Hellion

by Bertrice Small

  Rolf de Briard sighed and bowed his head. There was no place he could imprison her that she could not escape. He tried a final ploy. “Let me go to the king for you,” he said. “He will speak with me for our friendship’s sake.”

  Isabelle shook her head. “Nay, Rolf. The king would greet you fondly and invite you to join his hunting party. He would keep you with him when we very much need you here at Langston. Nay, I must go with you. We will learn what we must and return quickly to Langston. Ancient Albert is already muttering of Langston’s luck being its lord. The serfs will become discouraged if such talk spreads. We must get Hugh home!”

  “Very well, Isabelle,” Rolf said, defeated. She was probably right, he thought. If he went alone, Henry would involve him in the activities of the court while Langston languished without him. Perhaps she could play the worried little spouse and engage the king’s sympathy, not his lust. Still, Alette was going to be furious. “Your mother will not like this at all,” he said to Isabelle.

  “My mother is fearful of anything she considers out of the ordinary. She has never been to court, you know.” Isabelle chuckled. “She will think me quite disobedient, and you a madman for aiding me.”

  But Alette surprised them both when she was told of their plans.

  “I think it an excellent idea that you go to court and speak with the king,” she said to her daughter. “We really must have Hugh home again as soon as possible. And I am pleased, my lord,” she smiled at her husband, “that you will escort Isabelle, and keep her from danger. It would be unwise of her to go alone with only her servants about her. Besides, you know the king, and can help her to get an audience with him. It is a good time for you to go. The planting is finally done, and there is really nothing to oversee until the haying.” She turned to her daughter. “I will look after my grandson.”

  Here was something Belle had not considered, and for a moment she faltered. “He is not weaned,” she said slowly.

  “But he is eating solid foods, for he enjoys imitating his uncle Christian,” Alette said. “I have plenty of milk, daughter. I will nurse him, too, when he needs it. He is, after all, past his first birthday. Go and find your husband. You need another babe to care for, and you are past eighteen now.” She laughed mischievously.

  “As are you, madame, and yet you continue to have children,” Belle teased her mother. Then she grew wistful. “I should like a daughter to keep her brother company,” she said.

  “I should like one as well,” Alette said, her blue eyes twinkling as she looked at her husband.

  “Madame, you have a daughter,” he responded, returning her look of affection and love.

  “I would like another,” Alette told him stubbornly.

  “In time,” he promised her, “but first let us find Hugh.”

  Several days later they departed for Winchester, for Rolf believed, since the king had spent Easter there, he would yet be there, preferring to avoid London in the warmer weather. They took with them Belle’s servant, Agneatha, and twelve men-at-arms for protection. Langston was left well-defended. Hugh’s squire would serve as captain of the guard, and Rolf’s squire would oversee the estate in his master’s absence. Father Bernard blessed the little party as it left the keep. As they rode down the hill into Langston village, Ancient Albeit blocked their way.

  “Lady,” he said to her, his lined face worried, “where goest thou? Will you leave us, too?”

  “I am going to the king, Ancient Albert,” Belle said. “He will know where Lord Hugh is. My mother is in the keep with my son, Hugh the Younger. Until his father returns, it is he who is Langston’s lord, and Langston’s luck. We will quickly return, I promise you.”

  “God go with ye, lady,” Ancient Albert said, satisfied. “The little lord is in the keep with his grandma. ’Tis good. ’Tis good.” He stepped aside to let them pass on through the village to where the ferryman awaited them to take them across the river Blyth so they might be on the road to Winchester.

  Isabelle was very excited. In her entire life she had never been off Langston lands. She had never even crossed the river. There had been no need to do so. Everything she had wanted or needed could be found at Langston. Even if her father had lived and made a marriage for her, she would have probably remained in her home, as it was her dowry. Now, as the ferry took her across the river, Isabelle felt as if she were embarking upon a great adventure.

  “I have planned our journey to Winchester, Belle, so that we will be able to shelter each night in the guest houses of convents, and abbeys,” Rolf explained. “Because you have never traveled before, you may find the first few days a bit tiring.”

  “What if the court is not at Winchester, Rolf?” she asked him.

  “If the king has moved on to another place, there are those in the government who will have remained behind. They will know where we must go. But Henry will be at Winchester, I am certain. He doesn’t like London at this time of year, and it is too early for good hunting in the New Forest.”

  “How long will it take us to get to Winchester?” she inquired.

  “Seven to nine days, providing we can make good time and have decent weather,” he told her. “You will get to see London, Belle, but first we must pass through Colchester. It’s a small town, and very old, but then, you have never seen a town before. It will be a good start, for London is a large, noisy place such as you could never imagine. We’ll not stay there long.”

  They rode across the countryside until they came to a narrow road. Turning onto it, they moved steadily south. The first night, they sheltered at a small convent, St. Mary’s. Agneatha and her mistress were given beds within the convent itself. Rolf and the men slept in the guest house belonging to St. Mary’s, just outside its walls. Their supper was spare: a small trencher of bread, a piece of broiled fish, a cup of cider.

  “They don’t treat themselves too good, do they?” Agneatha whispered to Isabelle as they sat together, separated from the nuns, at their own little table. She pulled a bit of bread off the trencher, remarking, “ ’Tis stale, and the fish don’t smell that good, I fear, lady.” Agneatha was twenty, and very outspoken when it was warranted. “We’ll starve before we gets where we’re going if this is the kind of hospitality we’re going to receive.” Her nut-brown braids trembled with her irritation, for Agneatha enjoyed her food, as her plump form attested.

  “Shhh, Agneatha, St. Mary’s is obviously a poor convent. Look, the good sisters are having only pottage and bread. They’ve obviously given us their best. We are lucky to have a safe lodging. Rolf tells me that travel is very dangerous, and only our men-at-arms prevent robbers from attacking us. We’ll feast grandly when we reach the court.”

  The next day they halted within five miles of Colchester. They would pass through the town the following morning. All of the Langston people were amazed by the number of people they found on the road as they moved toward the town. There were lords and ladies, with men-at-arms such as those in the Langston troupe. There were farmers driving cattle and geese into the town’s market. An abbot on a beautifully caparisoned mule passed them, followed by a double line of brown-robed monks, singing plainsong as they went. And then they saw it, an enormous keep towering over the town. Awed, Isabelle gazed up, mouth open. It was the biggest building she had ever seen in all of her life; far, far bigger than Langston Keep.

  Rolf smiled. “This town,” he said, “has been here longer than anyone can remember. When there were Celtic tribes in England, this town was here. The people who conquered this land before the Saxons, built temples to their heathen gods when they lived here. The castle is built upon the ruins of one of those temples. Some of the bricks in the castle come from it. The cattle market for the district is here, and always has been. And the finest oysters in the world are found here,” he finished.

  “I could not have imagined such a place as this,” Belle said.

  “Do you like it?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “It is too noisy, Rolf
.”

  He laughed. “Wait until you see London,” he warned her.

  They had been on the road several days, and the weather held for them. The early spring had been too wet, and now it seemed as if it were too dry. Belle could see that most of the fields they rode by were as behind in their growth as were the fields at Langston. It did not bode well for a good year, and she worried that they would not be able to get through the next winter without some starvation. She was becoming angry at Hugh. He should be home, she thought, and not running about Normandy. Langston needed him. His son needed him. She needed him.

  Finally, as the roads began to grow even more crowded, she realized that they were nearing the great city of London. She could see the city ahead of them, surrounded by a dingy haze.

  “It’s from the coal and wood fires used for heating and cooking,” Rolf said in answer to her unspoken question.

  They passed through Ealdgate, the portal believed to be the oldest of the city’s gates. The city surrounded them, and for the first time in her life Isabelle felt afraid. There were too many people. Too many buildings were all crowded together on either side of the narrow streets. She grew very quiet, looking straight ahead as if seeking an exit from this terrible place. The gray day made the city seem all the darker.

  “We must cross the river,” Rolf said, “to reach the road to Winchester. There is a fine bridge we’ll use, not a ferry this time.”

  They came to an open-air market on the river’s edge. Belle breathed a bit easier being out of the grim city streets. She looked about her, astounded. There were stalls selling every kind of merchandise. One displayed bolts of cloth such as she had never seen. It glistened, and there were colors she had never imagined. A poulterer’s stall was hung with chickens, ducks, geese, and game birds. A horse merchant had staked his animals out for prospective buyers to see. One booth offered glazed pottery, fine-turned wooden bowls, and spoons. Rolf stopped at the wine merchant’s booth to buy them a cup of wine. He called to a pie merchant with a tray of buns upon his head to stop, and selected three buns filled with raisins, paying the man a ha’penny for his wares.

  “There’s the bridge.” Rolf pointed as they continued along.

  “I do not like this London,” Isabelle said. “I will be glad to be quit of it. It’s even dirtier and noisier than Colchester. Will Winchester be as bad, do you think?” She stuffed the last of the bun into her mouth, chewing the sweet raisins until they were pulp.

  Rolf laughed. “Winchester will be no worse than Colchester, Belle, and you’ll not have to stay long, I promise you. I will get the king to see us. Then we shall be able to return home.”

  They clattered across the bridge, leaving the city behind. The road they now traveled was called Stane Street. It had been built by the Romans. The weather had held for them, and Rolf thought if it continued, they would reach Winchester in another two days. He was not happy bringing Isabelle of Langston to court. What if Henry took a fancy to her? No matter what she believed, the fact that she was Hugh Fauconier’s wife would not deter his lust. Fortunately, Belle, being a countrywoman, had not the elegant clothing the Norman ladies of the court would be wearing. Her glorious hair was relatively well hidden beneath a modest linen veil, her gown simple. She would appear like a sparrow next to the peacocks. With luck, the king would not be intrigued. With luck, he would tell them what they needed to know, and they would depart back to Langston.

  The sun shone for the remainder of their trip, and a warm spring wind blew at their backs as if pushing them onward. At last they reached Winchester, which was, Belle immediately decided, not at all like either Colchester or London. It was a far quieter town, its Romanesque cathedral and castle dominating it. No sooner had they entered it than Rolf knew the court was still here. He recognized many faces, and there was an air of gentle bustle about the town. With a deep sigh of resignation, he led his little party to the castle.

  “Ohh, isn’t it exciting?” Agneatha bubbled. “Do you think we’ll get to see the king, my lady? Ohh, they’ll not believe the half of it when I tell it back at Langston.”

  “No,” said Belle thoughtfully, noting the elegance of the women’s clothing, “they will not.” She glanced down at her practical but plain garments. Why hadn’t Rolf told her? She’d disgrace Hugh for certain! She would have to make the best of it for she had no other choice, and after all, it had been her idea to come to court and petition the king. She could only hope her appearance would not go against her.

  It was the dinner hour, and the king was in the Great Hall. Rolf made Isabelle and the Langston party wait outside the hall. He didn’t want their presence announced so dramatically, for he was not certain how much of Hugh’s visit to Normandy was public knowledge. There were always spies about, ready to report the most insignificant little bit of tittle-tattle to Duke Robert and to Robert de Belleme, who had sworn vengeance on King Henry for driving him out of England. Seeing a young page he knew, Rolf called him over.

  “Go to the king, my lad, and say that Sir Rolf de Briard has just arrived at court and would speak privately with him if he would be so kind as to give him a few moments. Wait until you can address the king discreetly. Do you understand, my lad?”

  “Aye, m’lord,” the boy said, and he hurried off.

  Rolf stood quietly against a wall, waiting, watching for the page to gain the king’s ear. A juggler with a small, amusing dog began to entertain before the high board, the dog tossing balls to his master, then snatching them away, to much laughter. The attention of the diners was well-engaged. Rolf saw the king cock his head to one side, and in the shadow of the king’s chair he could see the page. The king nodded to the lad, and Rolf could see his lips moving gently. Then he looked back to the juggler, laughing uproariously at the antics of the little dog.

  The page hurried back to Rolf. “The king says he will see you in his private chamber. You are to go there now and wait for him. He will come when he can.”

  Rolf thanked the page and left the Great Hall. “Go into the hall,” he told the Langston men. “Say you are with Sir Rolf de Briard, high steward of Langston Keep. You will be fed. Remain there until I come to fetch you, and speak little.” Then he turned to Isabelle and Agneatha. “The king will see me, Belle. Come, and I will take you to the chamber where we will speak. I do not know how long it will be before he comes, so we must wait. At least you will have your privacy.”

  They went to the little room where Hugh had first spoken to the king regarding Langston, and where later he and Rolf had bid the king farewell. They had no sooner entered it when a page arrived with wine and goblets. He deposited the items upon the table and left. Rolf poured Belle a goblet of the liquid. The poor girls were probably starving at this point, but they had no choice but to wait. Belle thoughtfully shared her wine with Agneatha, whose belly was rumbling with a mixture of hunger and excitement.

  Isabelle considered her attire. It was painfully plain, though it was one of her best gowns. Her skirts were of an indigo-blue linen. Her grass-green linen tunic was belted with a girdle made from small squares of blue and green enameled copper, each square studded with a single small pearl. The embroidery at the neck and sleeves of the gown was of real gold thread, in a foliage design. Her hair, braided neatly in its single braid, was covered by a fine white linen veil, its hem also embroidered in the gold thread. Isabelle discreetly brushed the dust of the road from her garments. If only she had had the time to change into better garments. If only I had better garments, she thought.

  “You look fine,” Rolf reassured her.

  “I look like what I am,” Belle responded, a bit tartly, “a country bumpkin. Why did you not tell me of the beautiful clothing the court ladies wear? I hope I shall not embarrass Hugh with my less-than-fashionable appearance, Rolf. I saw those wonderful materials in London in that market by the bridge. Can I buy some when we return home? Certainly my lady mother would enjoy having something so fine.”

  “I never thought much about cl
othing before we left Langston,” Rolf admitted. “Besides, you have not come to the court to join it. We have come to find out where Hugh has gotten to, Isabelle.”

  “It could not hurt my case if I were to look pretty,” Belle replied, annoyed. Why did men not understand these things?

  “Belle,” Rolf said to her low, urgently. “Remember what I have told you about the king. He has a weakness for pretty women, and you are a very pretty woman. I must warn you again that being his friend’s wife would not deter him if he desired you. As I waited in the hall I learned that the queen is due to deliver a child in August sometime. She bore her first little prince too early, and the babe died. This child is therefore twice as important. The king will have eschewed his wife’s bed for many weeks now. I know him well. His eye will be roving. Let me do the speaking, and for sweet Jesu’s sake, keep your lovely eyes lowered and your head down. Let Henry Beauclerc’s lust look elsewhere.”

  “Very well, Rolf, I shall play the meek and modest little wife of Hugh Fauconier lest I send you into a fit and my mother be widowed again; but I think it ridiculous. I will not leave here, however, until I learn where my husband is. Understand that, and do not fail me.” Belle brushed her skirts again vigorously, shaking them free of wrinkles.

  They waited. Agneatha fell asleep, exhaustion finally setting in and the too-rich wine, unwatered, going to her head.

  “Poor lass,” Rolf said. “It is all too much for her, I think.”

  Belle nodded, and then she smiled. “The wine was very potent, and I fear I let Agneatha have more of it than I should have. She is not used to such a fine brew, and if truth be known, neither am I, but I erred on the side of caution.”

  Finally, they heard footsteps in the corridor outside the small chamber. The door was flung open by a page, and the king entered the room. Rolf bowed low as Belle spread her skirts in a deep curtsey, head well down and eyes modestly lowered as her stepfather had suggested. Still, she could not help sneaking a look at the king, and found him a fine figure of a man, with his black hair and his bright blue eyes.