“I do not intend to beard my brother in his own den,” Isabelle said patiently. “All you and I are going to do is ascertain that my husband is at Manneville. Then we will go to Duke Robert’s court and lay our evidence before him. The duke will see that Hugh is freed, and the men who traveled with him. We must not forget the six Langston men and Alain, your fellow falconer. They will have been incarcerated by my brother as well, else they would have come home.”
“Unless they’re dead,” Lind said gloomily.
“I know my brother,” Isabelle replied. “He will have forced the Langston men, and possibly even Alain, to serve him; he does not like waste. He would not feed them unless they earned their bread. But he could not allow them to go free.”
“And just how is anyone going to believe that you are a lad, lady?” Lind demanded. “You’ve not the look of a lad.”
Isabelle gave him some coins from her small purse. “Go to the town market, Lind, and purchase us the food and whatever else we will need for our journey. Pack it in our saddlebags, but be discreet. The fewer people who see you, the less the likelihood of our true destination being discovered.” She dismissed the falconer, then hurried off to find her friend, Mavis of Farnley.
“You’re surely mad,” Mavis said when Isabelle had told her of her plan. “I’m as big a fool for romance as you are, Isabelle. I’m not certain what you are doing is wise, but I’ll help you with your wardrobe. The brother who used to chaperone me when I first came to court went home some months ago to wed, but he left some of his clothing. I can give you several pairs of chausses and two cotes. I think there is a mantle you can have as well. You’ll have to find boots, Isabelle, that go halfway to your knee. You can’t wear those pretty dainty shoes of yours. Ranulf left a rather worn pair of boots. You’ve got a large foot for a woman, and his was small for a man’s. They just might do. And you’ll need knitted hose as well. We’ll need the privacy of your chamber to try these garments on. Can you get rid of your Agneatha?”
Isabelle nodded.
“Do so, and I’ll bring my brother’s clothing to you,” Mavis said. “Agneatha doesn’t know what you’re planning, does she?”
“Nay,” Isabelle said. “I cannot take her with me. Do not tell her that you know where I’ve gone, Mavis. It’s better she remain ignorant else she be frightened into telling by the king. See that she and my Langston men go home as soon as possible.”
“I will,” Mavis pledged, and then she hurried off to fetch the promised garments.
Isabelle wended her way through the king’s garden, where the two young women had been able to speak without fear of being overheard. Gaining her own chamber, she sent Agneatha off to Mistress Mary’s stall in the market to find her a new head veil. It was unlikely Agneatha would run into Lind, and if she did, it would give Lind an opportunity to practice his deceptive skills upon the maidservant.
A soft knock came upon the chamber door, and it opened to admit Mavis, carrying a small selection of garments. All were well made, of good material, but not so rich that it would arouse suspicion. The colors were dark and simple. The warm, dark brown mantle had a clasp that was of greenish bronze in a Celtic design. Isabelle tried everything on, and it fit.
Mavis giggled. “You have too much bosom for a boy.”
“Watch, and see,” Isabelle told her. Turning her back, she bound her breasts with a length of cloth, then whirled about to face her friend again. “Is that better, Mavis?”
Mavis, more serious now, eyed her friend critically. “Aye,” she nodded, “but what will you do about your lovely hair, Belle?”
“I shall cut it,” Isabelle said softly. “And I shall dye it with dark stain else its bright color attract attention I do not want. I see no other choice, Mavis, do you?”
Large, fat tears began to run down Mavis’s pretty face. “Your hair is so beautiful, Belle,” she sobbed. “Oh, do not do this foolish thing, I beg you! Can you not remain with the queen? Surely she will protect you.”
“I must find Hugh,” Isabelle said. “There is no other way, Mavis, and you know it. I cannot hide behind our good queen’s skirts forever. The king has still not told me of the messenger from his brother. I do not think he means to, either. Under those circumstances, how can I plead with him to send again to his brother, the duke, to go to my brother and search his dungeons? It is all hopeless! I have to go, Mavis. Who else is there to aid Hugh Fauconier but me?”
“You’re right,” Mavis sniffled. “I do not think I could be so brave as you are, Isabelle of Langston. God and His Blessed Mother travel with you, my friend!” Then Mavis of Farnley ran from the chamber.
Quickly Belle wrapped up the clothing she had brought, and hid the bundle away where Agneatha would be unlikely to find it in the few hours remaining before her departure. And when her maidservant returned from Mistress Mary’s stall, triumphant, a beautiful veil of iridescent threads in her possession, Isabelle praised her mightily.
“It’s beautiful, Agneatha. The loveliest veil I have ever seen. My silver circlet will be perfect with it!” She clapped her hands gaily. “Let us celebrate your cleverness, my lass. Pour us both a goblet of that fine red wine the king keeps me supplied with, and we shall drink to the prettiest veil in all of Winchester. Nay, England!”
Giggling at her mistress’s good mood, Agneatha complied, pouring them both generous portions of the king’s vintage. Isabelle, however, remembered how the rich brew had affected her servant the last time she had tasted of it, and sure enough, Agneatha soon fell asleep once again, tumbling into her trundle to snore the night away.
Isabelle slept herself for several hours, waking in the darkest part of the night. She lay for several minutes, and then slipped from her bed. Taking up her knife, she sliced through her thick braid, biting on her lip so hard she tasted blood as she felt her hair pull free of her head. The faint firelight illuminated the plait now in her hand. Stirring the coals in the tiny fireplace, she laid the hair upon them, and then went to open the window so the smell would not awaken Agneatha. Pouring water from the pitcher that had been set in the warm ashes, she mixed a dark stain with it and, bending, dunked her head until it was quite thoroughly soaked. The stain was walnut, and she knew it would take immediately. She toweled the excess from her head, adding the towel to the fire so it would not be discovered. Then carefully feeling her way, she evened out the line of her hairstyle, using the little pair of scissors that she possessed. She would take them with her.
Quickly she dressed, drawing on a pair of dark green chausses, gartering them tightly, and pulling the dark knitted hose on over them. Then she bound her breasts. Next came a linen jupe lined in soft light wool. The sea would be chilly. Over the jupe she wore two silk shirts, and finally a cote. Slowly she drew on the black leather boots Mavis had given her. She and Mavis had been delighted earlier to discover that the boots fit perfectly. The men’s clothing felt strange to Isabelle. She picked up her mantle, put it around her shoulders and fastened it. Then reaching down, she picked up the bundle of additional clothing she was taking. Agneatha was still snoring loudly. Belle smiled softly, and opening the door to her chamber, slipped out into the corridor, where Bert stood dozing outside her door, as she knew he would be, leaning upon his pike, his blond head nodding. She tiptoed past him.
Down in the stableyard Lind waited with their horses. His eyes widened at the sight of his brother, Lang. Isabelle put a finger to her lips and silently mounted Gris, taking Couper on her gauntlet. Wordlessly, Lind mounted his own animal, and together they walked the horses to the castle gate. The guard nodded and let them pass.
“I told him we were traveling with the archbishop,” Lind said when they were out of earshot. “I thought it better he didn’t look too closely at you, my lady, but I must say you make a fine lad.”
“I do not intend to speak a great deal,” Isabelle told him. “It is difficult to keep my voice lowered and deep. I don’t want to give us away before we’ve obtained our objective.”
“Aye,” Lind agreed, but frankly, he wasn’t too certain this was going to work. Still, he was her servant, for all the lady Isabelle was a woman. It wasn’t his place to question her decisions.
They reached the archbishop’s courtyard, where his great train was assembled and just about ready to go. Isabelle pointed out the steward, Odo, to her companion, and Lind approached him, bowed, spoke a moment, and then returned to tell his mistress that they were to travel at the end of the train with several others who had attached themselves to the archbishop’s party for safety’s sake. They reached the coast late that day, embarking the next morning for Normandy.
Isabelle had never been in a boat on the sea, and she was frankly a little frightened. She, Lind, and their horses were loaded onto an open deck, and there they remained until they reached their destination two days later. They were fortunate, she learned from listening to the talk around her, to encounter no storms. In a sheltered corner of the deck, with Couper in the crook of her arm, Isabelle huddled with Lind, who was no less in awe of their situation than his mistress. Neither of them could eat anything but a little bit of bread, and they swallowed but a sip of wine now and then to keep from being thirsty. Watching the coast of England disappear had been the most terrifying thing Belle had ever known. Seeing the coast of Normandy coming nearer and nearer was the greatest relief. They left Archbishop Anselm’s train, still pretending to be going to Duke Robert’s court at Rouen. Instead they traveled in the direction of Brittany, for Manneville was located close to the border of that country.
As they traveled they could not help but notice the crops in the fields were not a great deal better than those in England. It was obvious that it was to be a bad year all around. The poverty, however, seemed even more deeply ingrained here. To their relief, there was little traffic upon the roads they took. Each night they would find shelter in the fields, for Isabelle dared not spare the few coins they carried on lodging, even in church-sponsored guest houses. Who knew when they might need the hard currency? Besides, masquerading as a boy, she would have been housed with other men, a situation she chose to avoid. They carried their scant food with them, supplementing it with small purchases in the few villages through which they passed. Finally, they reached the ancestral home that Isabelle had never known.
She saw Manneville for the first time from the crest of a hill. It was a small castle, not even as large as Langston Keep, built of grim, dark stones. There was nothing warm or welcoming about it. Belle could well understand now her mother’s delight in leaving it for England. She stood silent for a long time, and then Lind spoke, breaking her reverie.
“Well, lady, what do we do now?”
“I must think on how we can best approach Manneville,” Isabelle said slowly. “Can you see if there is a mews somewhere?”
“Every lord, high or low, keeps hunting birds,” Lind said. He waited for her decision. She had really surprised him in the days that they had traveled together. On that first morning when the sun had finally risen and he had gotten a good look at her, he had been shocked. Gone was Isabelle of Langston. Next to him rode a gangly boy with short-cropped dark hair. He realized that she had cut her glorious red-gold hair and dyed it with walnut stain. Only then did he truly understand how deeply committed she was to finding her husband.
She rode by his side, Couper in her charge, and never once did she complain about the hours spent in the saddle, or the lack and poor quality of the food they ate. She was, he decided, a very brave lady. He had more confidence in her and their mission now than he had when they first started. He still wasn’t certain, however, that they would get safely back to England, or even find Lord Hugh at all, but what an adventure she had led them on, he thought.
Finally Isabelle spoke. “Richard may have a few birds, but it is unlikely he keeps a falconer. Perhaps you could cajole him to take us on, Lind. My brother is very tight with a coin, but he must be convinced to let us stay so we can find out where he is keeping Hugh.”
“Let us be off, then,” Lind said, and together they rode down the hill to the gates of Manneville.
They were allowed into the little castle, and brought to the Great Hall where Richard de Manneville sat at his dinner. Isabelle struggled to keep her eyes to herself, but her quick glance about the hall showed it to be clean. She and Lind stood before her brother. This was the first true test of her disguise. Would Richard penetrate it? She scarcely breathed.
“Well, who are you?” Richard demanded.
“I am Lind, my lord. This is my brother, Lang. We are falconers, my lord. Freedmen.”
“You are not Norman,” Richard said, peering hard at them.
“Nay, my lord. We are English,” Lind answered him pleasantly.
“What do you want, then?” Richard de Manneville demanded suspiciously.
“My brother and I have decided to go adventuring this summer. We have traveled from our home, near the New Forest. Whenever we find ourselves short of coin, we offer our services to the local lord. I saw your mews, my lord, as we entered the castle. If you do not keep a falconer, then perhaps there would be some work for us. And if you do keep a falconer, then we ask but a night’s shelter, and we shall be on our way.”
The man sitting to the Sieur de Manneville’s left leaned over and murmured something to his lord. Sneaking a look at him, Belle recognized Luc de Sai. She held her breath, wondering what it was he had said to her brother. Surely he hadn’t recognized her.
“I have no falconer,” Richard finally said. “My birds are but rough-trained and could use some seasoning. If you do a good job, I may pay you in coin. Until then I will but provide food from my hall, and you can sleep in the stable loft.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Lind said, bowing, and poking at his brother to do the same. Together they backed away from the high board and found places at a trestle below the salt. Silently they ate wooden bowls of hot rabbit stew, and nothing, Belle thought to herself, had ever tasted so good. They hadn’t eaten hot food since leaving England. Afterward, the castle’s steward, a bent old man, showed them to the stables, where they would be housed along with their horses.
For the next week they worked diligently with the Sieur de Manneville’s falcons, all of whom had been wild caught and only given the rudimentary lessons of training. Together they smoothed the birds’ rough behavior until Lind was satisfied that the falcons could hunt with even Duke Robert’s gyrfalcon. Richard was more than pleased. Isabelle could not ever remember seeing him so amiable. Then she learned her brother would be joining the duke’s court in the autumn. Having such well-trained birds would but be a credit to him.
His young wife, however, would not be going. She had given her husband a son, lost a daughter, and was even now with child again. Isabelle had seen her sitting to her husband’s right that first night. She was a quiet, pretty girl with soft blue eyes, and dark blond plaits that hung neatly on either side of her head. Isabelle could not help but wonder how her brother had attracted such a sweet girl, for it was obvious that all the servants adored her.
Richard was, nonetheless, oblivious to his good fortune in his choice of a mate. He never praised his wife for anything, but he was quick to criticize her loudly and publicly if everything was not to his liking. Seeing him behave so, Isabelle realized now how much like their father Richard was, and how the gentle Blanche de Manneville, for that was her sister-in-law’s name, was much like her own mother. Dutiful. Silent. Uncomplaining. And obviously very unhappy except when in the company of her little son.
Isabelle and Lind had been at Manneville several weeks, and they knew their time here would soon be ending. They had seen none of the Langston men, nor any sign of Alain, the falconer. Manneville’s dungeon was used for storing wine, they had learned. Isabelle was at her wits’ end. “Where can he be?” she wailed to Lind as they sat in their hayloft one afternoon.
“I do not know, my lady,” Lind replied, “but it is obvious that my lord Hugh is not here at Manneville.”
“If Richard has harmed one hair on his head,” Belle vowed, “I will personally kill him myself, Lind!”
Below them they heard a gasp of fright, and before she might say another word, Lind was over the side and down into the stable to catch their eavesdropper. Isabelle was close enough behind him to see the terrified face of Blanche de Manneville.
“You are a girl!” Blanche cried softly.
“I am your sister-in-law, Isabelle of Langston, and please keep your voice down, lady. We mean you no harm.” But Belle did not suggest that Lind release his captive yet. Instead she came directly to the point. “My husband, Sir Hugh Fauconier, was last seen here at Manneville. He has not, however, returned to England. Do you know where he is?”
Blanche de Manneville’s blue eyes were enormous in her fright, but it was not, Isabelle could see, they who were frightening her.
“Richard does not have to know who I am, or that you told me,” Belle reassured her. “In fact I think it far better that he does not know,” she finished with a small smile of encouragement.
“I am not afraid of my husband,” Blanche finally said. “Not since the night he kidnapped me from my home and raped me so I would be forced to marry him. I was to be betrothed to another man, but Richard coveted my lands, which match with his. He wanted a wife, and he chose me for that reason. I may despise him, but I do not fear him. He is a coward at heart, but if you know him, you know that, Isabelle of Langston.”
Belle nodded. “I do know that,” she said. “If you do not fear Richard, then what is it that keeps you from speaking the truth?” she asked her sister-in-law. “Lind, let her go. She will not run.”
“I fear the sorceress, and her brother,” Blanche de Manneville replied. “Richard swore a fealty to her in secret before he went to England to try to steal your lands. She promised him that if he would be her man and be loyal to her, whatever he wanted would be his for the asking. She promised him she would cast the proper spells. You can imagine how angry he was when he returned home defeated at your hands.” She smiled a small smile. “But the sorceress assured him he had but to be patient. She predicted that your husband would come to Normandy, and when he did, Richard would get what he wanted.”
Hellion Page 25
