The Devil's Diadem

by Sara Douglass

  Owain visited many times, bringing both company and his skills as a herbalist. I asked him about Stephen and the children, and he said that the earl had commanded that Stephen be buried under the heartstone of the chapel, and the other children in the aisle with their mother.

  When he initially told me this I accepted it, thinking that beneath the heartstone was a fitting place for Stephen to lie. But over the next few nights I had unsettling dreams where I saw Stephen’s corpse falling through space until it caught in tangled, mossy tree branches, or being eaten by the wolves I had hallucinated about during my death.

  When Owain returned, I asked him if Stephen was truly buried under the heartstone.

  ‘Full six feet,’ he said. ‘We dug deep into the clay and shale beneath the chapel.’

  I shifted uncomfortably on my bed. ‘You managed to unearth the heartstone?’

  ‘Yes, why do you ask?’

  ‘I don’t know, Owain. I just thought …’ It troubled me somehow, that the sacred stone had been disturbed and dug about.

  ‘He is safe now, Maeb. Don’t worry about him.’

  They were an unusual choice of words, but at the time I did not push Owain, or think too much on what he had said. I was tired and ill, and in much pain. Owain left a strong analgesic draught with Evelyn, patted me on the shoulder, and left.

  The earl came and went. He slept in the privy chamber (I prayed to God that Owain had taken the babies’ bodies when he had taken Stephen’s) and he passed through the solar as he came and went from the privy chamber, barely sparing me a glance. Mostly, he was busy within the wider community (such as was left of it) of the castle, repairing the damage the plague had wrought.

  The castle had needed its earl, very badly. Evelyn told me that from the day he arrived, the plague abated. Of those sick in the chapel, most recovered. Those few who died had been in their final extremity anyway. The survivors, either those who rose from their sick beds or those who had escaped the plague entirely, somehow found meaning and purpose again. Loose horses were caught and restabled. The gates and parapets were once more manned. The fire was struck in the smithy, and the kitchens in the great keep and the outer bailey once more provided food.

  We were to live again, it appeared.

  I spent much of my time wracked with pain. My joints ached abominably, my muscles refused to work, my abdomen was a mass of tenderness, my brain as loose and unthinking as a bowl of cold gruel. I lay in that bed, doing whatever Evelyn required of me, taking Owain’s draughts as instructed, and spending the rest of my time staring at the ceiling, grieving for Lady Adelie, and Stephen, and Rosamund and John, and Alice and Emmette, and wondering what would become of me.

  I tried not to think of the earl’s words: Like you did my son?

  Aye. I had murdered his beloved son, and somehow he knew.

  He had not spoken to me since that night, but I knew that he would. He waited only on my strength returning, that he might assault me with the full force of his rage.

  He had hated me from the first moment he had set eyes on me, and I had justified all that hate in full measure.

  I wished all the more that I was dead, that I had remained dead, for I had nothing left to live for.

  Time passed. One morning, Evelyn, despite my weak protests, sat me on the side of the bed, washed my body and my hair, then dressed me in a linen shift and my best rust-red kirtle, finally plaiting my damp hair into two braids.

  The kirtle hung loose on me, as I had lost a great deal of weight.

  ‘We will sit you by the fire for the morning,’ she announced. I winced and pleaded to stay in bed, to no avail.

  Somehow, with Evelyn’s aid, I stumbled to a chair by the fire and she settled me into it with cushions and wraps. It was midsummer, and a bright day outside, but I was cold and glad enough of the fire and the wraps.

  ‘I won’t be able to stay long here,’ I said to Evelyn. ‘My joints pain me terribly, and —’

  ‘You will stay here for the morning,’ Evelyn said. ‘Your bed is tired of you.’

  And with that she left me.

  I looked longingly toward the bed.

  It was out of my reach. I would need to wait for someone to help me back to it.

  There were footsteps in the stairwell, and I looked hopefully toward its opening. It was likely one of the servants, bringing more wood, or a fresh pitcher of small beer for my lord’s —

  It was the earl.

  He stopped instantly. I was easily ignored when I lay in the corner in my bed, but to see me sit by the fire… he would need to pass right by me as he went to his privy chamber, and that would mean some form of acknowledgement.

  I do not think, ever before in my life or ever again, I was quite so thoroughly terrified as I was at that moment. We would need to say something each to the other, and, knowing he knew I had murdered Stephen, what on earth could we say if not to parry recrimination and guilt?

  A servant suddenly loomed behind the earl, carrying a pitcher of small beer. I closed my eyes momentarily, wondering at my fate that the servant had not arrived earlier and could have helped me to my bed, and the earl could then have ignored me as usual when he strode through to his privy chamber.

  The earl turned, took the pitcher from the servant, thanking him, then walked toward me.

  I looked down, trembling in my fear.

  I heard the rattle as the earl took two pewter cups down from the hearth mantle, then the gurgle of the beer.

  I had to look up. He was standing before me, his expression as unreadable as ever, holding out a cup. I took it from him, thanking him in a soft voice.

  He sat in a chair a little apart from mine. ‘Tell me about Rosamund and John,’ he said.

  I licked my lips, not knowing what I could say, what words I could use. ‘Tell me!’

  ‘They were suffering, my lord. The fungus had grown over their faces. They could hardly breathe. Stephen —’

  ‘Ah, so it was just “Stephen” then, eh?’

  ‘My Lord Stephen did not want them to suffer. He suggested that —’

  ‘He suggested?’

  What did he want to hear? ‘If you want me to take the blame for this, my lord, then I am willing. I do not care. If you would like me to fabricate a tale for you in which I bear all the sin for what happened in this castle, then let me know. Otherwise I will tell you merely what happened.’

  ‘Then just tell me, mistress, but save me your outrage.’

  I told him, in bare, stark words, how Stephen and I had held the pillow over John’s and Rosamund’s faces. ‘It was such a time of horror, my lord. What any of us did, it was only done under the most extreme of circumstances. We will all carry the guilt for the rest of our lives.’

  I waited, unsure and fearful of the earl’s reaction.

  He looked at me a long moment, then gave a simple nod. ‘Owain told me that he took the life of Emmette so that she did not suffer in fire, and I am glad of it. If Stephen suggested the same for Rosamund and John, then I am glad of that, too. If you assisted, then I thank you for it.’

  I could barely believe the words. I had expected angry recrimination, not thanks.

  ‘And Stephen?’ said the earl. ‘Will you tell me what happened?’

  I did, again in as few words as possible. Not to save the earl his grief, but to save mine.

  ‘At least he did not burn,’ the earl said softly when I was done. ‘My God, if only I had arrived sooner. If only …’

  ‘What could you have done, my lord?’

  ‘I could have done something!’ the earl snapped, and I looked down at the cup in my hands, avoiding the anger in his eyes.

  ‘Did you know that I have received word Ancel and Robert also succumbed?’ the earl continued. ‘Summersete told me they died not three weeks after joining his household.’

  The twin boys were dead, too? Sweet Mother Virgin! He had lost his entire family. I raised my eyes, and thought he looked so old and haggard slumped in his chair that
I felt more sorry for him than I had ever thought possible.

  He drank the last of his beer and poured himself another, offering me more which I refused.

  ‘Why did you survive, Maeb?’

  More guilt knifed through me. All his family had died.

  I had not.

  ‘I don’t know, my lord. Owain says that maybe the plague had lost its force, or —’

  ‘Owain is a fool if he says that. You took hemlock as well. Both Evelyn and Owain told me this. You were in the final stages of the plague, choking on the fungus, and you took a dose of hemlock that was three times what would kill a strong man. So why did you live?’

  ‘I don’t know, my lord.’ I fought not to add I am sorry because I was suddenly sick of saying that.

  ‘Did you dream?’

  That question surprised me. ‘I had many hallucinations, my lord. I thought I had died, but then …’

  ‘But then?’

  ‘But I dreamed that I was pushed back, by a massive horse … and wolves snapped at my heels.’

  The earl looked at me, one end of his mouth twisting in what could have been either amusement or scorn. ‘The hemlock, indeed,’ he said.

  There was an uncomfortable silence. ‘How does the king fare?’ I said stupidly, grasping at something to say. He looked at me quizzically, one eyebrow raised. ‘Edmond? How does he fare? Full of care, as am I, but his wife and sons live, whereas mine … ah, but I must talk of Edmond, for he is the focus of your concern. He is well enough, Maeb. Still well enough to lust after a pretty face. As is Saint-Valery, your betrothed.’

  Saint-Valery? How many weeks, months, had it been since I had thought of him?

  ‘Ah,’ said the earl, ‘see your surprise.’

  ‘Saint-Valery and I were not betrothed,’ I said. ‘The marriage was mooted, only. I had not yet agreed to his proposal.’

  ‘Good, thank you for reminding me of the fact. This suits my purpose admirably. Saint-Valery might have raised objection due to pre-contract.’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘To our marriage, Maeb. I need a new wife and a new family and you can provide me both.’

  I could only stare, not believing I had heard his words a-right.

  ‘Think of it as a way to assuage your guilt, Maeb. Achieve absolution, if that is what you need. Three of my children died by your hand, including my beloved son. However noble and merciful your motives, still my children are dead. You owe me a family, and you shall deliver me a new one. Now, drink your beer. You need to regain your strength, for I do not have the heart to take a cripple to my marriage bed.’

  With that, he put down his cup and left the solar.

  Chapter Three

  Evelyn came to help me back to bed, happily prattling about some gossip she had heard in the kitchens. She did not notice my silence. Once I was settled in bed, she sat down beside me. Her face, alive with amusement not a moment ago, now sobered.

  ‘Maeb,’ she said, ‘now that you are getting better, we will need to think on our future.’

  I said nothing. I was still in shock at what the earl had said, and was starting to think I had misheard him.

  ‘The earl will take a new wife, soon enough,’ Evelyn said. ‘He has lost all his children. He needs heirs.’ She sighed. ‘There must be heiresses and wealthy noble widows a-plenty to choose from. Apart from Edmond’s sons, and maybe even more than them, the earl is the most marriageable man in England. He has such wealth and power. He will choose an illustrious wife, to be sure.’

  I just looked at her numbly.

  ‘Maeb,’ Evelyn said, in a tone that suggested she needed to explain as if to a small child — and maybe she did — ‘such a woman will already have her ladies attending upon her. She will not need us. Indeed, if it were not for your illness, we should already have been required to leave Pengraic.’

  ‘Evelyn …’

  ‘I think I can obtain a position for myself within de Tosny’s household. My daughter shall speak for me. But, Maeb, what will you do? Perhaps the earl can find you a household.’

  ‘Evelyn …’

  ‘What is it?’

  I did not know what to say. What the earl had said was so preposterous that it now seemed unspeakable.

  ‘The earl …’

  ‘Yes?’ Evelyn was growing impatient with me. ‘Evelyn … I may have misheard it. Surely, I could not have heard a-right. The earl …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The earl has said, this morning, while I sat out by the fire … the earl said that we should marry.’

  Evelyn clearly did not know what to make of my words. ‘You and me?’ she said, incredulous.

  ‘No! The earl and myself.’

  Evelyn’s mouth dropped open, and then I saw in her eyes a flash of pity. Poor, delusional Maeb. The sickness must have scarred her mind.

  ‘Maeb,’ she said, gentle as a mother, ‘that could not be.’

  ‘I do not think so, either. But … he seemed so insistent.’

  ‘Maeb, the earl will choose a woman of great rank, wealth and alliances. He must.’

  I knew what she was thinking. I had set my heart on Stephen, and now that he was dead I entertained childish dreams of the earl.

  I began to resent the earl for putting me in this position. ‘I know that, Evelyn. I do not know what … he must have been making a cruel jest, I think.’

  ‘Perhaps you misunderstood,’ said Evelyn. ‘He spoke of his new bride and perhaps said you might have a place in her household? If so, then you have good luck, for your future is assured.’

  That wasn’t what the earl had said. Was it? Now I could not believe any of my memories. Nothing made sense. Nothing.

  Maybe I was still delusional from the hemlock.

  I frowned, wondering if I had misheard the earl’s entire conversation. ‘Perhaps,’ I began, then stopped as the earl, d’Avranches, Ivo Taillebois — the new castle steward — as well as two knights, entered the solar. They walked to the grouping of benches and chairs about the fire, although they did not sit down, and engaged in animated discussion about the reorganisation of castle defences with the limited numbers of soldiers and knights currently in residence.

  Evelyn and I fell silent as we always did when the earl conducted his daily business within the solar. And, as always, the earl and his men ignored us completely … until the moment Taillebois turned to leave the grouping. He had walked some three or four paces away when the earl called him to a halt.

  ‘Taillebois,’ the earl said, lifting a ring of keys from his tunic pocket and thumbing through them. ‘There is a large chest in the lower storage chambers, to the left of the door, pushed hard up against the wall.’

  He handed the key to Taillebois. ‘Take Mistress Evelyn down with you and let her sort through it. Mistress Evelyn, the chest is full of fabrics that I had imported for my Lady Adelie’s pleasure. She never used them, but now …’

  He paused, sent me a glance, then looked at the group of men. ‘Now they may be used for Mistress Maeb’s pleasure. We are to be betrothed, when she is well enough to stand before witnesses and speak the vows, and I have had the necessary binding contracts drawn up. I have a family to replace, as soon as I might.’

  Everyone, including myself, stared at him.

  ‘Maeb will need more gentle kirtles and gowns than she has now, Evelyn,’ the earl continued, apparently unbothered by the stunned regard of his listeners. ‘Select some fabrics that suit. Take whatever is useful … the chest has ribbons and baubles enough besides fabric. Make sure you have at least one bright kirtle stitched by the end of this week. I do not wish to delay this betrothal. Taillebois, what women are there in the castle or village, left alive and well, who might be trusted with the stitching?’

  ‘I shall find out, my lord,’ Taillebois said, and with a half bow to the earl and a look of enquiry to Evelyn, who somehow managed to rise and follow him, left the chamber.

  D’Avranches and the two knights stared at me with undisguised s
peculation.

  I could only imagine the rumours racing about the castle by the end of this day.

  The earl dismissed the three men, thankfully bringing to an end their speculative attention, then strolled over to my bed.

  ‘I need to move apace, Maeb. God alone knows when the king will demand I return to court. I would like to have the formalities of the betrothal concluded soon. When might you be well enough to attend dinner in the great hall?’

  ‘Perhaps a week, my lord.’

  ‘A week. Good. Now, we need to discuss the terms —’

  ‘My lord,’ I said, prompted by the conversation I’d had earlier with Evelyn. ‘Surely you cannot want me to wife. You have the flower of English and Norman nobility, and beyond, to choose for your wife. You cannot want me!’

  He regarded me a moment, then sat down on the end of the bed. ‘I do not have the time to conduct lengthy negotiations, Maeb. I cannot be bothered. I am too tired, and there is much else I need to be doing. All I need is a woman to wive.’

  ‘But you despise me,’ I said, remembering that conversation we’d had on the day we’d first met.

  ‘I distrusted you,’ he said. ‘You would have made Stephen a bad wife, but you will do well enough for me. For sweet Christ’s sake, Maeb, the world is turned upside down, and what mattered once now weighs little. I have no patience for your protests. Do as I ask, or face the uncertain cold holloways and byways beyond the gates of this castle.’

  I was silent. The earl always had such a way with words.

  The earl grunted, as if he had known I would raise no more objection. ‘I will settle three or four manors on you, Maeb, as jointure enough should I die before you, as surely I will. It is protection and price enough to silence your doubts.’

  He stood. ‘You have just made a noble marriage, Maeb. Wasn’t that what you’d always wanted from your place in my household?’

  Chapter Four

  I lay awake for much of the night. I felt lost, adrift. Everything about me felt false. The plague should have killed me. I should have died. I had wanted to die.