Chapter Eight
That evening, Eva was disappointed Mathieu did not join them for the meal in the Great Hall. Isabella was also absent from the meal. Alys told her that Philip was expected any day from his business at Lille, and she assumed all were busy making preparations for the duke’s return.
She and the girls spent the cool evening hours in the garden. A lively discussion about the upcoming May Day festival buzzed around her, and Eva listened in rapt wonder. She had never attended any kind of social event like this one, only Market Day fairs in Ghent with her maman and stepfather.
There, she’d been an observer while she worked, not a participant. Her job had been to run the tailor booth while her parents made the rounds, promoting their business. There was usually music, but no feasting or dance.
Dance. The very word made her heart still. The word was repeated again and again during the girls’ chattering. With horror, Eva realized participating in this activity was an integral part of the celebration.
Eva never learned how to dance. Truly, learning to walk unassisted had been difficult enough.
As darkness fell and the girls began trickling off toward their quarters, Alys sat next to Eva on the turf bench lining the garden. She placed a hand on Eva’s shoulder.
“I know you must be overwhelmed with all this talk of the festival. But do not fret. May Day is a wondrous event. There is a spectacular bonfire! And music and feasting and dance—” Alys stopped in mid-sentence, glancing down toward Eva’s feet. “You do not dance, I venture.”
Eva shook her head. “Nay.”
“Do not worry. The bassa is a very slow dance, performed in a group.”
Eva’s evening meal had congealed into a hard ball in her stomach. Even navigating at a normal pace in a straight line consumed all of her concentration to avoid ending up on the ground. The very thought of having to learn new ways of moving her feet—without losing her balance and in front of everyone else—made her feel ill.
“I will ask Margriet.” She patted Eva’s shoulder. “We will teach you on the morrow.”
At that moment, a figure appeared near the entrance to the garden. A young man, not much older than she, stood twisting his cap in his hands. Eva did not recognize him at first, but knew she’d seen him before. Alys jumped immediately to her feet, smoothing her skirt.
“I promised Rutger a walk around the garden, Eva. Can you find your way back to our chambers without me?” Alys asked, her eyes alight with excitement. The boy’s face shone with a strange light as well.
One glance between Alys and this Rutger spoke volumes. Nodding, she said, “Go on, Alys. I will be fine.”
Eva sat for a long time on the turf bench, watching as the light faded from the sky. So Alys had a suitor. Thinking back, Eva remembered where she’d seen the young man before. On their way out of the gatehouse, he’d been assisting in the blacksmith’s stall. He looked so different now, all cleaned up, his face no longer blackened with soot.
Sighing, she wondered if she would ever draw the attention of a prospective husband. A suitable one, she reminded herself. Eva wasn’t sure if she was willing to live the life of a blacksmith’s wife. ’Twould be no better than spending the rest of her days in a tailor shop, wielding needle and thread. Mayhap worse.
As darkness fell, she rubbed her arms to ward off the chill of not only the cooler air, but of being alone in the garden. Climbing to her feet, she began making her way across the bailey toward the keep.
A small sound caused her to stop and turn. There, in the entrance to the stables, a small bird appeared, hopping along the ground and making a high-pitched, screeching noise. The creature sounded distressed. Instinctively, Eva made her way in that direction.
She was startled when Mathieu appeared from the darkened interior. He did not see her at first. His eyes were fixed upon the small bird, whom he was scolding.
“Now Kleine, you know you cannot venture out into the open. You will quickly become a meal for another. Come.” He crouched to scoop the tiny bird up in one hand, perching it on his shoulder. “Your quarry is aplenty right here, within these walls.”
“Mathieu?”
Startled, the ostler looked up and saw Eva approaching. He seemed not only surprised but perhaps a little embarrassed. One hand went up to steady the bird on his shoulder.
“Eva. Good evening, milady. Have you lost your way to the keep?”
“I have not, but I heard the squeals of the bird.”
He smiled and inclined his head, still stroking the animal with his fingers. “Oh, ’tis only Kleine Uil. He’s just awoken from a fine days’ rest, and brave. I must convince him daily he is unfit to hunt in the fields and forest like his brethren.”
Eva tipped her head and stepped closer. “He is ill?”
“Nay. But he suffers an affliction . . .” Mathieu faltered, his gaze flashing to Eva’s feet. “His injured wing hinders normal flight. That and his small stature . . .” He paused to cradle the owl in both hands. “He wouldn’t last an hour if I did not keep him in the stable.”
Unfazed by the awkward moment, Eva reached a tentative finger toward the bird. “What happened to him? May I touch him?”
“Aye. Kleine is quite friendly. He gets lonely, I think, living in the stable without others of his kind.”
Ah, Eva thought, I know this feeling. I have been an outcast, an oversight, for most of my life. My mother is ashamed of me for who I am, and my stepfather for . . . well, everything. Trying to shut out the painful memories, she concentrated on the ostler’s tale.
Mathieu went on to explain how he’d found the tiny raptor, and how the duchess allowed him to take him in. Kleine, in the meantime, closed his huge, round eyes and leaned in as Eva gently stroked his feathers.
“He will never fly?” she asked.
Mathieu shook his head. “The wing did not mend properly. He can make his way to the rafters of the barn to dodge a flailing hoof, but barely. His kind often pursue quarry by hopping about on the ground, though, which he does quite well.” He smiled down at the bird. “Kleine Uil earns his keep by keeping our stable free from mice.”
Eva heart squeezed at the affection she heard in Mathieu’s voice. He was obviously quite fond of the tiny creature. She met his gaze.
“He has an incapacity . . . not unlike my own. And yet you care for him anyway.”
Mathieu shrugged. “As I told you before, I enjoy my time with the animals more than with people, sometimes.”
She gazed at him, and her heart softened at his words. He was a gentle man, this ostler. Yet he handled, even trained, huge horses and wild raptors. A conundrum, yet a truly endearing one.
“I so enjoyed our ride today. Mayhap we can repeat the outing soon?” She was standing so close to him, his scent surrounded her. Leather, and soap, and a masculine, musky scent she found quite appealing.
“Of course, milady. But probably not until after the festival. It’s coming up quickly. I have much to prepare.” He sounded genuinely regretful, and it touched her. But mention of the feast caused her fear to rear its ugly head.
“I know. I am excited, but nervous as well. I hear there is dancing—”
The booming of a deep voice from across the bailey caused them both to jump.
“Yes, Eva of Utrecht! Dancing is a huge part of the May Day celebration. I should be most honored to teach you the bassadance.”
Captain Knape had snuck up on them again, and Eva cringed. It almost seemed as though he stalked her when she was out in the bailey. She did not like this man, one who looked at her much as he did the finest meats on the banquet table. She knew her place, however, and that she must respect him.
After all, he was a knight, and not just any knight. He was Captain of the Duke’s Royal Guard.
She dipped a curtsy and replied, “Thank you, Captain. But Alys has already arranged for Margriet to teach me.”
He grunted, his mouth twisting in annoyance. He turned his attention to Mathieu, shooting a venomous
glance at the owl on his shoulder. “I see you still have your damaged plaything. You should really let the poor creature wander the bailey, my boy. My men would love to use him for target practice.”
Eva bristled, a hand flying to her mouth. “You would do no such thing! You cannot be so cruel, Captain Knape.”
Immediately, Eva knew she’d spoken above her station. The narrowing of Knape’s eyes spoke volumes of his disapproval. He glared at her.
“Cruel, perhaps. But that’s what it takes to sustain a knight in battle. Bravery, courage, and yes, cruelty—these qualities keep a warrior alive on the field,” he spat. “Some men do not possess these qualities.” He spoke through clenched teeth, his eyes trained on Mathieu the entire time.
Eva was not to be dismissed. Straightening to her full height, she crossed her arms over the chest. “So, using a defenseless, damaged creature as target practice teaches your men to succeed on the battlefield? I think not, Captain Knape. What of the other virtues of knighthood? Charity, prudence, and valor? What is so valiant about killing a tiny, defenseless owl?”
Anger flared in Knape’s eyes, and Eva took a step backward. It wasn’t the first time her errant tongue had landed her in trouble. She dropped her gaze to the ground.
Immediately, she sputtered, “Begging your pardon, my lord. My opinions have no place here.” She glanced at Mathieu, who glared at the captain with an emotion she found almost frightening. Hatred.
Yet he was as helpless as she against the Captain of the Royal Guard.
“Darkness falls, milady,” Mathieu said, his voice low. “Allow me to escort you to the keep.”
Knape stepped between them, so close, a cloud of yeasty ale enveloped her senses. The man had obviously imbibed his share this evening. “That won’t be necessary, stable boy. I will escort the lady to safety.”
Again, Eva was trapped, and she cast Mathieu a desperate look as they made their way across the bailey. Anger, frustration, and disgust filled her. Yet she was not one to be intimidated easily. Lifting her chin, she asked, “Captain Knape, is not Mathieu of Liège destined for knighthood as yourself? Why do you insult him so?”
Knape’s dark chuckle echoed in the gloaming. “I’ve known Mathieu since he was a boy. His mother petitioned for his position as a page for this court, long ago. He became fortunate when the good Admiral La Laing took him on and made him a squire. But that does not mean he has what it takes to earn his spurs and sword.” He reached up to tug on his beard. “The boy’s heart is too soft, milady. He wouldn’t last an hour on the battlefield.”
The thought of Mathieu falling prey to an arrow or mace made Eva shudder. She’d always dreamed of falling in love with a knight, since legend told they were the most noble of men. However, knights often went off to battle, never to return. Being a knight’s wife would mean a life filled with fear and uncertainty, would it not?
Then there was the question of chivalry. Was it all a lie? A fanciful tapestry of romance woven to deceive the ladies?
If Captain Knape represented the epitome of knights, his brand of chivalry certainly didn’t fit Eva’s perception.
Yet on one point, she had to agree—she could not imagine Mathieu, maddened with the kind of wrath it took to run another man through with a sword. He cared for the horses and the falcons with such tenderness, and had shown such kindness to her.
He had admitted as much to her already. The life of a knight was not for him.
Eva sighed. Mathieu was a good friend—her first here at Coudenburg castle. She thought back to the moment in the forest where she’d almost allowed him to kiss her. In that moment, the wild imagining had stirred within her that perhaps Mathieu was her “knight,” the one of whom she’d dreamed.
In this moment, she realized it could not be true. Although she hated to admit it, Knape was right. From what she had seen of the ostler’s ways, Eva feared Mathieu was too tender-hearted to ever rise to the rigors demanded of a knight. How could one truly fall in love with a man of such little strength?
“So tell me . . . tell me it all! I want to know what I can look forward to when the festival begins day after the morrow.”
Eva sat cross-legged on her pallet across from Alys, who was busily weaving a circlet of ivy with lengths of colorful ribbon. Around her feet, the younger sisters were playing with the mound of streamers. Alys had charged them with untangling them. Instead, they were making a game out of snarling them further. Eva smiled as she tousled the auburn curls of one of the younger girls.
How she missed her siblings. Heaving a wistful sigh, she continued her questioning. “Aside from the dancing, I mean,” Eva added quietly. “Is that circlet for you? Will you show me how to make one for myself?”
Excitement bubbled through her like water from the spring. The holiday had been celebrated in her hometown of Ghent, but Eva had never been permitted to take part, but only observe from the tailor booth on the sidelines.
Alys smiled up at her. “One question at a time!” Her tongue peeked out of her mouth in the corner as she concentrated on twisting the ends of the vine securely with the ribbons. “It starts on the morrow, after sunset,” she began, glancing up at Eva. A look of enchanted wonder sparkled in her eyes. “First, at dusk, all the fires in the castle, even in the kitchen, will be extinguished.”
“Why?” Eva asked.
“So the sacred bonfire can be lit, outside of the curtain wall. ’Tis purifying, the fire, and represents the power of the sun we hope to yield us a bountiful growing season. The bright flames ward off evil that may curse our people and livestock.”
Eva eyes widened. “And then what happens?”
Alys plopped the circlet down in her lap. “Well, there will be food and drink. Servants bring baked treats and sloe wine from the castle kitchen, enough for all, even the villagers. The man-servants gather the bones from the evening meal and toss them onto the fire as well. It makes the smoke smell bad,” Alys pulled a face and pinched her nostrils closed, “but the foul smoke is supposed to better ward off evil spirits.”
Eva tipped her head. “I thought the duke and duchess were Christian. . . this ritual sounds pagan.”
Alys bobbed her head. “They are Christian—we all are. But the festival is a tradition dating many winters, to our pagan roots. ’Tis called Beltane.”
“Are we allowed to stay up for the bonfire? After dark, outside the castle walls?”
“We are, for a time. ’Tis a very special night—a night for romance, they say.” Alys winked at her. “Most of the girls are too young, but for me, and you now too, the night could be one when we find our true love.”
Eva’s mouth gaped. “True love? I thought the knights vied for their ladies’ honor at the jousting? Is there not jousting?”
Alys laughed, shaking her head. “You have heard too many fanciful tales, Eva. There will be jousting, the afternoon that follows. But ’tis not a real joust. ’Tis all in fun. There’s no bloodshed. At least, not on purpose.”
Eva stared at her fingers, twisting in embarrassment. “I have been kept very sheltered, ’tis true. This will be my first time to participate in the May Day Festival.”
Alys leapt off her pallet and crouched before her, leaning in close. “This is my third. Lady Isabella may allow me, this year, to go into the woods with the others in search of the hawthorn.” She paused, glancing about to be sure they were alone. “Methinks this may be the year when Rutger asks the duke for my hand.”
“Rutger? The blacksmith’s apprentice?”
Alys’ eyes shone as she bobbed her head. “Aye. He asked me to wed at Christmastime, but he wanted to save more coin first. So we can live outside the castle walls. He’s been working on a small cottage, near to the blacksmith family’s abode.” She squeezed Eva’s hands. “Rutger says now he has enough coin to finish the roof before winter comes.”
Eva’s head reeled with this new information. Was Alys truly in love? She wondered what that felt like.
“So, you think Rutger is
your true love, then?”
Alys’ smile shone like the morning sun. “I don’t think he is. On all that is holy, I’m for certain Rutger is the one for me.” Alys grabbed the beribboned circlet from her pallet and twirled in place before holding it out to Eva. “I made this for you, Eva of Utrecht. Mayhap, if you crown your lovely hair on the morrow’s eve, and on May Day too, you will find your true love as well.”
Eva wondered if she would ever find her true love. How would she know when it happened? She knew what she wanted in a future husband. At least, she thought she knew. It certainly couldn’t be Stefano, the clothier.
Could it be Mathieu? It was true, he made her heart flutter when he was near. His touch caused her skin to burn and her mind to scramble. Is that what love was?
Eva sighed. Reality crashed down around her. She was a commoner, a bastard daughter, and one with a crooked foot. True, she was talented in her craft, and could learn to be patient. But would the right man ever come into her life and warm her heart the way Rutger did for Alys?
As she ran her fingers over the ruffled ivy and colorful ribbons in her hands, Eva wished with all her being for the husband of her dreams. Here in Coudenburg, during the May Day festival, was her very best chance of finding such a man. Surely more likely than being sequestered in the back of the tailor shop in Ghent. She must find a way to participate in the festivities. To dance. Mayhap this girl Alys spoke of, this Margriet, the kitchen maid, could help her find a way.
Chapter Nine
All the next day, servants from the castle as well as people from the village trekked across the meadows surrounding the outer walls, carrying wood for the bonfire. Mathieu had excused a few of his own pages, as well as those of the duke, to help with the task. A great deal of excitement buzzed in the air, and Mathieu heard more laughter carrying across the keep than he had for a very long time.
For him, it was business as usual. The horses needed tending and grooming, the equipment cleaning and oiling. The hounds should be fed a light meal, keeping them keen for the hunt. For festivals past, both the duke and duchess had requested a hunting expedition early on the morning of the holiday, since much fresh game was needed for a bountiful feast.
The Warrior and the Wildflower Page 8
