Wonderful

by Jill Barnett

  “How stupid,” young Sofia said with disgust. “Surely you do not believe that drivel? If hair truly grew from the brain, all men would be bald.”

  Every woman in the small room laughed at that bit of youthful candor.

  “From the mouths of babes,” muttered the queen with a sweet smile that showed she, Eleanor of Castile, had a fine and charming sense of humor, unlike the other Eleanor, her ferocious mother-in-law.

  “I wish I were a king,” Clio said wistfully, staring at the flickering flames of the candles next to her.

  “So do I,” Sofia said. “Then I could do as I wished. If I were king, no one would dare tell me what to do.”

  Eleanor laughed. “If you were king, my child, everyone would tell you what to do.”

  “I do not care.” Sofia’s chin shot up proudly. “I would not listen and do as I pleased.”

  “Ah, I see. Just as you do now,” Eleanor said.

  They all laughed, for it was well known that Lady Sofia was a spirited girl who drove the king mad with her defiance.

  Even Sofia had to bite back a small smile.

  It was not lost on Clio that this Queen Eleanor did not banish the exuberant Sofia from court for her youthful follies.

  Her own court visit had seemed so very long ago. Time seemed to have taken forever to pass, and yet she could not say exactly where all the time had gone. Clio felt as if she had been waiting forever for something important to happen in her life.

  She grew quiet and just plied her needle without care to the size of the stitches or the pattern. ’Twas something for her to do so she wouldn’t feel as if she were a rock in a room full of jewels.

  The queen turned and cast a quick glance at Clio, then took a few stitches in the cloth she was working.

  While the other women chattered freely about men and freedom, riches and weddings, and the latest scandals, the queen stood calmly and moved over to stand near a bright branch of tallow candles, where Clio was silently working on her stitchery.

  Clio looked up and gave the queen a weak smile.

  Eleanor straightened and clapped her hands. “Leave us be, ladies. Go out to the solar and do your gossiping there. I long for some quiet time with the bride.”

  The women left, all but Lady Sofia, who was watching both Clio and the queen from eyes too bright for a young girl of only twelve. “Can I stay?”

  “No,” the queen said sharply.

  “Why not?”

  “I have to speak to Lady Clio about her marriage.”

  “Why?”

  “’Tis none of your concern.”

  “Oh. I understand. You are going to talk about the bedding.” Sofia stood then and gave them a wicked smile.

  “Out!” Eleanor pointed toward the door.

  “I do not know why it must a secret.” Sofia marched toward the doors. “I have heard all about it from John and Henry.”

  “I must speak to my sons,” Eleanor muttered.

  “I have decided to take the veil.” With that pronouncement, Sofia gave a sharp nod of her head. “I would rather wed God and live in a nunnery than let a man do that to me.”

  Eleanor laughed then. “Edward will have to wed you to someone other than the Lord, my child. Although I suspect there are times when my husband would feel that God does deserve you. However, I suggest you forget any nonsense you have concocted about locking yourself away in a nunnery. It will not happen.”

  “You would not like it, Sofia. I’ve been in a convent,” Clio admitted. “’Twas more boring than being in a ladies’ solar and doing stitchery.”

  “Nothing could be more boring than stitchery,” Sofia grumbled and skulked across the room. She paused in the doorway. “If my cousin Edward is to choose a husband for me, then he had better choose well. A man who is my equal, for I’ll not take just any man. He must be gallant and brave and chivalrous. He must adore me.” Sofia disappeared, then poked her head back around the corner. “And I still say not even a husband hand-picked by the King of England will stick me with his privy member.”

  “Sofia!”

  The girl disappeared again.

  Eleanor just stood there, shaking her head.

  Clio was laughing. She could not help it. She could remember thinking those same thoughts.

  Eleanor sat down next to her. “She is young and headstrong. Edward swears she will drive him insane with her romantic ideas and independent ways.”

  “I remember feeling that way,” Clio admitted. “All that youthful belief in chivalry and honor and gallantry.”

  Those thoughts did not seem so important to her now. There were other things she wanted from her husband. Things that were important, like love and respect.

  “You are unhappy.” Eleanor stared down at her.

  Clio shrugged. She did not know what to say. She was unhappy. In fact she was scared and confused and miserable.

  “Do you not care for the earl?”

  She shrugged again.

  “You may forget I am queen and tell me the truth. Please. This is important.”

  Clio tried to think of some positive things to say. “He is brave and rich and he can be handsome when he is not shouting orders.”

  “I see.” Eleanor looked as if she wanted to smile, but she did not. “What else?”

  “He rides well.”

  “I see.”

  “He saved me from some Welsh outlaws and he nursed me back to health.”

  Eleanor nodded, appearing to listen intently. “Do you think you could love him?”

  “He kisses well,” Clio admitted, flushing at the thought of his lips on her … everywhere.

  “What do you not like about him?”

  “He is a stubborn, arrogant, pigheaded, unfeeling lout.”

  Eleanor nodded thoughtfully. “I see. So you do not wish to wed him.”

  “Aye,” Clio agreed, then paused. “No. That is not the truth.” She sighed. “Oh, I don’t know what I want. Aye, I do. I want to wed his lips.”

  Eleanor threw back her head and laughed out loud. Then she took her hand. “I think I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  She nodded. “Edward and I were wed when I was ten and he was fifteen. We had not met before. It was an alliance between Henry and my brother Alfonso.”

  “You had no say in your marriage either.”

  “My brother loves me. He is an educated man and a contemporary thinker. Our home had a library that was full of Arabic papers charting the stars. He supported poets and musicians and physicians. The castle was filled with the latest of inventions—astrolabes, sun clocks, water clocks, even a mercury clock. So many fascinating things to see. Anyway, he told Henry he would not agree to the marriage until he inspected Edward.”

  “Inspected him? The prince?” Clio giggled.

  Eleanor was laughing, too; then she leaned closer to Clio and said quietly, “The truth is, he wanted me to get a look at him and to agree to wed him freely. He did not want to see me given to a man he could not respect. My husband’s family …” she paused, searching for difficult words.

  “I understand,” Clio said. “John was a bad king and a horrid man, too.”

  “Aye, and Edward’s father, Henry, had trouble keeping his word. He broke an alliance with my mother in favor of Eleanor of Provence. My brother was concerned for my happiness.”

  “You agreed to marry the prince.”

  “Aye. I thought him the most handsome young man I had ever seen. He rode into Burgos on a Spanish charger, looking so tall and long-legged, with his flaxen hair clipped close below his ears and those clear blue eyes. He rode tall in the saddle. I think he was the tallest man I had ever seen. His back was straight from a stiffened tabard and he wore long boots of the finest leather. He spoke with such emotion and fire.” She sighed. “I agreed. Oh, I agreed so quickly. And I have never regretted that decision.”

  “It is well known that the king adores you.”

  “It was not always so.” She watched Clio closely. �
�You look surprised.”

  “But I thought it was always a great love match.”

  Eleanor shook her head. “What does a ten-year-old girl know of love, or for that matter, a fifteen-year-old prince? While he waited for me to grow into a wifely age, he was a roistering leader of bachelor knights. I bore him two children before he fell in love with me. I was twenty and I knew the day it happened. I arrived in Dover and as soon as I stepped ashore, I could see it in his face.”

  She grew quiet with her memory, and Clio stayed silent, waiting to hear what she would tell her next. This story fascinated her.

  “That is what I wanted to tell you. Love does not always come the moment you meet someone. In fact, many times it is just the opposite. Life is not like those childhood dreams we have of knights and gallantry and courtly love. Those are just stories we are told, but that is not what love is. It is so much more.”

  “I don’t think I understand,” Clio told her.

  “Love grows from something else. It is hard for me to explain. But I know it in here.” She placed her hand over her heart. “It is not a simple thing for a man to love a woman. It is easier for us, I think, because we do not have to understand a man to love him. We can love him for who and what he is, even if we do not like it. Women are capable of loving men with all their faults.”

  “And men are not?” Clio asked.

  “It is different for a man. Someday I think you will understand.” She stood up. “But I have said enough. By now Lady Sofia is probably telling the world about her plans of chastity. I’d best go find her before Henry gets wind of her foolish chatter. He’ll betroth the girl to his next enemy.”

  Clio stood and reached out her hand to the queen. She sank into her deepest curtsy and bowed her head in respect. “Thank you.”

  Eleanor stopped, then looked at their joined hands and nodded. She pulled Clio to her feet and took both of her hands. “I would like a friend, Lady Clio. Even at court when it is full of women, I have few I can speak freely to and even fewer I can trust.”

  Clio smiled, and a lifelong friendship was born.

  The Maid of the Green Forest

  (Fourth Stanza)

  But ere I become thy wedded wife

  Thou a solemn oath must make,

  And let hap whate’er thou must not dare

  That solemn oath to break.

  —from “The Legend of King Alaric’s Wife,” ancient Welsh folktale, first put into written verse by John F.M. Dovaston, 1825

  Chapter 31

  Clio stood before the polished brass piece, a small but precious part of her huge bride-price. It felt strange to see her reflection in something hanging on the wall, rather than looking down into a stream of silvery water.

  Only that morn, Dulcie had washed her hair with dew gathered before sunrise the day before. Afterward, when Clio’s hair was still wet, Dulcie had rubbed sweet almond oil into it, claiming that Old Gladdys promised it would shine even more than all the stars in the summer sky and surely capture the heart of her husband.

  Her maid was becoming more romantic, especially since a certain handsome young red-haired troubadour with a voice like a nightingale’s had come to Camrose to entertain for the earl’s fine wedding.

  Just last eve, Clio had seen Dulcie and the young man disappear behind the dark corner of the buttery. She had heard Dulcie giggle.

  She looked away from her maid with her dreamy eyes and stared at her own reflection. Was this how she looked to others?

  To Merrick?

  She did not know exactly how she felt about the young and serious-looking face that stared back at her. She had not thought of herself looking this way.

  Her hair was wonderful, even she could not deny it. The color was so pale and different. She had always thought her hair was the color of yellow flax, not uncommon.

  But it was not flaxen, but so pale it was almost the color of that precious white flour she wished she had for a proper bride cake.

  She stood there studying her features, her small, thin nose and the deep dimple in her chin. Had someone hit her when she was a babe?

  Her father had had a small hole like this in his chin. She remembered back to a time her memory had lost for a while, when she was a small child sitting in his lap. She had asked him why he had a hole in his chin. He laughed and told her that was where the Viking had stabbed him, then hugged her tightly when she touched it and began to cry for him.

  What an odd face she had … Each feature a part of her heritage. Her father’s chin. Her mother’s nose. Her grandmother’s hair and eyes. Her grandfather’s stubbornness. It all came back to her, casual comments made in jest over the years when her parents had been alive.

  For the briefest of moments she felt lonely, and a weak, vulnerable part of her longed for her father to be here on this day, as she had longed for her mother the day before.

  A loud knock at the door made her start. “Aye?”

  Dulcie came inside. She took one look at Clio still sitting there with her hair down and still a little damp and clad in only her linen shift, and she crossed the room clucking like one of the chickens in the bailey.

  In less time than you could blink, Dulcie was pulling an ivory comb through her hair with such force it was if she were trying to use that comb to exorcise the Devil himself.

  “Ouch! Dulcie, have pity on me. I doubt Merrick would wish for a bald bride.”

  “But there is so little time, my lady. You should be down there, ready to mount your bridal horse. I heard the earl is already at the chapel.”

  “Do not fret so. The earl will expect me to be late.” She yawned and stretched.

  “If I were marrying the earl, I would not be late.”

  “If you were marrying the earl, I could have gotten a good sleep last night.”

  “You did not sleep well?”

  Clio just shrugged.

  “Are you afraid, my lady?”

  Her insides were quivering and she felt as if her head were empty. Aye, something was happening to her.

  “Do you need … advice?”

  “Advice?” Clio frowned.

  “About this night.” Dulcie was not looking her in the eye. “About the bedding.”

  Clio studied Dulcie’s serious pink face and burst out laughing. Dulcie continued to drag the comb though Clio’s hair as if it were the most important duty in the world.

  “Dulcie.” Clio grabbed the hand with the comb and made her stop.

  The girl looked at her then.

  Clio tried to make her face look stern and shocked, like Sister Agnes’s. “You are unmarried. Perchance is there something you should tell me?”

  Dulcie blushed so bright a red that her face looked like a shiny fall apple. “I hear things that people would not say to a lady such as yourself.”

  “What have you heard?”

  “Many things. Things that will shock you, my lady.”

  “I see.” Clio paused, somewhat curious, but not certain Dulcie knew any more about bedding a man than she did. “Have you slept with a man?”

  Dulcie looked horrified and quickly made the sign of the cross. “No, my lady. I swear I am a maiden.”

  What could one maiden tell another? Wasn’t that like trying to ask an angel about sin?

  Clio decided to test her. “Have you heard that men kiss with their tongues?”

  Her maid grew redder and stared at her toes. “Aye. David the Sheepwasher stuck his tongue in my mouth at the last May fair.”

  “What about the troubadour?”

  Dulcie’s head shot up, then she smiled a little. “Him too.”

  There was a long, drawn-out moment of tense silence between them. Then Clio plucked at some loose threads on the hem of her shift. “Did you hear that a man can kiss you like that, with his lips and tongue in other places?”

  The maid frowned. “What places?”

  “Your breasts.”

  Dulcie shook her head vehemently. “Those are for your babes, my lady, not for
your husband. Someone has been telling you fool’s tales.”

  Clio bit back a smile and decided not to tell Dulcie about the other places Merrick liked to kiss. The maid would never believe it. In truth, Clio would not have believed it if someone had told her.

  A simple kind of peaceful feeling came over her, the kind where you realize that you are not truly as frightened as you thought you were.

  She felt better. She wasn’t as light-headed and fluttery, especially when she remembered that when she married Merrick, they would have the freedom to kiss whenever she wanted.

  She smiled a secret little smile while Dulcie braided her long hair at the sides, then twisted those thin braids back away from her face and secured them low on the back of her head with a thin slip of silver ribbon.

  She stood up then, and Dulcie slipped a white samite gown trimmed with silver threads and pale gray miniver over her head. They both pulled out her hair so it hung long and straight and past the back of her knees.

  There was a tap at the door and Dulcie opened it. Queen Eleanor came inside.

  “Ah, I am just in time, I see.” She held out a lovely and intricately wrought silver-link belt with a pearl clasp. “This is a gift from Edward.”

  “It’s lovely,” Clio said in awe, for it was the most beautiful belt she had ever seen.

  “And this is from me.” Eleanor clipped a small silver dagger with a filigree sheath onto a link in the side of the belt. The jeweled dagger hung from the chain, looking a little brazen and suggestive.

  Clio glanced up and caught the glimmer in her friend’s eyes. “How delightfully wicked.” And they laughed together.

  On her head, her maid placed the circlet adorned with those tiny pearl drops, the ones that looked just like fairy tears. Long silver ribbons fell like Maypole streamers from the back of the circlet and twisted down and through her loose hair.

  “You are so lovely, my lady.”

  “She is right, Clio.” Eleanor smiled. “Every man there, wed or no, will wish he were Lord Merrick this day.”

  Clio was embarrassed by her praise and tried to jest. “Only this day? Will they not envy my lord any other day?”