Hellion

by Bertrice Small

  “How do you do, madame,” she said, curtseying. “I have come from Master John, the draper. I understand you will need a small wardrobe for your stay at court. I have been told the lady Mavis of Farnley recommended me. A lady of great taste and style, she is.”

  “Merci bien, Mistress Mary,” said Mavis as she breezed into the chamber. “Good morrow, Isabelle of Langston. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought you would like my help.”

  “Oh, yes!” Belle said, delighted to see her new friend. “I so admired the garments you were wearing yesterday.”

  “Well, let’s get started, Mistress Mary,” Mavis said. “You brought the fabrics? Of course you did!”

  Mistress Mary smiled at Mavis’s enthusiasm, and nodded to her little assistant. “The mauve silk first.” She turned to Belle. “This is to be for a skirt?”

  “Aye,” Belle said.

  Mistress Mary set to work. She measured, she cut, she stitched. First a mauve-colored skirt, and then the buttercup-yellow skirt. Next came the tunic dresses that would be worn over the skirts: the gorgeous rich violet damask that was woven through with gold threads, and the delicate lavender with its intricately woven pattern. Mavis suggested that the lavender tunic be trimmed in silver passemente, and the seamstress nodded her approval. Copper passemente was used to trim the tawny orange brocade tunic.

  “That color is so good with your wonderful hair,” Mavis said. “I didn’t realize what glorious hair you had yesterday, as it was hidden under that modest little veil you were wearing. Mistress Mary, does Master John have a sheer material shot through with copper, and perhaps one with gold, and one with silver, that might make pretty veils for the lady Isabelle?” She turned to Belle. “Did you bring a chaplet with you, or perhaps a circlet or two?”

  Belle shook her head in the negative.

  Mavis looked again to Mistress Mary. “Who would you recommend?” she asked the seamstress. “It can’t cost a fortune, either.”

  “Jacob the Goldsmith,” Mistress Mary said without hesitation. “He’s the most scrupulously honest man I’ve ever known. You can always be completely honest with him, and not have to worry that he’ll gossip about your business to any other member of the court. Indeed I suspect he is the keeper of some great secrets. The king has been known to give Jacob his trade.” She smiled up at Isabelle from her position on her knees, where she was pinning the orange tunic. “He’ll find you a pretty piece for your veils that you need not be ashamed to wear before the high and mighty, but you’ll not be forced to mortgage your estate to pay for it.” She chuckled. “There, that one is done. Now, let us cut the last.”

  “I suppose Rolf would purchase me a chaplet if I asked him,” Isabelle said thoughtfully. “I have a pretty one at home, but I never thought I should need it on this trip. Indeed, I thought I should be on my way home by this time. Ohh, that is not the material I chose for the last tunic, Mistress Mary, but my, it is beautiful.”

  “I switched it,” Mavis said. “I went back early this morning because I kept thinking how dull that plain cream-colored brocade was, Belle. This fabric is far more striking, don’t you think so?”

  Isabelle looked at the creamy brocatelle, a brocadelike fabric with a slightly raised pattern. It had tiny gold-thread stars woven in it. “It is lovely,” she admitted, but her practical soul was bewailing the cost of such fine fabrics that would only be worn during her short stay at court. Still, when they returned to Langston, perhaps she could have some of her new garments altered to fit her mother. Then they would both have beautiful gowns to wear on special occasions.

  “Gold passemente on this one?” she asked Mavis.

  “Excellent!” Mavis enthused. “The gold stars are charming, but not quite enough for such a pristine color. The trim is just right!”

  “Everything will be lined in matching sarcenet,” Mistress Mary said.

  The fitting done, the garments cut, Mistress Mary gathered up everything, folding it neatly, and placed it in a basket which she then handed to her assistant.

  “How soon will you have something for the lady Isabelle?” Mavis demanded. “She will not show herself, and is confined to her chamber, until she has proper clothing. There are so many people I want to introduce her to, and her time at court is limited. It should not be spent in here.”

  “I can have one gown for you tomorrow,” the seamstress said, “the rest, the day after.” Then she curtsied to Isabelle and Mavis, saying to Belle, “Thank you for your custom, my lady.”

  “How is she to be paid?” Isabelle wondered when Mistress Mary had finally departed. “I have no money.”

  “Rolf will pay her,” Mavis said. “You don’t need to carry coins with you, Isabelle. That is a man’s task.” Then she changed the subject. “Do you play chess?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Belle laughed, “but not in my chemise. Let me dress.”

  Mavis nodded, and then said, “It’s the dinner hour. I must go, but I shall return this evening and bring a board with me.”

  In the Great Hall, Mavis sought out Rolf and told him, “Belle and I have spent most of the day with Mistress Mary. I think you will be pleased by her transformation. She is to have a gown by tomorrow. Jacob the Goldsmith will come to show her chaplets, so be certain to pay him, too, my lord.”

  Rolf chuckled. “You are teaching my stepdaughter bad habits, Mavis, my sweet. She has always been a simple country girl.”

  “And so I think she would prefer to stay,” Mavis responded. “I could see her thoughtfully assessing every coin she suspected was being expended on her finery; which she thought might be better spent elsewhere. She must certainly be an excellent chatelaine for Langston. When I have eaten, I will take the pieces and board, and go to play chess with her. I see you have stationed your own men outside of her chamber. ’Tis very wise, although they could certainly not prevent our friend from entering a room in his own house. Still, it is good.”

  “Isabelle understands her position, although she is certainly not happy about it,” Rolf replied.

  “Perhaps out of sight will be out of mind,” Mavis answered him. “There are many pretty women here at court to take his fancy.”

  In their chamber, Isabelle and Agneatha dined on capon, beef, braised lettuces, fresh bread, butter, and cheese. The king’s page appeared with a carafe of the king’s own wine. It was rich and fruity, with a ruby color. Isabelle thanked young Henry Beauchamp.

  “The king wonders if he might visit you in your chamber, madame,” the boy said to her.

  “Gracious!” Belle pretended to be astounded. “I do not think it would be proper, young sir, and besides, my new court gowns have yet to be made. I could not receive the king in these old garments. Please tell the king that tomorrow I shall have a gown, and shall tender my thanks for his kindnesses then. And you might ask him if his messenger to Duke Robert has yet departed for Normandy to ask for word of my husband.”

  The boy bowed and left her.

  When Mavis returned with the chess pieces and the board, Isabelle told her of Henry Beauchamp’s message from the king.

  “He’s certainly determined, isn’t he?” Mavis said. “Well, Rolf has told me you know you cannot refuse him.”

  “Why not?” Belle asked, her eyes flashing green fire. “Why can I not refuse the king’s lecherous attentions? Why must I acquiesce meekly with a ‘Yes, my liege,’ and spread my legs for the royal member?”

  Mavis of Farnley was astounded. “I … I don’t know,” she said. “Because he is the king, I suppose. Women just don’t refuse a king.”

  “Why don’t they?” Belle demanded. “A king is just a man. A powerful man, I will grant you, but a man nonetheless. Why should such a man be allowed to compromise the chastity of a respectable woman? You would think a good Christian king would want to protect such a woman, not menace her with his masculinity and his jurisdiction over her as her liege lord. It is wrong, and I shall not allow myself to be bullied!”

  Mavis did not think that all of I
sabelle of Langston’s determination would protect her from the king, if the king’s lust gained the upper hand. Still, she could see that Isabelle was not a woman to be argued with. It would do her no good to appeal to poor Rolf de Briard. If he learned of his stepdaughter’s attitude when he thought her resigned to whatever happened, it would likely send him into a fit. He already felt guilty for having brought the girl to court.

  “You will do what you think is best, of course,” Mavis said, “keeping in mind Hugh’s position, the well-being of your son, and of course, the fate of Langston.” Then she laughed. “I think, perhaps, that Henry Beauclerc will meet his match in you, Belle. I do not believe that any woman has ever meekly said, ‘No, my liege, and go away!’ It should be quite a surprise to him, but beware your adamant refusal does not intrigue him even more than your fresh country charms,” Mavis warned.

  PART III

  BRITTANY

  Summer 1103-Midsummer 1104

  Chapter 11

  Isabelle stared nervously into the polished silver mirror that Mavis had brought her. She could scarcely believe the elegant young woman staring back at her was Isabelle of Langston. She was wearing her yellow skirt with the tawny orange tunic. The tunic was girdled with linked copper disks enameled in yellow. A matching brooch was fastened upon her left shoulder. Her hair was neatly contained by a gold caul which was studded with tiny freshwater pearls. Over her head was a sheer gauze veil shot through with copper and held in place by a yellow enameled circlet. Belle wiggled her toes in the new soft shoes which had been dyed yellow to match her skirts. “I am really beautiful,” she said softly. All her life she had been compared to Alette and found wanting; but now she realized it was just that the two were different in appearance, and Alette conformed to the fashionable ideal of beauty.

  “Mary, Mother of God!” Mavis swore. “Are you just now realizing that, Belle? Of course you’re beautiful.” Then she laughed. “Looking at one’s self in the waters of a pond never tells you all, does it?”

  Isabelle shook her head. “No,” she admitted. “My mother has a small copper mirror, but it isn’t as large or as clear as your silver one, Mavis. Thank you for bringing it so I might see myself.”

  “And do you now understand the dangers you face from the king?” Mavis demanded in serious tones. “Oh, there are women at court, most of them better garbed and from more powerful families, but Henry Beauclerc will see only you, Belle. Do be careful, and do not displease him.”

  “I will not shame my husband willingly, Mavis,” Isabelle said in a quiet voice. “Not even with a king. And the king should not allow his lust to erase a friendship of such long standing.”

  Mavis shook her dark head. “God help you,” she said, “for surely now only He can, Belle.”

  The hall was a wonder, and Isabelle tried very hard to maintain her composure, but it was difficult. She could not help staring. Enormous fireplaces, six in all, lined the hall, three to a side. Above them were soaring, arched windows. From the carved and gilded beams of the hall hung banners of multicolored silk such as she had never before beheld, and the noise was incredible. Over a hundred people inhabited the king’s hall, seated at the trestle tables upon benches, their places secured by not simply their rank, but by their importance to the king personally. A man above the salt today could be well below it a month hence. The two young women found places toward the rear of the hall, settling themselves with a group of other ladies.

  “This is Isabelle of Langston, Hugh Fauconier’s wife,” Mavis said, introducing her to the other women. “She is newly come to court with her stepfather, Rolf de Briard.”

  The others extended their welcome to Belle, examining her closely, nodding their approval at her garments, which, while suitable, were not above her station. “A well-brought-up young woman” was the silent consensus of Isabelle’s table companions.

  “I have not seen Hugh Fauconier yet, my lady,” one of the women noted, “but I have seen that charming scamp, Rolf de Briard.”

  “My husband is overdue on king’s business,” Belle answered carefully. “I could not bear to wait at home a moment longer, and so my stepfather brought me to Winchester that we might seek the latest word of Hugh.”

  “Have you children yet?” another woman inquired.

  “A son,” Belle replied. “I left him in my mother’s keeping.”

  “Ah, very wise,” an older lady approved. “If not a mother’s love, a grandmother’s is next best. It will have been many years, however, since your mother had the keeping of an infant, I’ll wager.”

  “Oh, no, my lady!” Belle said, laughing. “Sir Rolf has already given my mother two children, and she tells him she longs for more.”

  “Gracious!” the older lady declared, and then she chuckled. “Your stepfather is certainly a lusty fellow, but then, he was raised with the king, and we all know what sort of fellow he is!” This remark was followed by much worldly merriment.

  Isabelle blushed. “So I have been told,” she said. Then she turned away, undoing the little knife that hung from her girdle so she might spear any food offered her. Before her lay a fresh trencher of newly baked bread. While the king and his high nobles might eat off gold and silver plates, those at the back of the hall made do with hollowed-out loaves of bread to contain their food. She leaned over to Mavis and whispered, “Where is Rolf?”

  “Up near the high board, I’ll wager,” Mavis returned. “He’ll be with all of his old friends, the king’s personal companions. They’re a bawdy group. It’s no place for an innocent like you.”

  Those at the rear of the hall were first offered fat prawns steamed in seaweed, and then venison stew was ladled into their trenchers. The sauce was of red wine and dill, but Belle was not certain how fresh the meat was and ate sparingly. Her cup, however, was filled with a respectable red wine. Afterward there were sugar wafers. I was better off eating in my chamber, Isabelle decided wryly.

  Rolf arrived when she was barely finished with her meal. Kneeling by her side, he said softly, “I would formally present you to the king and queen, Belle.” Then he smiled at her as he rose. “How pretty you look, daughter.”

  Belle stood, brushing crumbs and imaginary wrinkles from her skirts. Politely, she excused herself and followed her stepfather to a place before the high board. They stood quietly, waiting to be recognized. Belle saw the king surreptitiously glance their way, but he made no move to acknowledge them. They waited, and she could feel her temper rising. She dared not, however, show any irritation. Finally the queen turned her head, and seeing them, leaned over to whisper to her husband. The king turned his head, and feigning surprise at seeing them there, smiled broadly.

  “Sir Rolf de Briard,” he said, “and who is this with you?” Although the king knew very well who Isabelle was, their first introduction had been in secret, and must remain so. No one else could know that they had already met, lest the rigid court protocol be discommoded.

  “My liege,” Rolf said formally, “may I present to you, and to our most noble and good queen Maude, my stepdaughter, the lady Isabelle of Langston, wife to Sir Hugh Fauconier.” He bowed, and Belle curtsied.

  “We welcome you most heartily,” King Henry said jovially. “I have but recently sent to my brother for word of Sir Hugh. You will both stay with us until I have received an answer, will you not?” He smiled toothily.

  “Gladly, my liege, and you have our thanks for your gracious hospitality,” Rolf answered, bowing again deeply.

  Isabelle remained upright in a silent show of defiance. The king grinned, a flick of his eye acknowledging her challenge. Then the queen spoke. Her soft voice was tinged with the sound of her Scots homeland. Her gentle blue eyes were guileless, her expression sweet. She was quite large with child.

  “Have you children, my lady Isabelle?” she asked, her hand going instinctively to her rounded belly.

  Belle’s anger melted. “Aye, madame, a son, known as Hugh the Younger,” she said with a smile. “He is in my m
other’s care.”

  The queen nodded. “It is difficult, I know,” she told Belle, “to be torn between one’s children and one’s duty. You are welcome to my chambers.” She smiled her sweet smile at Isabelle.

  “I thank you, madame, for your kindness,” Belle replied, and then she curtsied to the queen, understanding that they were now dismissed.

  “Nicely done,” Rolf told her as they moved away.

  The meal was over and the tables were cleared away. There was entertainment: a minstrel from Ireland who sang poignantly of death and noble battles; a juggler who, to Isabelle’s amazement, could keep four gilded balls in the air at once; and a man and a woman with a pack of little dogs who danced on their hind legs, pirouetting across the stone floor of the hall to much clapping from the onlookers. Isabelle had never seen anything like it. She laughed, and clapped enthusiastically, a becoming flush staining her cheeks.

  “Have you told anyone that you have a room to yourself?” Rolf suddenly asked her, concerned.

  Isabelle shook her head. “No,” she said. “Why would such a matter even come up? My sleeping arrangements can hardly be of interest to anyone else.”

  “If no one knows that you have been given the luxury of your own little chamber, no one will suspect that you are involved with the king,” Rolf explained to her. “If anyone should discover it, play the innocent and say you thought it was due to the friendship the king has for your husband that you were given such an honor.”

  “I am not involved with the king,” Belle said calmly.

  “We both know it is just a matter of time,” Rolf replied patiently.

  “Shall I invite Mavis to share my quarters?” Belle said.

  “Mavis has a bed,” Rolf said a trifle irritably. “Do not be a little fool, Isabelle. You know better.”