Winter Song

by Roberta Gellis

  “And on those most auspicious words, it is time,” Elizabeth said.

  Alys turned from the burnished metal mirror at once and stepped out gladly, the women falling in behind the queen and her sister. For a wonder the weather had held fair, and it was not even very cold. The church was outside the walls, but not far enough to make it worthwhile to go on horseback. The whole way was lined with people, peering from behind the men-at-arms and making a joyous noise, for they knew there would be food and wine for the taking at the castle after the wedding.

  As was proper, the men were waiting. William came forward to meet his daughter. He did not want to lose her, yet it was impossible for him to damp the joy that showed in her face, and he smiled as he took her hand and led her on and up the steps to where the Archbishop-elect of Canterbury, the bishop of Bath, and the bishop of London waited with Raymond, who was flanked by the king and Richard of Cornwall.

  So deep had Raymond been in his consideration of what mischief Henry was brewing up that he had been only minimally aware of passing along the road and arriving at the church door. The increase in the noise as the people cheered the coming of the bride grew slowly, and therefore was not startling enough to draw his attention. It was only the movement of the men around him, as Henry and Richard made way for Alys and her father, that made him look up. His eyes fell on Alys.

  At once the tenseness disappeared from Raymond’s face. His smile cleared his brow, lit his eyes, and then curved his lips. His hand reached out for Alys’s and hers met his halfway. Everyone within sight of them smiled, their mutual trust and joy was irresistible. Alys in particular was uplifted. She had seen that Raymond looked worried and unhappy as she came up the stairs, and for one awful moment her smile had frozen on her face and her heart plummeted. Then he had seen her, and his pleasure, the way his hand went out to her as if for relief and succor, washed out all fear and multiplied her happiness.

  There were no faint or quavering voices. The archbishop-elect bellowed out the service so that the last and least on the edge of the crowd could hear, and both Alys and Raymond called their responses so that no witness could ever say there was doubt or reluctance. When they were sealed to each other, the crowd roared out their Fiat! Fiat! with hearty goodwill. Most were not sure why this wedding gave them so much enjoyment, since it was only distantly connected with their personal affairs. However, there were others of a more perceptive nature who realized that it was singularly pleasant to have a groom who was sincerely enthusiastic and a bride who was neither bruised, bloody, in tears, nor on the verge of fainting with terror.

  All ceremonies complete, Raymond led his bride back toward Wallingford. Men and women now mingled, the king walking with his wife, Richard with Sancia, William with Elizabeth. Talk was general, and the common folk cheered with even more enthusiasm, knowing that the feast would now begin, and fell in behind the group of nobles. The gates of Wallingford would be open to all today. Carcasses of oxen, sheep, and pigs roasted in the bailey and great tuns of beer had been broached. Mountains of bread were piled on clean sheets, and casks of salt and smoked fish stood open. No one would be turned away, and no one would be hungry, for one day, at least.

  Under cover of the noise, after walking some time in silence, Alys said, “You are troubled, my lord and husband. What has happened?”

  “Troubled?” Raymond had been alternately glancing at his bride and around at the smiling crowd and beautiful countryside. He had honestly forgotten, for the moment, the problem posed by the king’s brief conversation. “And what is this lord and husband? Have you forgot my name?”

  “No,” Alys sighed, “but it is so nice to say—my lord and my husband.”

  Raymond’s fingers tightened on her hand. “So, my lady and wife…yes, you are right. It is nice to say.”

  “And it is a true thing to me,” Alys insisted. “Now we are one flesh, one blood, one bone. What falls upon you, falls upon me. Do not hide trouble from me, Raymond. Share I must, will I nill I, but truly it is my desire to be one with you in trouble as in joy.”

  Raymond looked down into the lovely face turned up to him. So fair, so delicate, but the chin was firm and the eyes steady and fearless, and that was more important. To Raymond’s mother and sisters, no word of trouble was ever said lest they be overpowered with fear, so a man needed to smile and listen to love songs and talk of tales and feastings no matter how heavy his heart. Alys’s question had, by now, recalled to Raymond his unease, but already it seemed less of a problem.

  “It was something the king desired I do,” he said softly, “but now is no time to talk of it.”

  “No, indeed,” Alys agreed promptly. There was a good deal of noise, but Henry was close behind them. “Only, must you answer him at once?”

  “I do not know that I need answer more than I have, but it is not the answering I fear. It is what takes shape in his own mind.”

  “How wise you are,” Alys said softly, “but if I hang on you, which is not unreasonable during this time, he will say no more.”

  “And I will have much pleasure.” Raymond’s eyes gleamed. “I give you leave to hang on me every day, here and elsewhere.”

  Alys had forgotten her shyness, but the glitter of her husband’s eyes brought it all back. She blushed deliciously and hung her head. This naturally inspired Raymond to further teasing. For the first time in her life, Alys had no smart replies, finding herself as tongue-tied as any girl who had never met her husband before the day of her marriage. How long the sweet modesty would have lasted under continued provocation was questionable, but they had reached the keep and were greeted with fanfares, which made either teasing or reply impossible until they were seated at the tables.

  Concern for the dishes wiped out any other consideration in Alys’s mind for a time, but she need not have worried. Each group of cooks had outdone itself to make its particular portion of the dinner more succulent and savory than that of any other group.

  First came the boars’ heads, mouths propped open to show tusks and tongues, decorated with curls of pastry. The servant carrying this dish was flanked by two others, one bearing the whole haunch of an ox, swimming in a sharp sauce, and the other a rich pudding, spicy-sweet with nuts and raisins. A second set of servants followed with baked swans, roast capons, and pheasants, the swans and pheasants dressed in their own outer feathers. The third triad bore fish, baked sturgeon, boiled pike, and eels in jelly.

  Good humor lent good appetite also, especially at the high table where each couple was content both with one another and with their neighbors. Eyes gleamed as each pointed to what he or she wanted. Squires in their lord’s colors served, and pages, also brightly dressed, ran to and fro carrying portions to be laid upon trenchers and—the height of elegance—upon silver plates. The butlers, King Henry’s and Earl Richard’s, poured the wine into golden and, equally precious, glass goblets. The fanfares that had accompanied the serving of the dishes quieted into more gentle music of lute and psaltery as health, long life, and many sons were wished for the bride and groom. Then all gave their attention to the food.

  Delicious food makes stuffing inevitable; stuffing brings repletion. When the sound of conversation rose to a deafening level, the trumpets called again to herald the arrival of the first subtlety. Winter Wedding, it was called, a towering confection of pastry and crystallized honey, depicting the wedding party before the church doors. It was carried right around the hall for each table to see and enjoy before it was placed on a sideboard. At the end of the dinner, all four subtleties would be compared and praised, broken up, and distributed among the guests. Now the minstrels in the gallery struck up a livelier time, servitors scrambled to clear the center of the great hall, and the bride and groom rose to head the dance. In deference to full stomachs, the stately danse au chapelet came first, Raymond raising cheers and stampings when he kissed Alys on her lips rather than decorously on the cheek as required.

  The king and queen then led la gaillarde, and food havin
g been reasonably well digested at this point, the musicians struck up a tourdion. Older couples hastily retreated to their seats while the younger closed ranks. The wild whirling, stamping, and leaping was for those with strong stomachs and excess energy. Mischievously, the musicians played faster and faster as the dance progressed until first one and then another, then whole groups dropped out, some sinking exhausted and laughing to the floor.

  When the last couple had been vanquished and helped breathlessly to their seats, the trumpets rang out again to herald the second course. The dishes were as numerous and as elaborately served, ranging from roast venison with red currant jelly and a litter of roast suckling pigs to a sweet of honeyed fruits stiffened with sweet, wine-soaked bread. The subtlety was Spring Increasing, broader than it was tall, displaying rich fields with calves and lambs and a very pregnant lady, with gold hair of dandelion flower petals preserved in crystallized honey, leaning on the arm of a dark-haired attendant swain. This piece was received with shouts of acclaim and much advice on how to ensure the accuracy of the prediction.

  The hilarious mood continued to welcome the jongleurs, who tumbled and climbed upon each other, juggled gilded balls and flaming torches, and performed comic acts in which the bittersweet joys of marriage were illustrated. By the time they were finished, the sun was westering and all were ready to sample the third course. The noise from the bailey, where the common folk fed, drank, sported, fought, and watched cruder players, came up through the windows and nearly overpowered the blare of the trumpets. Everyone smiled. It was nice to know the hinds were happy, also.

  Sensibly, the dishes of the third course were somewhat smaller than those which preceded them, but they were neither less numerous nor less elaborate. It opened with roast peacocks, refeathered and with tails displayed, flanked by egrets and cranes. Stewed rabbits, ragout of venison, and white meat of chicken prepared in a white curd with almonds followed. Last came a variety of fish, perch and flounder and grilled herrings, all with sauces to tempt tiring palates. The subtlety was Summer Bearing, and showed father and mother admiring their child being suckled by a wetnurse in an orchard heavy with fruit.

  The minstrels played complicated instrumental music for a while before the dancing began, and fewer couples took to the floor. Some were too heavy with food, some too dizzy or somnolent with wine. Alys was pleased that Raymond was still quite sober. There had been many cups raised to him, and he had lifted his to each toast, but there was more water than wine in his goblet, and even so, he drank of it sparingly. He had no mind to need to be carried to his wedding bed and perhaps being incapable of doing his duty in it.

  Torches were lit before the dancing ended to supplement the waning light of the short winter day. As the sun set, lamps were lit also, and a warm, golden glow suffused the hall. Except for a few, whom wine made quarrelsome and who were quietly suppressed by their more sober friends, voices had softened and movements grew more languid. There were no calls for another measure when the minstrels put up their instruments and the trumpeters came forth for the last time.

  Enthusiasm for the fourth course was minimal, but the cooks had been prepared for that. Dainty dishes predominated, tiny roast birds, lark and snipe, little birds’ eggs hard-boiled and set in a spicy jelly, small fritters and fancy sweetmeats and pastries. The subtlety recognized the mellow mood of the ending day and portrayed Autumn Fulfillment, man, wife, and cradled child beside a cheerful fire near a table laden with the fruits of autumn.

  When that masterpiece of varicolored pastry had gone the round and been admired, all the others were brought forth. The cooks were summoned, and Raymond gave each a gold coin. Then the high table descended and began breaking apart the subtleties. The king seized the images of the archbishop-elect and the attendant bishops, saying that it was the only time he was likely to have the Church in his hand. William took the golden-haired bride and Elizabeth the heavily pregnant figure, for she ardently desired to give her second husband the son he needed as heir to his lands. When the high lords had chosen, the guests at large rushed upon the pastries and tore them apart. During and after this mêlée, servants hastily cleared the tables and removed them. The guests mixed more freely, talking, dancing, and playing games. Eventually torches began to gutter and the lamps to bum low. Someone, Alys could never remember who, called the party to order. The men gathered around Raymond, the women about Alys. Everyone capable of doing so began to cheer and laugh. The bedding ceremony was about to begin.

  Chapter Six

  Alys knew what was to happen, of course, and she was certainly not ashamed of her lovely body. She was also well aware of the purpose of exposing her naked to all. It was proof that she had no hidden defect for which her husband could repudiate her. Still, she was young and, until a few months before, had been a person of little account in the world. Had she married the son of a neighboring knight, or even someone a little higher on the social scale, there would have been fewer guests, and she would have known most of them. Now it seemed that a host of strangers surrounded her, jesting, laughing, and making pointed remarks as her clothing was removed.

  There were so many witnesses that they could not fit into the bedchamber, so the disrobing was carried out in the hall. It was cold, despite the best efforts of the roaring fires. Alys had begun to shiver, and Elizabeth, noting the strain on her face, had faded from her side and suggested to Richard that he keep William away. The bond of father and daughter was unusually close and sympathetic. Whereas most fathers would have been amused by the fear and embarrassment of their daughters, William would be greatly distressed. He might even interfere in some way to protect Alys, which would be unfortunate all around.

  Richard was quick to take the hint and draw William away. Elizabeth, Sancia, and the queen were the ladies actively engaged in disrobing Alys. The result for Alys was that there was hardly a familiar face in the crowd around her. She was too proud and too courageous to weep aloud and hang her head like a craven, but tears stung in her eyes and the milk of her skin was deep-dyed with blushes. Thus, when the cries, “Look on your husband!” and “Look on your wife!” rang out as the naked couple was brought face to face, Alys shrank away from the unfamiliar, staring eyes into the shelter of Raymond’s arms. This produced more laughter, cheers, and jests, but Alys cared little for that. She had been received in a willing, protective embrace. She now felt comforted and sustained. Although she still blushed furiously and hid her face in Raymond’s shoulder, her trembling ceased.

  It was this pretty picture that William saw when he was attracted by the ceremonial cries that capped the ritual and pushed his way through the crowd. Relief and gladness filled him. The trust his daughter felt in her husband and the eager yet gentle way Raymond held her augured well for Alys’s future happiness. William was soothed. He could not take pleasure in the forthcoming separation, but he did not need to fear for his daughter, either. He joined his wife, the king and queen, the Earl and Countess of Cornwall, and several other great magnates in accompanying the bridal pair into the bedchamber, and assisted Alys into the bed with a fond pat and a low-voiced, “Be a good girl.”

  To which, to his delight, his daughter responded pertly, “It is too late for that.”

  Alys’s balance had been restored by Raymond’s ready, smiling reception. Protected, she had been able to recognize the friendliness in the voices and eyes of the crowd. No matter that they were strangers, they all wished her well. The final assurance that everything was just as it should be was her father’s all-too-familiar admonition and the calm on his face and in his hazel eyes.

  A spate of final admonitions, none as innocent as William’s followed, but at last the bed curtains were drawn closed and the witnesses withdrew, leaving the couple to themselves. Raymond uttered a loud sigh and turned toward his wife. Alys’s retreat into his arms had had a powerful effect on him. Her fear and shame and the trust in him she had unconsciously demonstrated roused the deepest and strongest protective instinct in Raymond.
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br />   Yet there was nothing he could do to protect her. A maiden must be broached to be a wife, and that was never easy. William’s words came back to him, also. They were true, Alys was very small. He could barely see her in the dim light that filtered through the openings in the bed curtains, only a soft paleness, which was her body, and a golden gleam here and there on her cascade of hair—but even sitting he needed to look down on her.

  “Alys,” he said softly, “do you know what comes now?”

  “You will make me your wife,” she replied. “Is that what you mean?”

  “Yes. To breed children, we must couple, but I fear I must hurt you, my love.”

  He could feel her nod. “Elizabeth warned me it might be so.” Her voice was low, but calm. She paused, as if to consider, and then said briskly, “Very well. I am ready.”

  Raymond uttered a shaken laugh; he was rather shocked. “But I am not, beloved. I fear your pain more than you do, it seems. To cause you hurt…the thought unmans me.”

  She turned more fully toward him and put her arms around his neck. “I have seen the beasts couple,” she remarked, “but they are always ready in season. Is there something I can do to help? In this I am very ignorant.”

  “And so you should be,” Raymond exclaimed.

  Of course, he did not desire a shrieking, struggling, terrified bride, but there were moments when Alys could be too calm and practical. Still, her body was warm and pliant against him, and although he could not see her expression, her face was raised trustfully to his. He lowered his head a few inches to bring their lips together, and Alys sighed and tightened her arms around his neck as he slipped his hands under her hair and stroked her silken skin. Raymond leaned forward, and she fell back, but his arms were around her, and he eased her down gently without breaking their embrace.