Hellion

by Bertrice Small

  “Your ladyship is too kind,” the merchant said, but then he turned to Isabelle. “If yer ladyship wishes, my wife can indeed make the gowns you will need for your visit to court.”

  Isabelle nodded. “Yes,” she said.

  “Have Mistress Mary come up to the castle tomorrow,” Mavis instructed the cloth merchant. “She is to ask for Isabelle of Langston’s quarters. She will be directed.” She looked to Rolf and Belle. “Well, come along now, and we’ll stroll back together. Is this your serving girl? What is her name?”

  “Agneatha, my lady,” Belle replied.

  “Well, Agneatha, you must make friends with my Jane. She’ll tell you everything you’re going to need to know about life at court. I honestly don’t know what I should do without Jane. You remember Jane, don’t you, Rolf? She is such a dear, loyal creature. We were raised together, you know. I suspect my father was her father as well, but no one ever dared to voice it aloud, if indeed it is true.” She rattled on, gossiping merrily as they walked together back to the castle.

  When they had once again reached the royal residence, however, Isabelle bid Mavis of Farnley a good night. “Our journey has been long,” she said simply, by way of explanation.

  “But there will be music and entertainment in the Great Hall this night,” Mavis protested.

  “I am not comfortable dressed as I am, my lady Mavis. When I have my first garment made, then I shall gladly join you,” Isabelle responded. Then she curtsied to the other woman politely, and with Agneatha following in her wake, hurried off to her chamber. She knew the bedding would have already been delivered from the market by the lad Rolf had paid to do so. She was hungry, tired, and beginning to be a little frightened.

  “Isabelle did not expect to be invited to stay at court, and she is a little bit overwhelmed by all of it,” Rolf explained to Mavis.

  “She is Hugh Fauconier’s wife,” Mavis said, “and everyone knows that you and Hugh were the king’s favorite boyhood companions. By the way, where is Hugh? And why did he not see his wife had the proper clothing to bring to court? Honestly, men!”

  “Hugh is not with us, Mavis,” Rolf said, “and neither is my lady wife. Lest you obtain the wrong impression, let me explain that Hugh is overdue on the king’s business. Isabelle became worried, and nothing would do, for she is most headstrong, but that we come to court and inquire ourselves as to his whereabouts. I must beg you, however, not to be party to any gossip concerning this matter. We thought but to come, inquire, be reassured, and depart, all in the same day.”

  “But Henry Beauclerc took one look at Isabelle of Langston and decided otherwise,” Mavis said astutely. “Poor little innocent. Really, Rolf, you should have had more sense than to bring such a pretty creature to court. You, of all people, know what he’s like when he sees a woman he fancies.”

  “I could not prevent Belle from coming,” Rolf said. “She loves Hugh dearly, and he has been gone several months. He should have been home ere now, Mavis. You see Isabelle as a little country girl lacking experience. Perhaps that is true in one way, but let me tell you that my stepdaughter is a determined, strong-minded woman. She was still a child when her father, Robert de Manneville, departed England to join Duke Robert’s crusade. Shortly thereafter the estate steward died, and she, alone, held Langston. She could neither read nor write then, and so she kept the estate records within her head. Everything was in perfect order when Hugh Fauconier and I came to Langston after her father’s death at Ascalon. Langston had been in Hugh’s family before Duke William’s time. King Henry returned it to him, and gave him Isabelle for his wife. Now Hugh is missing, and Belle would have him back. And she will, too.”

  “Why, Rolf, I do believe you admire your stepdaughter,” Mavis said.

  He smiled thoughtfully, surprised by her observation, but he realized that it was true. “I do,” he agreed.

  “Is she like her mother?” Mavis wondered.

  “Nay, Alette is a gentle, biddable woman who suits me quite well; but Hugh, from the moment he saw Belle, was intrigued by her. They quarrel with the same intensity as they make love.” He chuckled. “I prefer my sweet-spoken Alette to her daughter, who has a tongue as sharp as the well-honed edge of a broadsword. She is quiet now only because she is overwhelmed by all she has seen in the last week.”

  “And, undoubtedly, by Henry Beauclerc, our sovereign, who probably made no bones about his attraction to your stepdaughter. He’s been like a randy old billygoat of late, with the queen so big with child and inaccessible to his passions. He has, I am told, already impregnated two ladies of rank in his lust. The legion of his bastards certainly grows with each passing day. I hope that your poor Isabelle does not become enceinte by him. With her husband away, there would be no pretending that the child was his. What a scandal would erupt!”

  “Holy Mother!” Rolf exclaimed. “I had not considered it.”

  Mavis of Farnley rolled her blue eyes back in her head. “Men,” she said scathingly, “seldom do. You never, ever contemplate the result of your lusts.” Then she laughed. “Oh, come along, Rolf de Briard, and let us join the others in the Great Hall. You have many friends here who will be happy to welcome you back to court and congratulate you on your good fortune.” She slipped her hand through his arm and led him off.

  Belle and Agneatha had meanwhile returned to their assigned chamber. They had hung the fustian curtains about the bed, and made both it and the trundle up. Isabelle’s trunk had been brought to the chamber by the Langston men. Agneatha started a fire in the fireplace, and closed the shutters over the window so that they might be snug. It had begun to rain outside, the first rain they had seen since leaving Langston. But the room was warm and dry, and almost friendly.

  “I am starving,” Isabelle said. “We have not eaten since we left the monastery guest house this morning. Find the Great Hall. Rolf will be there, or some of the Langston men. Tell them you want food for us, and then bring it back.”

  “Let me get us some water first,” Agneatha said. “Then I will find us food. I’m hungry myself.” She took up the pitcher, exiting the room, to return just a short while later carrying not just the pitcher, but a full bucket of water. “The nicest young man-at-arms helped me, and he let me take the extra bucket, too,” she said.

  While Agneatha disappeared off again to find them some supper, Belle nestled the pitcher in hot ashes in a corner of the fireplace to warm its contents so they might wash before retiring. She longed for a real bath, and wondered if such a thing was possible in this place.

  It seemed a very long while before Agneatha returned, but she brought with her bread, cheese, a joint of mutton, and a carafe of wine with two goblets. These last were being carried by one of the Langston men.

  “I found Lord Rolf in the hall, mistress,” Agneatha said. “He showed me how to get food, and he sent Bert back to stand guard outside the chamber. He says to tell you he’ll have one of our men there at all times, and he’ll see you himself in the morning.”

  “Have you eaten, Bert?” Isabelle asked the man-at-arms.

  “Aye, my lady. The food ain’t as fresh as back home, though. I’ll be glad when we goes back. How long must we stay?” Bert shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously. He’d been asked by the others to see if he could ascertain this information.

  “The king has sent a messenger to his brother’s court in Normandy,” Isabelle explained. “We must wait for his return. Until then my stepfather and I have been invited to hunt with the king.” Then she smiled at the soldier. “I’d rather be home, too,” she admitted.

  “Well, now you’ve heard it from her ladyship herself, Bert,” Agneatha said sharply. “Get on outside and do your duty so we can eat at last.” She punctuated her order with a swift poke in his ribs.

  Bert bowed and departed.

  Agneatha set a rough table for her mistress and herself. They sat down and began to eat. The bread was fresh and the cheese tasty, but the mutton was tough, and Agneatha said so
as she vigorously chewed the greasy meat and swallowed it down. Isabelle was hard-pressed not to laugh, and as it was, she could not restrain a giggle.

  “You’re right,” she told her serving woman. “It’s awful. You would think the king would eat better.”

  “I should have brought a piece of fish,” Agneatha said, “but frankly I didn’t like the smell of it. Maybe it was that fancy sauce.”

  “When we can eat in the hall it will be better,” Isabelle said. “There will be more variety—at least I hope there will be.”

  They had finished their meal, and Agneatha had cleared the remnants away, when there was a knock upon the door. It opened to reveal a small boy, no more than six years of age. He was very elegantly attired, and stepped smartly past Bert, who held the door open for him with great aplomb. In his hands he carried a small willow basket. The lad bowed.

  “Good evening, my lady Isabelle. I am Henry Beauchamp, a page in the king’s service.” He handed her the basket. “My lord the king thought you might enjoy these new strawberries, my lady.”

  “Please thank the king for me, Henry Beauchamp,” Isabelle said politely. Then, unable to resist, she asked him, “How old are you?”

  “I am six, my lady, and have been in the king’s service a year,” he piped. “When my mother died, I was sent to court. The king is my father, you see. It was felt my chances of advancement would be better if I were with him, rather than a simple memory.” He bowed again. “I shall tell the king you are pleased, my lady, and I bid you good night. God give you a good rest and pleasant dreams.”

  “Holy Mother,” Agneatha said as the boy departed. “What a fine young sir, and so tender in years, my lady.”

  “Yes,” Isabelle said thoughtfully, picking at the pretty little strawberries that had been set upon a bed of green leaves. The boy was the king’s bastard. What if she could not hold the king off and must submit to his desires? Would she, too, be the mother of a bastard? Hugh would never forgive her. She would never forgive herself! “Did your old granny have a potion for preventing a man’s seed from taking root in the womb?” she demanded of Agneatha.

  The girl flushed. “Why, my lady, what a wicked thought! Such a thing is forbidden,” Agneatha protested.

  “Tell me the truth,” Isabelle said. “That child is the king’s bastard. What if I must lie with the king? How can we keep such a secret if I return home to Langston with a big belly, and my husband gone all these months? I must be able to protect myself.”

  “There’s certain herbs, mixed together, that can help you,” Agneatha said slowly. “Perhaps I could obtain them in that market we was in this afternoon. I can go look tomorrow.”

  “Do so,” Belle commanded her.

  They washed in the warm water from the pitcher, undressed, and climbed into their beds, blowing out the candles beforehand. The fire died slowly, finally crumbling into a glow of orange coals that slowly faded away into a gray nothingness. At first Isabelle could hear the faint sounds of merriment somewhere within the castle, and then at last it died away and there was naught but silence, broken only by Agneatha’s soft, gentle snoring.

  Isabelle lay in her strange bed in her strange room in this strange place. What a day it had been, she thought. She had seen and learned more in this single day than in all the days of their journey up till now. She wondered what her new gowns would look like. She had never seen or felt such exquisite materials as those Rolf had purchased for her this afternoon. Though the king made her nervous, particularly the way his eyes had locked onto hers, if she had not come to court, she would not have ever known such beautiful clothing existed. Before they returned home she would purchase other material from Master John for her mother, so she might copy and sew her own fashionable gowns.

  Agneatha awoke before her mistress, and rising, dressed, hurrying off to the Great Hall to find them some breakfast. She gathered up newly baked bread, butter, honey, and a couple of hard-boiled eggs she wheedled from a cook’s helper with a jest and a smile. A Langston man joined her, explaining he would be relieving Bert, and so Agneatha sent him off to get them a pitcher of cider. Returning back to their chamber, she refilled the pitcher with fresh water and laid a new fire, tucking the pitcher back into its corner.

  Hearing the activity about her, Isabelle awoke, amazed that she had slept through the sunrise. Stretching, she greeted Agneatha, “Good morning. How could I have slept so long? Is that fresh bread I smell?” She threw back the coverlet and stepped from the bed.

  “Fresh bread, still warm from the ovens,” Agneatha said with a smile. “Come, mistress, and eat your breakfast. The seamstress is certain to come this morning, and you’ll want to be ready for her.”

  Belle sat down and tore off a piece from the loaf, smearing it with butter and dipping it in the honey. She popped it into her mouth, her pointed little tongue snaking out to catch a drizzle of honey. “That’s sooo good,” she said. “Eggs! You found eggs!” Reaching out, she began to peel one, and swiftly ate it down.

  With a smile, her serving woman joined her, pouring Isabelle a goblet of foaming cider. The two women ate quickly, finishing everything that Agneatha had managed to bring back. There were some of the little strawberries left over, too, and they finished them off as well.

  “I want a bath,” Isabelle announced when they had finished and the table was cleared away. “I am filthy, and have not bathed since we left Langston over a week ago. My hair is filled with dust. Go and find my stepfather, Agneatha. Our man-at-arms should know where Rolf is. Tell him that I must have a bath! Surely they bathe at this court.” Sitting back down upon the bed, she unbraided her hair, took up her brush, and vigorously began to brush the red-gold locks.

  Agneatha disappeared from the chamber. When her hair was untangled, Isabelle arose, and, unbarring the shutters, flung them open to look out the window. Below her was the town of Winchester, the stones of its Romanesque cathedral gray in the rainy morning light. The sky was beginning to lighten considerably, and it appeared as if the day would be a pleasant one after all; but it was all so very different from home. Oh, Hugh, where are you? she thought. Come home to me. Please come home to me, my dearest lord. Then turning away from the window, she sighed.

  There was a knock upon the door, and it opened to reveal Rolf de Briard. Entering, he kissed Belle upon her cheek. “Good morrow, Isabelle,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”

  She nodded. “I did, but I miss home, my lord.”

  “And you miss our fine bathing chamber,” he said with a smile.

  “I do! How do people wash themselves here, my lord?”

  “I have arranged for you to have a wooden tub, and when you wish to bathe, you have but to set our men-at-arms to hauling the water,” he told her. “They will bring it from the kitchens, where it is heated.”

  “How primitive,” Belle said, wrinkling her nose. “Does even the king bathe like this, my lord?”

  “I’m afraid so. He has an enormous oaken tub, bound with straps of iron. It is carried with his luggage when he travels from castle to castle,” Rolf explained to her.

  Isabelle shook her head. “A proper bathing chamber is better,” she said. “The king sent me a basket of strawberries last night. I must admit that they were very welcome.”

  “He has not come here himself, has he?” Rolf asked her.

  “Of course not,” Isabelle said, and then asked, “Do you think he would dare? Ahhh, that is why you stationed our men-at-arms outside my door, Rolf. Thank you. I do not think I am ready yet to cope with King Henry. Damn! Where is Hugh?”

  “I will do what I can to protect you, Belle, but you understand I cannot offend the king or directly oppose him,” Rolf said.

  “I know,” Belle replied. “I will oppose him, however. I will not willingly give myself to such a lecher. He should be ashamed of himself, using his power and position to coerce a woman into his bed!”

  Rolf said nothing further about the matter. Henry would seduce his stepdaughter with charm, a
nd would indeed use his position and power to compel her to yield herself to him. Arguing with Belle would serve absolutely no useful purpose. She would soon learn that a king such as Henry Beauclerc could not be gainsaid. If he decided that he wanted Isabelle of Langston for his latest plaything, he would have her.

  Agneatha arrived with the wooden tub, followed by a line of men-at-arms delivering the promised hot water. Rolf bid his stepdaughter farewell and departed. When the men had all gone, Agneatha locked the chamber door from the inside and helped Belle to disrobe. Belle sank down gratefully into the water, a slow smile lighting her features.

  “Ohhh, that feels so good, Agneatha. Do we have any soap?”

  The serving woman nodded. “Aye!” Then she produced a little cake scented with lavender. “Remember your wedding night, my lady, when your mother perfumed the bathwater, and you made such a fuss?”

  Isabelle laughed as she lathered the soap between her hands and began to wash herself. “Aye, I remember! I’ve changed since then, haven’t I? Besides,” she excused herself, “my husband likes the scent.”

  “Ohh, my lady, do you think we’ll ever see Lord Hugh again?”

  “He’s coming home, Agneatha, I am certain of it. He must!” Isabelle said in a strong voice. “Isn’t it just like a man to run off and forget the time? They never grow up, do they?”

  “No, my lady,” Agneatha agreed, “they surely don’t.”

  When Belle had finished her bath and washed her hair, she was dried and put into a fresh chemise. She wrung the excess water from her long hair, toweling it vigorously. It was foolish to dress, as the seamstress would be here this day, and besides, she didn’t intend to leave this chamber until she could be seen in decent clothing. The men-at-arms removed the tub, first dumping the bathwater out the window onto the earth below. They had no sooner done so when Mistress Mary, the seamstress, arrived to take Isabelle’s measurements. She was an apple-cheeked woman with a merry smile and an easy manner.