An Earthly Knight

by Janet Mcnaughton

  Adèle looked shocked. “Our marriages must advance our fathers’ alliances. That is our role.”

  Jenny sighed to herself. As the only daughter of a powerful man, Adèle could not be expected to think otherwise.

  “That looks like Earl William coming into the lists now. Do you know a man who would suit you better?” Adèle asked.

  Jenny quickly peered down to avoid Adèle’s eyes. Even in her own heart, she was not ready to answer that question. The strong and stocky figure on a fine grey horse did look like Earl William. When they tilted, his opponent slid off his horse at a slight touch of the lance.

  “Did you see that?” Jenny said. “I believe that knight unhorsed himself.”

  Adèle nodded. “A wise man would rather lose his worldly goods than risk Earl William’s wrath. His temper is legendary.” She suddenly remembered Jenny’s reason for being there. “Forgive me, that may very well be false. You know what gossips men are.”

  “You are not the first to speak of Earl William’s faults,” Jenny said, to put her at ease.

  “Yes, but a crown may cover a multitude of sins.” Adèle’s hand flew up to her lips. “Oh dear, now I sound like Mother.” They both laughed.

  At noon, the tables were set for the ladies only.

  “The men will eat by the lists in their companies, so they may plan for the mêlée,” Adèle explained.

  “Just as well. They are too sweaty and surly to be fit company now.”

  “Every man here is entranced by the tourney,” Jenny said. ‘“I suppose the Earl of Roxburg will forget to give us an escort into town.”

  Adèle nodded. “Most likely. Father would.” But a man was waiting when the meal was over, a lame old guard who could barely hide his disappointment at missing the day’s main event.

  Adèle was delighted. “Wait a bit, man,” she said. Then she turned to Jenny. “Come. I want to wear something pretty to the fair.”

  Adèle searched through her trunks for a dress to suit her mood while Jenny tried to pretend to share her interest. She had planned to save the green-and-gold dress for the evening, but she could not bring herself to admit she had no other fine dress to wear. She cursed herself for leaving the scarlet silk at home just because she had not wanted Earl William to see it again. Reluctantly, she dug to the bottom of her trunk. But as soon as she touched the dress, her mood changed. How could anyone who owned such a dress be unhappy? It weighed so little, it might have been spun from spiderwebs. She slipped behind one of the dressing screens.

  Adèle gasped when she saw Jenny. “That is the prettiest dress I ever saw,” she said. “Where did you find the cloth?”

  “A merchant in Rowanwald brought it to us. It may be Flemish,” Jenny lied.

  “You look enchanting. Perhaps you should save it for tonight.”

  Jenny found she could not lie again. “In truth, Adèle, I have no other. No one will see it under my cloak.”

  But outside, they found the wind had gone, taking the clouds away. The August sun shone brightly. Jenny and Adèle shucked off their cloaks and handed them to the grumpy old guard.

  “It was good of you to sacrifice your afternoon,” Adèle said, as if the man had been given a choice. “Take this for your trouble.” She slipped him a coin, and his temper improved visibly. Jenny noticed Adèle was always kindly with servants, in spite of her rank. Jenny was ashamed to remember how she had behaved the past few weeks.

  The short path to Roxburg followed the Teviot, a dark river now sparkling in the sun. The girls had to lift their hems to avoid the mud from yesterday’s rain. Jenny heard crowds and music even before they passed through the gate in the stout town wall. The narrow streets hid the fairgrounds from view, and stalls were set up everywhere, selling a confusing array of goods, everything from new ribbons to chipped crockery. They passed a piper busking in the street. The skirl was deafening, but the man played well. Adèle threw a few coins into his hat.

  “Why are the stalls set up here and not on the fairground?” Jenny asked the guard.

  “St. James Fair Green is set aside for the behourds this day, my lady,” the man said, and Jenny looked to Adèle, knowing she would explain.

  “The behourds are a kind of play tournament set up for fun. Anyone can join in, even small boys.” She turned to the guard. “Will there be a quintain?”

  He nodded. “The pile, they call it here, my lady, but aye. They have a fine one.”

  Adèle laughed. “This should be fun. Oh look, a beekeeper. Let me get some honeycomb.” They chewed the honeycomb until all the sweetness was gone from the wax, then spat it out. Jenny was careful of her dress, but she relished the rare treat.

  Roxburg was everything Tam had said it would be, a real town with some timber-frame buildings, even a few with an upper storey. Houses belonging to tradesmen hung signs outside. A wooden boot indicated the shoemaker’s house, a candlestick marked the chandler’s, and the many signs with sheep on them showed where cloth merchants lived. Jenny could not imagine how Tam could bring himself to leave such a wonderful place. His troubles, whatever they were, must be serious indeed.

  As Adèle promised, the behourds were more fun than the stuffy tournament. At the edge of the fairgrounds, a swing hung from a great ash tree.

  One man sat on the swing, with his opponent on a stool nearby, and the men attempted to “unhorse” each other, using their legs in place of lances. The quintain proved to be a kind of manikin on a pole that swung around when men tilted at it, unhorsing the rider more often than not. One man was knocked out when he was hit by the flat “arm” and had to be brought around with a bucket of water. The jousting was conducted on docile old nags with padded lances so blunt they appeared to have pillows at the ends. Best of all, clowns wove in and out of all the games. They snatched shields or helmets or wooden swords away from unwary combatants and used them for outrageous parodies of battle. They were so nimble and skilled, Jenny was sure they must be clowns by trade. Adèle rewarded them with silver coins from her apparently bottomless purse.

  “We had better return to Marchmont,” Adèle said finally.

  Jenny looked around. She could hardly believe the shadows had grown so quickly. “I hope tempers will be improved from last night.”

  “We shall see. Some tournaments end on a merry note, others are sour through and through,” Adèle said. “Oh, I see a woman with remedies. Let me speak to her. The baby has colic and nothing nurse can do will stop him from howling.”

  Ahead was a booth covered in bundles of dried herbs. The woman tending it was neither old nor young. Her manner was polite but independent, reminding Jenny that these burgesses owed allegiance to no one but the king himself. Adèle explained what she needed as the woman gathered herbs on a clean cloth.

  “Peppermint will ease the gas, my lady, and give him just a touch of these poppyseeds, ground fine. No more than will fit on your baby finger. Your nurse should find wild lettuce and press the juice. It will help as well, but it cannot be dried.”

  When Adèle handed her a coin, the woman turned, unexpectedly, to Jenny. “And what are you doing here, my lady, dressed in cob-webs and old leaves?” Her tone was so civil, so conversational, that Jenny did not realize at first what she had said. Then Adèle’s mouth fell open and both girls froze.

  The old guard finally spoke. “Give the lady no trouble, Meg. Good evening to you.” He took Adèle’s parcel and walked away.

  Jenny fell into shocked silence, but Adèle said, “That woman should be whipped for speaking to Lady Jeanette like that.” The guard said nothing. “The king would say so too, I feel certain,” she persisted as they left the town.

  The guard shrugged. “Meg is midwife to Roxburg,” he said. “She sees the bairns into this world and is godmother to more than half the town. The folk here think much of her.”

  “But she must be mad to speak like that. My friend’s dress is beautiful.”

  The guard sighed. “Meg has gone odd. No one would quarrel with you on t
hat. A few years ago, she disappeared for a month or more. She often goes far afield, gathering weeds for her cures, and everyone thought her lost forever—fallen into the river, maybe, or eaten by a wild beast. But suddenly she was back, no worse for wear. She told anyone who would listen that she had gone with two men who came to fetch her for a birth. The place they took her was under a hill, but finer than a lord’s hall inside.”

  Adèle gasped. “You mean to say she was taken by the fairies?”

  The guard nodded. “So she claims. She said, when she came into the hall, the men dipped their hands into some water and touched their eyes, so she did the same, and suddenly, all the finery disappeared. She could see it was nothing more than old leaves and bits of moss, fairy glamour as they call it. Since then, she claims she can see anything made by the fairies for what it is. I suppose she fancies your dress to be fairy glamour, being so finely made,” he said to Jenny.

  “At home, anyone would get a thrashing for speaking to a lady like that,” Adèle said. “Jeanette, you look so frightened. You must not let such nonsense trouble you.” She took Jenny’s arm as they walked back to Marchmont. Jenny felt weak in the knees.

  They could hear crowds down by the lists when they returned. Marchmont seemed empty. “The mêlée is over,” Adèle said. “Everyone is out congratulating the knights. We should go too.”

  Jenny excused herself. “I have a terrible headache.”

  Adèle patted her hand. “No wonder, after the way you were treated. Do you want me to send for your maid?” Jenny shook her head. “At least you may rest alone,” Adèle said.

  As usual, Adèle was right. The bay where the women slept was empty. Even the maids were gone. Jenny dragged a pallet from a stack and laid it behind one of the screens. She slipped out of her dress, carefully hanging it on the screen, and lay down in her kirtle.

  The dress shimmered in the gloom like a shaft of sunlight in the forest, as lovely as ever. She raised her hand and touched the fabric, soft and fine. It looks so real, she thought. Because it is, she told herself. The midwife was daft. She must be. The other possibility—that the dress was nothing more than cobwebs and leaves bound together by fairy magic—was too bizarre to consider. But she could not stop herself from wondering. What if that midwife was right? That would make this dress an unearthly thing, the Devil’s work, something to be shunned. If I really believe that, I should burn it right now, she thought. But Jenny knew she never could. It would break her heart to destroy it.

  And what of Tam? She shook her head, remembering his kindness and his gentle ways. Could he be capable of such a trick? Jenny closed her eyes to shut out her confusion. Like a boat loosed from its mooring, she drifted away.

  “Jeanette, Jeanette, wake up.”

  At first, Jenny did not know where she was.

  Then she remembered. “Adèle?”

  “You fell asleep. Get up now, for the banquet is starting soon. Most of the women have already left. I thought their noise would waken you. Is your headache better?” Jenny nodded. “Your maid laid this out for you.” Adèle handed her a clean kirtle.

  Jenny rose and changed, still groggy with sleep. What had happened that afternoon seemed so distant now. The green-and-gold dress flowed over her fresh linen kirtle, as beautiful as ever. How could she have thought to destroy it?

  Jenny’s hair was tangled from an afternoon in the air, but Hilde had become more skilful. When she was finished, Isabel’s fine walrus ivory combs swept Jenny’s hair from her face.

  “You look enchanting,” Adèle said. This was kind of her, for Adèle was far more beautiful. “Come now,” she continued, “or we will be late. I talked to my father while you were resting.” They hurried along the hall. “There was no end of bickering about the seating for tonight. The king wanted the banquet to be held in the French style, with separate tables for the ladies, hosted by his mother. Lady Ada, apparently, saw this as a ploy on his part to avoid having to deal with the ladies. Me in particular, I suppose. In the end, she won her way, as she often does, but not before harsh words had been exchanged.”

  “Adèle,” Jenny said, “they seem a most unhappy family.”

  Adèle nodded. “The Earl of Roxburg says Earl Henry’s death was akin to knocking the most important chess piece off the board in the very middle of the game. King Malcolm has grown to be a fine man and a good leader, but the hole that was left in the family never mended.” Adèle’s voice dropped to a whisper, for they had entered the crowded court room.

  Jenny saw her father and Eudo, but the Earl of Roxburg claimed the girls before she could catch their attention. “You look like two flowers tonight, my dears,” he said. “I trust you enjoyed your visit to the town.”

  “It was wonderful,” Jenny said quickly, hoping Adèle would follow her lead and not mention the unpleasantness.

  “Come now, Lady Ada is most anxious to see you. That is a lovely dress,” he added, turning to Jenny. “You remind me of my daughter tonight. She favoured those colours.”

  Everyone turned to look as they passed and, strangely, as they did, all fell silent. Jenny wondered if she or Adèle had done something wrong. By the time they reached the head table, the entire hall was as quiet as if it were empty.

  It took someone as forceful as Lady Ada to break the spell. “Lady Adèle,” she said, “you grow lovelier by the month, my child. And this must be Lady Jeanette. I have longed to meet you, my dear.” Jenny thought this odd from a woman who had hidden away in the solar for the whole of her visit, but she smiled politely and said nothing.

  Lady Ada was a commanding woman, with Earl William’s red-gold hair and his features writ fine. She was, Jenny realized, far too young for the role fate had forced upon her. She should be queen, not the king’s widowed mother. Past Lady Ada stood her sons. Earl William and King Malcolm seemed afflicted by the same strange malady that was bothering all the other men in the hall tonight. They stared, mouths slightly open, saying nothing at all.

  No one could sit until the king did, but he seemed rooted to the floor. Jenny saw at once he was not like his brother and mother. His features were spare and straight, his body slight. He was beardless, with straight brown hair that looked fine as feathers. His pale blue eyes were fixed on Jenny in a way that seemed quite out of keeping with his vow of celibacy. She blushed and bowed her head.

  “Malcolm,” his mother said, “everyone is waiting to be seated.”

  To Jenny’s surprise, Earl William stepped past his mother to take her hand. “You are the loveliest lady in the room,” he said, loudly, so that everyone nearby would hear. It was a true Norman compliment, intended to aggrandize the bestower as much as the recipient, careless of anyone else’s feelings.

  Jenny blushed, in anger more than modesty.

  “What nonsense. Lady Adèle is much prettier. Anyone can see that,” she said, forgetting her manners completely.

  “No, my brother speaks the truth. You are enchanting,” a soft voice said. They all turned to King Malcolm, who looked as astonished by his words as everyone else.

  “Adèle, my child, you sit here,” Lady Ada said, indicating the chair beside the king. She gave Jenny a look of pure annoyance. Although he still looked flustered, King Malcolm took the hint and sat down. Everyone in the hall followed. Jenny noticed that Earl William seemed to enjoy his brother’s discomfort.

  Jenny found Earl William changed since Lilliesleaf. He scarcely took his eyes off her and he spoke to no one else. “Please, keep that breast of pheasant for yourself,” he said when she selected it for him, “for you deserve as good as any.” Jenny was both flattered and unsettled. But, for all his attentions, Earl William’s conversation was not engaging. He mainly boasted of his winnings. “Five knights I unhorsed, and took seven ransom. No one else did nearly so well. I took your brother singlehandedly.”

  Jenny dropped the pheasant breast. “My brother?”

  “Yes. He is on parole to me. Did you not know? He must return with his fee within a fortnigh
t.”

  “But sir, I do not think my brother can raise whatever sum you require.”

  Earl William laughed. “Why do you look so pale, lady? Give me a kiss and I will release him.”

  How could he be so cruel? “This is hardly a joking matter, my lord.”

  He leaned close, his hot breath brushing her cheek. “You think I jest?” he whispered. “I will release him from his bond for just one kiss. His fate is in your hands.”

  “Very well, my lord,” Jenny said, leaning toward him, but he laughed and ducked away.

  “Not here. Not now. Let me claim my forfeit as I wish, my lady.”

  Jenny nodded miserably, wondering if “just one kiss” was likely to become more.

  Earl William failed to notice her discomfort.

  “Even without the Avenel money, I will do well. Five fine chargers, all the knights’ weapons and armour, and six more on parole.”

  Jenny remembered what Tam had said about Earl William’s debts. “Is it enough, my lord?” she asked.

  He frowned. “How do you mean, Lady Jeanette?” His tone was suddenly stern.

  Too late, Jeanette realized she had stumbled onto forbidden ground. “Enough, I mean,” she faltered, “to make the tournament worth your trouble.”

  He roared with laughter. “Worth my trouble indeed. You are sweet to ask, my lady,” he leaned toward her again, “and far more beautiful than I remembered.”

  Earl William launched into a blow-by-blow account of his victories. The banquet dragged on. To make things worse, whenever Jenny looked around the hall, she found far too many young men gazing at her with sickly longing. What was the matter with them?

  Jenny supposed things could not be worse, but she soon discovered she was wrong. When the tables were finally put away and everyone gathered at the fire, young men crowded around, vying for her attention. “Lady Jeanette, let me give you this cushion to soften the bench.” “No, please, sit here. You will see better from here.” “Lady Jeanette, allow me to sing you a song.”