Castle of Dreams

by Speer, Flora

  After Guy had left, Henry turned to Reynaud, his brows raised inquiringly, and waited for the architect to speak.

  “An honest man, sire, though a bit stubborn.”

  “I agree. Good.” Henry nodded, pleased to have his own opinion validated by a learned cleric. “Along with Guy’s reports, send me your own, Reynaud, and make them detailed. I need to know everything that happens on the Welsh border. Through carelessness, my brother lost too much of the land our father conquered. I want to lose no more.”

  “I understand, my lord.” Reynaud hesitated, trying to think how to say what he now must without angering the king. He began with tentative words. “Sire, there is a problem. Lady Isabel.”

  “God’s Holy Teeth!” Henry ran his hands through his dark hair in a gesture of frustration. “I rue the day I ever made Isabel lady to my queen. What has she done now?”

  “She asked me to speak to you in her favor,” Reynaud said. “She is petitioning for more money, sire.”

  “More? We have managed her portion well for her. The income should be more than enough for her to live on.”

  “She says Lord Lionel wasted all of her original dowry. The money she receives from her third of Lionel’s estate is inadequate to her expenses.”

  “Inadequate? What the devil does she do with it all? Don’t tell me.” Henry waved his hands. “I’ve seen her clothes and her jewels. I know where it goes.”

  “Let us be charitable, my lord. Her marriage to Lionel of Adderbury was miserably unhappy. We both know what Sir Lionel was like. I find it small wonder Lady Isabel is so inclined to worldly pleasures, though I, too, wish she would accept her lot and agree to marry again, as a good Norman lady should. At least we can rejoice in her lack of interest in lovers. It is only extravagance, though that is bad enough.” Reynaud’s voice trailed off under his king’s stern look.

  “Lady Isabel,” Henry’s tone was dry, “Will soon bring down bankruptcy upon herself and scandal upon her own and her son’s name if something is not done. Something to remove her from court, where her thoughtless behavior daily offends my dear queen. Queen Matilda has spoken to me about Isabel, too, Reynaud. I was aware of the problem before you mentioned it. Well, what shall we do with her? We can’t send her to a nunnery. She’d only cause trouble there, and she always has a plausible excuse whenever she is reprimanded for her actions. I sometimes wonder what Isabel tells her confessor. This is what happens when women are allowed to live unmarried.”

  “You are quite right. She needs a strong-minded husband, my lord.”

  “A strong-handed husband is more like it. Or,” Henry laughed suddenly, “a strong-minded brother-in-law.”

  “Oh, my lord,” the cleric remonstrated, seeing at once what the king was about to do, “that lady’s daily presence would only convince Lord Guy that he should never marry.”

  “Guy needs a woman to manage his household for him.”

  “Manage? She will ruin him, my lord. She is accustomed to every luxury. Sir Lionel always encouraged her extravagances, and her tastes grow more opulent daily. She is quite out of hand.”

  “All the more reason to send her to Wales, away from temptation. And you, Reynaud, will watch over her and curb her more outrageous indulgences. Along with your other duties.” Henry was enjoying his joke.

  “I, my lord, manage that…that…lady?”

  “Let us be charitable, Reynaud, shall we?” said Henry, mocking the cleric’s earlier words. “I am depending upon you. I trust you. Watch her well. Lady Isabel is not likely to sit long in Wales, bored and far from the London markets, without devising some intrigue for entertainment. Report her amusements to me.”

  Reynaud sighed, submitting himself to a higher will.

  “Yes, my lord,” he said meekly.

  “Go to Wales? Me? I won’t do it. Never.” Lady Isabel’s deep blue eyes flashed in anger as she regarded her brother-in-law. “The queen needs me. I am one of her ladies, Guy. You cannot take me away from my duties to her majesty, even if you are my guardian now. The queen, and the king, will refuse to let me leave the court. They are my dear friends, both of them.”

  “It is King Henry’s express wish that you should go with me. You will be entrusted with the management of domestic affairs at Afoncaer.”

  “Master Reynaud can serve as chamberlain,” Isabel snapped. “You don’t need me.”

  “Reynaud will have far too many other duties to attend to household matters, and the king wants you to go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Isabel tossed her head. “I’d freeze to death in Wales. The sun never shines there. I told Lionel, and now I tell you, I will not go to Wales until Afoncaer is as elegant and comfortable as the royal court. I am too delicate to live in hardship. It would ruin my health.”

  “It is a royal command, Isabel. You must obey.” Guy found himself for one horrible moment in complete understanding and sympathy with his late brother. Watching Isabel’s tantrum erupting, he could easily understand why Lionel had rejected all females. The pretty, delicate bride had become a coldly self-centered woman. And now, Heaven help him, she was his responsibility. He devoutly wished he had stayed in the Holy Land, or even Byzantium or Sicily. Anywhere, however exotic and far from England, would be better than a future filled with Isabel’s complaints and recriminations.

  “It’s all a plot,” Isabel raged. “My enemies have reached the king’s ear and spoken against me. They want me exiled to Wales because the queen is too dear a friend to me and they are jealous. I’ll go to Queen Matilda. I’ll tell her what has happened. She will insist I remain at court.”

  “Isabel, in God’s name, be quiet,” Guy exploded. “You don’t want to go; I don’t want to take you; Thomas will be embarrassed that now he must be page to his own mother, but we have no choice.”

  “Thomas is going, too? My own son in my household, as if we were unable to find a place for him with some great noble, and after he has been a royal page for four years? What will people think? And he is so tall he makes me look old! What have you done, Guy, or what did Lionel do that I haven’t been told about? Why should my son and I be punished and sent into exile for your misdeed, or your brother’s? Oh,” Isabel wept, “What am I to do now?”

  Guy had been about to tell her that her “exile” was the result of her own reckless, extravagant behavior, but that last, childish cry made him shut his lips firmly. Who knew what indignities Isabel had been made to suffer while married to his brother? Guy would not judge Lionel’s widow. He waited until Isabel’s sobs had quieted a little before he spoke again.

  “You will be well treated,” he promised, “As though you were truly my own sister. You may have whatever you need to make you content at Afoncaer. Anything within reason,” he added hastily, recalling the cause of her disgrace.

  “Nothing will make me content in that dismal place.” Isabel was quiet a moment, thinking. Then, “Anything? Warm clothes?”

  “Of course,” he laughed, relieved to see her looking more cheerful.

  “Oh, Guy, you are the best of brothers. How kind you are. I will need a new fur cloak and a velvet gown, deep red, I think, and several woolen under tunics, and gloves, a cape with a hood, fur-lined, of course, and shoes. Lots of shoes. I’ve heard the ground is muddy in Wales.”

  She rattled on while Guy listened in dismay. Not one thought had Isabel given to young Thomas’s welfare, nor to household equipment for Afoncaer, not a single question as to what he, Guy, might want to take in the way of furnishings or servants. All, all, was for Isabel’s own adornment. And this was the woman who was to manage his household.

  Dear Lord, Guy swore silently, I do promise you here and now that I will never, never marry. I dedicate myself solely to King Henry’s service, and I will live and die a bachelor.

  Chapter 15

  June, AD 1103

  Meredith crouched a little lower behind the hazel bush and, carefully separating the damp leaves with trembling fingers, peered down upon the narro
w road.

  The knight was not alone. No Norman with his wits about him would travel alone in these hills. Too many solitary foreigners had been found with their throats cut, and there was little the marcher barons could do about it, for the murderers vanished mysteriously into the Welsh wilderness beyond the border.

  He was wise to ride armed and armored. He wore a chain mail hauberk, with a chain mail hood pulled up to cover his head. Over the hauberk a sleeveless tunic of wine red silk showed three saffron-gold diamond shapes embroidered diagonally across the chest. His shoulder-high oval shield, pointed at the bottom, was painted the same shade as his tunic and bore the same personal blazon of three golden diamond shapes in a diagonal row.

  The man riding behind him said something, diverting Meredith’s attention from the knight to his squire, a plain, thick-set fellow wrapped in a brown mantle and leading a packhorse laden with extra armor and weapons. Behind the packhorse, linked to it by a leather thong, came the knight’s destrier, his great, heavy warhorse, trained to ride into the thick of battle without shying from blood or flashing weapons or noise. For his journey the knight had chosen to ride a palfrey, whose gait was more comfortable over long periods of time. Out of the corner of her eye Meredith could see following at a respectful distance a curtained, horse-drawn litter, and beyond that, stretching along the path, a heavily loaded and well-guarded baggage train.

  All of that was unimportant to her. She returned her attention to the knight. He was only about twenty feet from her. As she watched he raised one hand and pushed back his chain mail hood. She heard a soft clanking as the metal links settled into a cowl about his neck. He lifted his face toward her. For a moment she thought he had discovered her, but his glance continued on toward the crest of the hill.

  He was Sir Guy of Adderbury, that much she knew of him, and she thought he must be looking for Afoncaer, the castle that belonged to him now. She knew he would not see it yet. He must follow the road to the river’s edge, just around the shoulder of the next hill. From there, if the mist were not too thick, he could see it sitting on the bluff overlooking the river and into Wales: Afoncaer, the river fortress, proud and lonely, a half-finished ruin.

  And then a wonderful thing happened. Just as the knight drew level with her hiding place, a beam of sunlight broke through the mist, and he rode into it. His chain mail, glittering with raindrops, flashed and sparkled, his face lifted toward the golden light. She saw him smile, welcoming the sun. Seeing that smile, all of the vague longings that had troubled her recently came together, and she felt her heart go out of her and fix itself upon him, and she knew he would be her lord until death and beyond.

  His features imprinted themselves upon her brain: wide, clean-shaven jaw, long straight nose, brilliant blue eyes, straight golden hair combed down over his brow and cut short all around to make the heat beneath helmet and hood more bearable in battle. He had a short, white scar along the left side of his jaw. His bearing was arrogant, his glance haughty. It fell upon her and he frowned and spoke to his squire. The sunbeam had disappeared and it began to rain again.

  Meredith suddenly realized that in her astonishment at the gorgeous apparition before her she had risen to her feet and was now plainly visible from the waist up.

  The knight had pulled his mail hood back over his head and unsheathed his sword. The squire called nervously to the guards attending the baggage train behind them. She understood that they believed she was one of many, an ambush.

  There was only one place to go. She gathered up her skirt and ran for her life down the steep hillside, slipping and sliding on the wet grass, nearly falling as she cut across the path of the knight, who had turned his horse to ride at her. The cloth covering her hair fell off, and dark red curls tumbled into her eyes. She brushed them aside with a hasty gesture as she recovered her balance.

  She heard shouts behind her, but she paid them no heed. She splashed through an icy stream, out on the other side, and headed for the forest, racing into the thick underbrush for refuge, knowing no horse could follow her there. She kept going, twisting and turning on paths familiar to her but invisible to her pursuers, who would be on foot now. She heard dogs barking and ran faster. She came to another stream and spent precious time wading carefully downstream, hoping the swift-flowing water would carry her scent away from the hounds. After a while the sounds of pursuit ceased, but she stayed in the water just to be sure she was safe.

  She came at last to the place where the stream joined the river. She climbed out and sat on a flat, wet rock and rubbed her numb feet back to aching life. And all the time, behind her eyes, played the dazzling vision of a golden-haired knight in silver armor.

  “That was a hero,” she whispered to herself. “Aunt Branwen was right, the legends are not dead. There are still heroes, and I have seen one.”

  Chapter 16

  “They lost her in the woods, my lord. It was only a girl, alone. My lord? Guy?” The squire looked in confusion at his master, who had sheathed his sword and sat upon his horse looking as if he were unaware of the activity around him, staring into the trees where the girl had fled.

  “I heard you, Geoffrey. Never forget, even a lone female can be a spy. But we are fortunate. No ambush this time.” Guy paused, the memory of dark red curls and long, shapely legs still tantalizing his senses. “I want you to find out who that was, Geoffrey. We can take no chances. If she was a spy, I want to know it. If you can find her, bring her to me.”

  He was interrupted by a too-familiar sound. From the curtained litter slung between two horses came wails that Guy knew were accompanied by copious tears. He saw the cleric Reynaud and his nephew Thomas, who had been riding together, approaching the litter, bent on comforting its occupant. Father Herbert of Brittany, Isabel’s personal priest, had insisted on accompanying her into Wales and he, too, trailed after the others toward Isabel’s litter. The priest sat uncomfortably on his mount. An ass riding an ass, Guy thought scornfully, and a dirty ass at that. Like most Normans, Guy made a habit of bathing regularly. Father Herbert did not.

  Guy met Geoffrey’s glance, noting an unmistakable twinkle in his squire’s brown eyes. In his present mood, the sign of humor was too irritating.

  “Tell Lady Isabel not to worry. There is no danger, and we will be at Afoncaer soon,” Guy instructed. Let Geoffrey carry the message. Squires must endure onerous duties, it was part of their training, and he, Guy, could tolerate no more of Isabel’s complaints.

  Despite her apparent sudden acquiescence in what she still dramatically referred to as her “exile,” Isabel had delayed and dawdled over her packing and travel arrangements until nearly six weeks had passed since King Henry’s command to go to Wales. Guy’s patience had finally evaporated. He had marched into her room one evening and arbitrarily announced that they would depart the court at dawn two days hence, whether his sister-in-law was prepared or not. Floods of tears and accusations of cruelty could not move him. He had been entirely too patient and now it was necessary to be quite clear about who was in command of his household. On the long trek toward Wales, Isabel had alternated between tears and periods of sullen silence. Guy cast one last disgruntled look at the knot of men around Isabel’s litter before signaling two of his men-at-arms to accompany him and resuming his journey toward Afoncaer.

  Their first view of the castle was disheartening. During the uprising that had resulted in the death of Lord Lionel three years previously, the main gate and part of the outer wall had been torn down. It had never been repaired, and now Guy led his party through the breach and into the outer bailey, then along a rutted, muddy road to the second gate and the inner bailey.

  The day after King Henry had given him the license to rebuild the castle, Guy had sent men ahead to prepare temporary living quarters. A new, roughly made wooden hall stood at one side of the inner bailey, a rougher wood stable and some sheds nearby. The captain he had put in charge of these works came forward to greet him as Guy dismounted.

  “God�
��s teeth, John, it’s worse than I imagined,” Guy said.

  “It is that, my lord,” replied the captain, “but we have cleared away most of the rubble and can start rebuilding the outer wall at once. Has the architect come with you?”

  “Reynaud, yes. I think he will be a good man for this job. Come, I’ll introduce you.” Guy turned to find the cleric, and met instead his furious, nearly hysterical sister-in-law. Isabel caught at his arm, the tasseled cords fastening her cloak swinging wildly at her exaggerated gesture.

  “How could you do this to me? I can’t live here. It’s a hovel. There are obviously no amenities at all.”

  “John, this is Lady Isabel, Lord Lionel’s widow,” Guy said hastily, anxious that his captain should not mistakenly imagine this weeping, red-eyed female was his own newly taken wife.

  “My lady.” Captain John bowed low. “We had no idea a lady was coming with Lord Guy. There are no real women’s quarters here as yet, but there is an area at one end of the hall that can easily be made into a bower for you and your serving women. I’ll see to it at once.”

  “Thank you.” Isabel sniffed, somewhat mollified. “I’m glad there is someone here who understands what is due a lady of noble breeding.” She cast an angry sidelong glance at Guy to be sure her point was well understood.

  “You will, of course,” Captain John continued tactfully, “want to give both me and the architect your ideas about those parts of the castle that are the lady’s domain: the women’s quarters, the kitchen and laundry, the baths, perhaps a private garden for yourself and your attendants. I am most anxious to hear your opinion about the location of the chapel. How fortunate we are to have you here to advise us, rough men that we are.”

  “I do have a few ideas.” Isabel placed her hand on John’s outstretched wrist and graciously allowed him to lead her toward the hall. Her son, Thomas, in his position of page, followed close behind, and Father Herbert behind Thomas. Reynaud joined Guy, and together they brought up the rear of this procession.