming fishwife. Your range is most

  impressive, but I prefer to hear the lady you showed me this morning.

  She was truly astonishing," he said in wonderment.

  Chastened, Isolde was inclined to fume in silence, but that time had

  passed.

  "Why?" she croaked.

  "Why didn't you give me some warning? You obviously knew there'd be

  questions, but you didn't say I'd have to explain to a woman who

  clearly has some claim on you. That was the most humiliating charade

  I've ever had to play; every bit of it a complete and utter lie. How

  could you?"

  "I'll tell you, if you'll listen."

  "No more lies. Try the truth."

  The cutting tone was resumed. I have every intention of trying the

  truth, so you try putting your preconceptions aside and believing what

  I tell you, for a change. First, the woman has no claim on me, nor has

  she ever had. Her father, Paulus Matteus, and I have done business

  together for years, and he once suggested an alliance between myself

  and his daughter, which he foolishly mentioned to her before he

  discovered my inclinations. She apparently approved, but I didn't, and

  she's obviously having some trouble coping with the hurt of

  rejection.

  Her father was at fault; he should never have mentioned it to her.

  That's all there is to it. The possibility that she might have been

  there this morning didn't enter my head. Yes, I knew she was one of

  the Duchess's ladies; unusual for a merchant's daughter, but a diamond

  merchant has. well. an advantage over a mere mercer. But it was

  William who invited us there, not me, Isolde. It was pure coincidence,

  and you handled it--' the smile emerged '--with your usual courage. I

  was most impressed, and I have to thank you for saying to her what I

  could not have said. Not then, anyway. "

  "Why not? Because of her feelings? You didn't mind mine."

  "You had the advantage, Isolde. I'd not intentionally hurt the lass

  more than she is already."

  "But she's keeping the possibility alive in her own mind, and that

  casts this so-called understanding of ours into some doubt, doesn't

  it?"

  "Of course not. Everyone knows what the situation is by now. You were

  the only one there this morning who didn't and that's why she was

  trying it on. For mischief. She knew I'd not bother telling you of

  something that didn't happen."

  "Wishful thinking. Doesn't it embarrass you?"

  "No. She can wish all she likes. I don't even think about it, and I

  want you to do the same. Forget it."

  "I can forget it. I care not who you have an alliance with, but I do

  resent having to justify my presence here with a pack of lies."

  "It's not a pack of lies, Isolde, it's as I told you. You are mine,

  like it or not."

  "As far as the whole truth is concerned, sir--' " And what was the

  problem with the head-dress? From what I heard, there was nothing but

  admiration for the way you looked. "

  "Another lie. You told me, if you reme
mber, that this was what they

  were wearing--' she pointed to her head '--and then I find--' " Not

  lies! I told you, if you remember, that it was the Florentine fashion,

  and so it is, and it suits you a great deal better than those

  ridiculous pinnacles they're wearing. If they don't take somebody's

  eye out first, they'll all be as bald as coots if they go on like that.

  I'll not have you pulling your hair out, Isolde, and that's why I

  forbade Mei to tell you about them. "

  "So, as it was, I was the odd one out."

  "As it was, maid, you were the centre of attention. What more could

  you have wished for? Eh?"

  "And now you're going to tell me what to wear. Is that why I was not

  allowed to buy myself some fabric?

  Do you prefer ten-year-old half-silks to Italian brocades, too? You

  saw their gowns? " She swept a scornful glance over her own, then went

  to stand at the window, looking out into the side garden that had so

  far escaped the gardener's attentions. The conversation had taken a

  milder turn, but nothing now could compare with the relief at his

  explanation of Mistress Matteus's behaviour. What he had said made

  sense; she could not doubt it.