Madelon

by Valentina Luellen

  "Look, my lady," Diya whispered touching Madelon on the arm as they took their places beside Urraca. "Yonder."

  Madelon looked across to where Sancho and his entourage were taking their places. Rodrigo de Vivar and Valentin were below the royal box. The former was busily talking to Teresa, but Valentin was staring at Madelon. She felt the colour rise in her cheeks as her cousin turned in her seat and stared at her angrily. The man at Urraca's side, a tall, heavily-set Leonese, whose finery far outshone any worn by the younger members of Urraca's admirers, also followed Madelon's gaze and his thick lips curved in disgust on discovering the cause of her interest.

  Quickly Madelon looked away. When she risked another glance in Valentin's direction, she was disappointed to find he had his back to her and was talking with his sister. How proudly he stood, she thought. The arrogance that had at first angered her, now seemed doubly attractive. If Paco was the victor this morning and Valentin was killed, she would leave Santa Maria de Carrion at once and go to her mother's estates at Salamanca until the rift between them healed. If Valentin was wounded, she would go to him an stay by his side regardless of her brother's dictates - but what if Valentin killed her brother? The thought chilled her for a moment. No, he would not kill him. She felt confident after the way he had spared Paco's life in the Great Hall of the Castle de Aguilas, he would not deprive her of the only other person she cared for in the whole world.

  Urraca left Madelon's side and moved by her brother. As they began to talk, the heavy set man carefully inspected the space provided before sitting down.

  "We shall have an excellent view from here, Dona Madelon. You must be anxious to have this unpleasantness over and done with."

  "You are too kind ..."

  The man chuckled as she searched her memory to put a name to him.

  "We have never met. Urraca did intend that pleasure for the first evening you arrived, but you were otherwise engaged when we came upon you. Don't look so angry, my dear child, most women find Valentin Maratin attractive - in an animal sense I suppose. I find him crude, too Moorish in his ways and too damned arrogant, but here I am talking about a man neither of us cares about and who will shortly be dead anyway, when I would much rather be talking about you and our our plans for the future."

  Madelon stared into the strange face, speechless with amazement. "How can I share any plans with you - a complete stranger?" she asked breathlessly.

  The man leaned forward, took one of her hands in his and pressed it to his lips. Madelon caught the aroma of strong perfume which was vaguely reminiscent of that used by Yusuf the Moor. She suppressed a shudder and tried to pull her hand free, but it was held too tightly. Words of protest died on her lips as she found herself being scrutinized by a pair of bold eyes. Something inside her warned her to be on her guard against this man, whoever he was.

  "I won't be a stranger much longer, Dona Madelon," came the quiet answer. For all the softness of tone, there was something which hinted this man was not the fop he appeared. "Come now, don't be shy. I am Gaspar Vivaldes, Count of Segovia - your brother's estates and mine are practically alongside each other. For years all I've ever heard about is the beauty of his little sister, Madelon. He painted a picture of an angel, no, a goddess, and I never believed anyone could be so perfect - until I saw you. Paco has had you to himself long enough, it's time he let someone else have the delightful pleasure of your company. Both he and your cousin Urraca agree it will be a good match."

  The heavy features broke into a smile - a smile Madelon decided was meant to dispel the terrible fear rising inside her. Gaspar Vivaldes was a liar. Paco had not seen her since she entered the convent for the second time. It was impossible for him to have praised her beauty. But why had this man lied and what was this talk of a match?

  "Are you implying you have asked my brother for my hand in marriage?" She forced the words out through stiff lips. Oh, no, she thought with growing dread, was Paco to act as their father had done years ago? Was she to be forced into marriage with the man she did not know or return to the convent for the rest of her days, if she refused? He had promised never to inflict his will on her to this extent.

  "Not yet, Dona Madelon, but today, the instant he has killed Valentin Maratin, I shall speak to him. Seeing you so close, talking to you, touching you..." he attempted to caress Madelon's hand and she jerked it free and buried it in the wide sleeves of her gown. She did not miss the look of anger which flashed across the Count's face and her fear mounted. "The instant his combat is over, my dear," he murmured.

  Urraca broke off her conversation and turned to the man at her side. One look into Madelon's stricken features told her all she wanted to know.

  "Gaspar, you promised to speak to Paco first," she said, feigning annoyance.

  "So I did. So I did, but I have been overwhelmed by Dona Madelon's loveliness. My choice could not have been more perfect."

  Urraca smiled, deliberately ignoring the appealing glances Madelon threw her way. When it suited him Gaspar Vivaldes had a tongue of velvet. He had often used it on women whose husbands were in a position of importance and might well prove useful to Urraca or her brother, Alfonso. She had instructed him to use his best manner to soothe the natural fears Madelon would feel when the news was first broken to her. When the time was right and she was his wife, the pose would drop and Madelon would discover she had married a man with an iron will which would be used on her ruthlessly.

  From his seat in the royal box opposite, Sancho signalled his impatience for the first combat to begin. Alfonso followed suit and immediately the trumpeters clad in yellow and blue livery, advanced into the centre of the lists and gave several loud blasts on their golden trumpets to herald the commencement of the tournament.

  A loud cheer went up all around Madelon as her brother appeared from his pavilion, mounted his horse and rode into the lists. Beneath his raised visor, his face was set in hard lines. He acknowledged first Sancho and then his own king, but he did not once look at his sister and Madelon was aware of the speculation his action caused. She herself was deeply hurt, but not for one moment did she falter beneath the spiteful glances being directed at her:

  The next instant Paco's cruel gesture was forgotten, as Valentin came into view. His black armour, highly polished by young Stephen, shone in the strong sunlight, In his helmet danced two white plumes and the huge golden eagle of the de Aguilas family was emblazoned in gold on his white silk tunic. Madelon saw he was riding Conquistador, that wonderfully trained horse which would respond to the slightest touch of his beloved master. The silk caparison covering the stallion's body was heavily embroidered in gold and silver thread. The saddle was silver mounted and all the trappings were also silver and conspicuously of Moorish design.

  Madelon felt her heartbeats quicken as he approached and reined in beside her brother. And excited murmur ran through the onlookers as Urraca rose to her feet. Drawing the magnificent ruby ring from her ringer she held it out towards Paco. He leaned forward and took it, slipping it on to his little finger and replacing his gauntlet. Not a word was spoken, but the smile which passed between them seemed to Madelon to be of the greatest significance and in that moment she remembered Paco was out to kill his enemy. They would not break four or perhaps six lances and then engage in friendly combat until one man yielded - this was to be a fight to the death. Paco had demanded "no quarter".

  She felt Diya's hand clutch at her sleeve as she gained her feet, but she brushed k aside and stepped to the edge of the stands, unfastening the green scarf from her belt as she did so. She knew every eye was on her, but she saw no one but Valentin and no one else mattered.

  "Will the Lord of the Eagles honour me by wearing my token?" she asked in a clear voice.

  She saw the puzzlement which leapt to Valentin's face. His eyes held hers. They demanded silently why she would not admit to caring for him, yet was going out of her way to outlaw herself among her friends by bestowing on him her favour.

  Please
take it. Oh, don't refuse me, Madelon prayed in an agony of suspense as he sat unmoving on his stallion. Don't you understand what I am trying to tell you? You must understand...

  A smile touched Valentin's lean mouth. Leaning forward he plucked the flimsy material from her and tied it around his wrist.

  "It is I who am honoured," he replied softly.

  "My God! This is too much," Paco rasped, his face working angrily. "For this last insult you will surely die, Maratin."

  Valentin barely gave him a glance as he swung Conquistador about and cantered leisurely back, to the end of the lists where his squire waited with the first of his lances at the ready.

  Madelon felt a fierce grip on her wrist as she sat down and found Urraca scowling at her. Conscious of the smirks and whispers all around her, it was all Madelon could do to keep an indifferent look on her face.

  "Are you out of your mind?" her cousin hissed furiously.

  "I give my favours to whom I please, cousin," she replied quietly, but with a dignity that quelled further comment.

  Urraca drew back, restraining her anger. Let the little fool commit herself. If Maratin died, Paco would be so furious over her folly, he would agree to anything asked of him which would rid him of her troublesome company. And if Paco died, that in itself would not be so disastrous. Madelon had shown everyone where her feelings - if not her loyalty - belonged and Urraca would be able to make good use of that. The thought of losing her lover did not bother her. There were others, younger, more attentive than Paco, who was beginning to annoy her anyway with his possessiveness. By all means give your favours to whom you please, Urraca thought with a sidelong glance at her cousin, exercise that prerogative while you may.

  For Madelon there was no one at Golpejerra that day but Paco and Valentin. Her brother and the man he was determined to kill. The Lord of the Eagles, his sworn enemy - the man she loved. When the first lances clashed and one broke she had to lock her hands tightly in her lap to stop herself flinging them up in front of her horrified eyes. It was Valentin's lance which had broken, but he was not unseated and both men returned to pick up their second lance.

  The thunder of hooves filled her ears. The sun glinted on Valentin's armour as he bore down on his opponent. She heard the terrifying sound of a steel-tipped lance meeting chain mail and for a moment both men reeled in their saddles from the impact of the blows. This time she closed her eyes. When she opened them Paco lay outstretched on the ground. Valentin dismounted, drawing his sword and as the former drew himself up on to his knees, he received a well-aimed foot in the centre of the back and was sent sprawling again. The next instant the Toledo blade of Valentin Maratin's sword was against his throat. The fall had knocked Paco breathless and his head was throbbing madly. Through pain racked eyes he looked up into the face of his adversary and saw death in the dark eyes which surveyed him.

  "Yield," Valentin growled.

  Paco's answer was to spit in his face.

  There was a cry of utter disbelief as Valentin stood up and sheathed his weapon. No one believed he could actually have allowed his enemy to live after such an insult until he halted before the spot where Madelon sat petrified with terror and lifted his visor.

  For the first time she saw he was hurt. Blood was welling from a vicious gash on his cheek where Paco's first lance had struck him. Only the visor shield had saved him from a far worse injury, even death.

  "I give you your brother's life, shafra. It is of no importance to me," he said shortly. "We Castilians are not butchers, as well you know."

  Not giving her a chance to thank him, he bowed briefly before Alfonso and walked steadily across the grass to where his sister and Rodrigo were standing at the edge of the stands and behind them the whole Castilian court was applauding his unexpected chivalry.

  Valentin acknowledged Sancho's congratulations with a reserved smile. He could not leave the field - and the tortured face of the lovely girl behind him - quickly enough and yet neither could he resist a last mocking taunt at his king's brother.

  "If that is the best this tournament has to offer us, sire, we shall be crowning you in the cathedral in Leon before the week is out."

  A hearty gust of laughter shook the Castilians and loudest of all was that of Rodrigo de Vivar, who laughed until the tears came to his eyes and his face was the colour of his flaming beard. Sancho's momentary disgust that Paco had been allowed to live quickly vanished. He was allowing personal feelings to cloud good judgement. At times it was sufficient to strike at a man's pride instead of his heart. His eyes rested on the green material still tied around Valentin's wrist and then lifted to the inscrutable face before him. Whatever thoughts passed through his mind he did not give light to them. I'm damned if he doesn't love the girl, Sancho thought. Aloud he said:

  "Well done, Valentin. When you have rested and refreshed yourself, come and watch Rodrigo give your Leonese friends another lesson."

  ***

  Madelon did not stay to watch the next encounter between Rodrigo de Vivar and his opponent. She knew she had to face Paco's anger sooner or later, and preferring to get it over and done with out of sight, and earshot of the whole court, she went to his pavilion. She had decided to be honest with him, to admit she loved Valentin and face the consequences and to tactfully broach the subject of Gaspar Vivadles. Her well-rehearsed speech died unuttered in her throat as she entered her brother's presence and found he had a visitor. As she stood on the threshold of the pavilion in dismay, the Count of Segovia rose to his feet from the couch where he sat with Paco and bowed courteously.

  "Dona Madelon, come in. We have been expecting you."

  "I do not wish to disturb you, Don Gaspar, I can come back," Madelon said quietly. How she masked her alarm at finding him on such cordial terms with her brother, she did not know.

  "Leave your maid outside and join us," Paco said. It was more of an order than a request and she obeyed instantly.

  Paco's armour had been removed by his squire. She saw a large bruise on one cheek and noticed he limped as he stood up and stepped towards her, but words of sympathy died at coldness on his face.

  "Come and sit down, I have something to say to you."

  Madelon sank down on to the velvet-covered couch, conscious of the smile hovering around Gaspar Vivaldes's sensuous mouth.

  "Have you satisfied your honour now, Paco?" she asked, "You have fought the Lord of the Eagles and lost. Am I to be held responsible for that too?"

  "I was hoping you had come to beg my forgiveness. I see I was mistaken - as I have been all along where you are concerned. Giving your token to Maratin before everyone was the final straw. You have betrayed me for the last time, Madelon,

  I am washing my hands of you. The Count of Segovia was named as a prospective husband for you when you first came to court, but I withheld my consent. I wanted you to prove my suspicions wrong, but you only added to them with your clandestine meetings with Maratin - and this final folly before the whole court. Have you no shame?"

  The unjustness of the attack momentarily stunned Madelon, then she leapt to her feet, fierce colour rising in her cheeks as she realized what was intended for her.

  "I will not be forced into marriage. I would rather go back to the convent."

  "That worked with father, not with me," her brother retorted dryly. "Your betrothal will be announced tonight. This is not only my will, Madelon, it is by order of the king. Are you foolish enough to think you can disobey a royal command?"

  Madelon swayed back from him and felt a supporting arm go around her shoulders. Strong perfume invaded her nostrils and she lifted her tortured gaze to meet Gaspar Vivaldes's smiling face.

  "Come, Dona Madelon, am I so repulsive as all that? When you know me better ..."

  Madelon felt her senses slipping away and it was some minutes before she had recovered sufficiently to push away the possessive arm encircling her. With a pleading expression she looked across at Paco, but the stony face registered no pity and she knew there
would be no reprieve.

  "If you do this to me I will never forgive you. Never!" she cried tremulously.

  "I suggest you return to the town and compose yourself before this evening. I shall expect you to conduct yourself with a little more control when we next meet," came the cruel answer.

  Madelon swept out of the pavilion blinded by tears. Diya's anxious questions fell on deaf ears and she ran after her mistress who was hurrying towards her horse, fearing the worst.

  "Are you leaving us so soon? The fun has only just begun, cousin." Urraca's mocking voice sounded behind Madelon as she was about to mount. A satisfied smile touched her mouth as she moved closer and saw the unshed tears in the young woman's eyes. "Oh dear, has Paco been reprimanding you? You did rather deserve it, didn't you. Never mind, soon you will be away from this life you find so distasteful."

  Slowly Madelon turned and stared into her cousin's beautiful face. Of course, Urraca had put the idea of marriage into Paco's head! A marriage which would bind her to the court - to Urraca. Valentin was right, she thought with a feeling of disgust overwhelming her, Urraca is evil and I am to be her pawn. Oh, Valentin, why didn't I believe in you a little more?

  "So it was your idea to marry me off," she said coldly. Then with a britde laugh, "I never took Paco for a fool before, but he is, or else you're a witch.''

  "I am a woman who uses her talents wisely," Urraca returned indifferently. "I suggest you do the same when you and Gaspar are married. He intends to take you to his estates for a long honeymoon. It is up to you whether that time is spent in instruction - or correction."

  "What if I tell Paco of your plans for me?"

  "He won't believe you, little fool. Giving your token to the Lord of the Eagles finished you in his eyes." Urraca's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she stared into her cousin's pale features. "The only person who could help you now, is Valentin Maratin himself. I might find myself able to persuade Paco to forestall Gaspar's suit if your association with this man progressed to a more satisfactory stage - shall we say? Paco would know nothing about it of course. Well, which do you find the more attractive? The arms of the Gaunt of Segovia - or Maratin? Here come my young men, Alfonso must have sent them to look for me. Think it over, cousin. If you choose Maratin, I will leave all the details to you and you can tell me about it when you return from the joyful reunion."