by Ann Benson
“Wake up, m’lady,” she said urgently. “The princess has commanded your presence.”
Kate opened one eye and looked into the young girl’s face suspiciously. “For what reason?”
“I only know that she commands you to dress for a day’s riding.”
She sat up in her bed; though she rankled at the command, a surge of excitement welled up in her. Riding—another opportunity might present itself!
“Where are we to ride?”
The flustered girl could not answer. She seemed embarrassed to be making the demand on such short notice. “Begging your pardon, m’lady,” the girl said, her tone quite apologetic, “I don’t know. If you please, hurry, for your sister awaits you.”
“Where are my guards?”
“Outside the door, as always,” the girl said.
Kate went to the bed stand, where a fresh pitcher of water awaited her. The girl stood by and offered a cloth as Kate splashed the sleep out of her eyes. She dried her face, then went to the window and looked out.
Below, through the early-morning mist, she saw the assembly of grooms with horses prancing in anticipation of the ride. A number of guards were already in place, with horns tucked under their arms and hounds straining on their leashes. A tall standard bearing the crest of the Black Prince was held high by the lead rider. A shiver, beyond her control, coursed through her bones.
Her heart sank on seeing the guards. There would be no possibility of escape; there were just too many of them. With a sigh of resignation, she pulled a simple gown from the chest, one with a wide skirt, though she preferred breeches for riding—she had grown accustomed to them in her travels with Alejandro. She recalled Isabella’s angry words when she had first requested a pair:
We shall not abide a woman in breeches in our presence.
The serving girl helped her with the buttons and ties and then handed Kate a brush. She ran it through her hair—something her pampered sister seemed incapable of doing for herself—and tied it back into a tail with a cord of black leather, all without ever once gazing into the glass.
“You’ll be needing this, m’lady,” the girl said as Kate passed by her. “There’s an unaccountable chill.”
Kate noticed the girl’s sympathetic expression; she saw it often on the faces of all those who served her. She took the offered cloak and thanked the girl. In the ladies’ salon, a party of chattering women were already gathered. At their center—predictably surrounded by her clucking admirers—stood Isabella, beautifully attired in a handsome embroidered riding cape, which served as the subject of the effusive commentary.
“Ah,” Isabella said. She looked her younger sister up and down. “My beloved sister. We see that you have given the customary twinkle of attention to your appearance.”
Kate responded with an icy stare.
Isabella made a small, grunting laugh, full of disdain. “Well, let us join the others,” she said. “You know how gentlemen hate to be kept waiting.”
If what Chaucer had told her was true, then de Coucy might well be among them. Her guards followed her as she descended the stairs into the courtyard. She commanded all of her emotions to bury themselves deep within her psyche, for on this day she would be subjected to an encounter with the man who had most likely put Guillaume Karle to death. It would be the first time they had come face-to-face since the fateful day, nearly eight years before, when he had sent her headless husband back to her.
Hatred—for both of them—filled her as she watched de Coucy kiss her sister on the hand.
She turned away from the sight, thinking, They are a match made in hell. She positioned herself so she would not have to come into contact with de Coucy. She would rip the skin off his face, and then her son would be motherless, indeed.
Her eyes settled on a short, stocky man on horseback who had placed himself well within the main party but did not seem to be involved in the repartee. Instead, he stared at her in a most unnerving manner. Whenever Kate glanced in his direction, the man’s eyes seemed to be upon her. Once he even smiled, revealing a mouthful of blackened teeth.
When the man nodded and blew her a kiss, Kate came to a horrifying realization—this man might well be Benoit, her “intended.”
She turned her head to the side and spat, quite deliberately, making as much noise as she could. When she glanced back at the monstrous little man who’d been eying her, he was whispering to de Coucy, with an expression that indicated a complaint.
The Black Prince himself was among the group, accompanied as usual by Sir John Chandos. The stalwart warrior, who had always been kind to her—even in this captivity—rode up to her and greeted her with a polite nod.
“My lady,” he said. He smiled at her rough clothing. “I can see that you are outfitted for a hunt.”
“And why not, good sir? If one is to hunt, one must be properly prepared.”
It was all so very silly; she would not be allowed any sort of weapon. Anything she managed to catch on this expedition would have to be taken with her bare hands. Chandos knew that in her years with Alejandro, she would have learned to use a sling and stone, to throw a knife, to wield a club, to peel the skin off her prey before the creature’s last heartbeat. Once, in an afternoon of sport, he had watched her place arrow after arrow in the center of the target, to the astonishment of her guards.
Chandos held her glance for a moment more, and then said, “I wish you a most pleasant hunt.” He glanced in the direction of de Coucy and the dark little ape at his flank. “Our company seems a bit rough today. Rest assured that I shall personally watch over you, so you may be returned safely to the castle.”
With a smile—Kate wondered if it was sympathy or amusement that she saw in it—Chandos turned his horse and rode back to the group of men. Kate watched him with the bitter understanding that while he would certainly oversee her safety, it was her return to captivity in Windsor that would be foremost in his mind.
On the surface, it was an altogether splendid group that departed the castle heading north that morning to enjoy a day of hunting and birding. The ladies, for the most part, were there merely to watch as the men wielded their strong bows and well-balanced slings against the animals in the king’s reserve. Kate envied those men their weapons. Memories of hunting with Alejandro—not for sport, but sustenance—drifted through her mind. She had brought in many a meal during their years in France, that dangerous and unforgiving time, when food and shelter were never certain and every rider they passed was a potential enemy.
Compared to this captivity, those times seemed heavenly.
She pulled her cloak around herself and blessed the serving girl who had suggested that she take it. They rode north, stopping now and then to allow the gentlemen to take small game from the brush, whetting their appetites for the larger game that awaited on the reserves. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the day warmed, and soon the party stopped again, but this time with the purpose of shedding their overgarments—not an easy task for a lady on horseback. In her simpler garb, Kate was able to remove her own cloak without help from anyone else, and indeed without much effort on her own part. She draped the wool cloak over the back of her horse and sat there impatiently while servants and valets fussed around their masters and mistresses, all so the great ones would not have to be bothered to raise up their arms.
She found herself, for a precious instant, unguarded; her keepers had been enlisted to help the other lords and ladies. A quick glance off to the west revealed a dense stand of trees. She peered at the thick green brush of springtime and realized that it would make excellent cover. Without any sharp movements, Kate nudged her horse to change its direction so they faced more toward the stand of brush. She kept an eye on the traveling party, looking for one precious opportunity to slip into the woods unnoticed.
With each breath, she inched closer to making her move. She tapped the horse very lightly in the side with her heels. The animal responded by moving a pace westward. After a moment’s wait to
see if anyone had noticed, she decided that no one had, so she nudged him again and gained a few more inches. Twice more she did the same; the trees were tantalizingly close. She was perhaps only one more step from bolting to freedom when she glanced back and saw Sir John looking in her direction.
She froze as still as a statue. Her heart sank, and with it, her hopes.
The good knight broke away from the group and moved toward her quite casually, his eyes never leaving hers. When he was close enough that his words would not be heard by anyone but Kate, he said, with a slight smile, “Take care of the woods, m’lady. There are dangers within.”
Smiling in return, Kate said, “I know this only too well, dear knight.”
“From your travels, no doubt. Well, take heed, then,” he said. “I should hate to have to answer to the king if anything untoward were to happen to you.”
She noted with silent gratitude that he had not said “your father.” He understands, she thought. He knows how I hate the man. And why.
“No such unhappy event shall come to pass,” she assured him. With a few gentle heels, she directed the horse away from the trees and back toward the group.
On the third day of their journey, de Chauliac’s party came to the town of Cluny, in the low mountains that lay to the northeast of le Massif Central. The monastery they found there was lovely in its idyllic setting, with the gardens just beginning to show small and welcome bits of color. As the sun left the sky, they rode into the courtyard, dusty and tired from the grueling passage over the hills.
De Chauliac disappeared as he had on each of the nights before into the comfortable custody of whatever cleric was there to greet him. But this time the rest of the party was invited inside to dine with the nuns and brothers who made their home within the monastery walls, while de Chauliac and his host bishop dined privately. They were led through the abbey to the rooms that lay behind and ultimately to a small but comfortable dining hall. Down the center of the table there lay a scarf of the most exquisite lace, running its entire length. A candelabra shed a warm light on the food the nuns brought in a seemingly endless stream of steaming platters.
As the party arranged themselves around the table, Alejandro saw, out of the corner of his eye, that the elusive small soldier was speaking quietly with one of the nuns as she set her plate down. The nun nodded slightly, and Alejandro surmised that the soldier was, for some unknowable reason, begging to be excused.
Lest your English accent give you away, spy, he thought bitterly. So be it, he thought as he watched the discourse. I will avail myself of your secrets some other time. Before the soldier departed, he reached out and fingered the beautiful lace of the tablecloth and, for the briefest moment, studied its details.
By mid-afternoon of the hunt, the flanks of the horses were draped with the carcasses of birds and small animals, and even one deer, and the air was thick with the coppery smell of spilled blood. The hunting grounds kept by the king were always well stocked, and rarely did one of his guests return without evidence of hunting prowess, whether merited or not.
As the group was making ready for the return to Windsor, a ragged-looking man astride a mule appeared out of the woods. The guards were upon him in an instant. Sir John rode forward and greeted the man, perhaps a bit more rudely than he might have were he not watched by so many critical eyes.
“Halt, fellow,” he said. “You pass through the king’s reserves.”
The man had a terrified look on his face but did not stop. He heeled the mule and tried quite foolishly to ride directly through the party. He was a foul-looking man and he stank of manure, even from a distance. The ladies covered their noses and mouths with gloved hands and turned their faces away as he attempted to press through their midst.
“I say, halt,” Sir John repeated. He raised his hand in a signal that produced an instant response from the archers. In the blink of an eye, the poor traveler found himself at the point of a dozen arrows, with no choice but to stop.
“Please, sir,” he said, fairly blubbering, “I mean no disrespect, and I’ll not be poaching any game from His Majesty. I only mean to travel through.”
“It is well-known in these parts that His Majesty prefers travelers to take a route around his lands, not through them.”
“Indeed, sir, I know this, though I am not directly from these parts. And I beg your lordship’s forgiveness, but—”
“Forgiveness is not mine to give. These are the king’s lands, and I am but his humble servant. Now be off with you, before you suffer the consequences. Surely I do not need to remind you that the king’s justice is swift and harsh.”
The man looked behind himself, then turned back to Chandos with a terribly distressed look on his face. “I cannot go back, sir.”
“Indeed,” Chandos said, “and why not?”
“I am afeared of plague!” he blurted. “They say it has come once again to the Peaks!”
“We have heard nothing of plague’s return thereabouts, though we know it is in Europa,” Chandos said in a scornful voice. “We are not aware that it has crossed la Manche as of yet. And in any case, if it has, we are too far north to be concerned.” He leaned over his saddle pomme and eyed the man closely. “Unless, of course, you yourself are afflicted.”
Kate nudged her horse closer so she could fully hear the man’s words.
“I am not, I swear it, but I dared not remain there!”
“You would leave your home and ride so far south for this reason?”
“I have no home, sir. I am a beggar.” He opened his arms to show his ragged clothing.
Chandos eyed the mule skeptically. “Beggars do not ride,” he said.
“This animal belonged to my best fellow. When he died I put him in the ground and took the mule’s care upon myself. I’ve given him a good home, just as a Christian man ought. Seemed only right. He would have willed the beast to me anyways.”
“Very generous of you,” the bemused knight said. “And of him as well. But perhaps you now carry his disease with you, since you ride his animal.”
“Oh, no, sir, not I…I am unafflicted.” He pulled down his cowl, revealing horribly wrinkled flesh, but no buboes. “My friend spent his last days in the care of the brothers of Christ—he was taken in to pass his last hours in comfort.”
“But—if he carries plague, then all the brothers shall die if they are in close quarters to him!”
All eyes turned to Kate, who had voiced this concern in one untethered blurt.
The man looked directly at her and said, “Begging your pardon, m’lady, but if it’s God’s will, there’s naught anyone can do about it.”
All were momentarily silent; everyone had heard stories of monasteries wherein the monks had locked themselves, thinking to keep plague out, but instead had enclosed themselves in its grasp.
“This is a fool’s tale!” Chandos finally said. “Why should I believe you?”
The man crossed himself and raised up his hand. “I give you my oath, sir, the word of a Christian believer.”
Upon hearing this declaration, Chandos laughed. But his smile faded quickly. “Then against my better judgment, you may pass. In honor of our princess’s nuptials.” He glanced in Isabella’s direction and made a small nod of respect. Isabella sat taller astride her horse as the eyes of her party fell upon her. The beggar, following Chandos’s lead, bent deeply at the waist and muttered vague congratulations that no one else could hear or understand.
Chandos then said to the man, “But before you may depart, come forward.”
With visible reluctance, the man heeled the mule until he came alongside Chandos. Before anyone could even gasp, Chandos had his knife out and had cut two neat slashes in the man’s cheek, in the shape of an arrowhead. Blood oozed out of the cuts; the stricken man pressed on his cheek to stanch the flow. He pulled his hand away and looked at it in horror, then looked back at Chandos again.
“Those marks are the means by which I shall know you if I ever see you
on His Majesty’s lands again,” Chandos said. “Now get out of here, before my resolve to do away with you returns.”
The traveler kicked the mule viciously in the sides. The animal brayed and took off, this time in a westerly direction. He disappeared into the thick woods, as Kate had wanted to do earlier in the foray. She followed him with her eyes, while her heart was filled with envy. When he finally disappeared from view, she turned her eyes back to Chandos. The knight sat still on his horse with a cold expression on his face.
My only ally, save Chaucer, she thought as she watched him turn his horse around.
When the meal was through, the nuns removed themselves from the table before their guests and began to take the empty plates away.
“Well, Guillaume, that was quite a fare, was it not?”
“Yes, Grand-père.” The little boy rubbed his eyes.
“You are very weary, I suspect. This was a long day of travel.”
Again, he said, “Yes, Grand-père.”
“And you are quite agreeable.”
“Yes—” The boy stopped, and smiled at his own repetition.
“Let us find you a place to lay your head.” They rose up from their bench and followed others from their party, who seemed to have acquired some sense of where they ought to go by following one of the monks. As they wove through the dark, narrow halls of the abbey by the light of a torch held high by the first monk in the procession, Alejandro saw one of the nuns approach. The woman walked slowly, balancing a pan of steaming water in her hands. Under one arm was folded a white cloth of some sort, perhaps a towel, with a small bit of lace peeking out.
She padded quietly past them, keeping her eyes discreetly low, though Alejandro tried to catch her notice. She stopped finally and tapped on a door. Alejandro heard a muffled reply. The nun balanced the pan against her hip, then opened the door with one hand. He turned in time to see her slip into a brightly lit room, and heard her say, “Voici l’eau chaude, Mademoiselle.”
Alejandro stopped short; they were at the very rear of the entourage, so no one stumbled into him. Guillaume stopped as well, but Alejandro patted him on the shoulder and said, “Go ahead, child, I will catch up shortly.”
