Shield of Three Lions (2 page)

“Ye can forget about snakes, lessen they be Scots,” Margery babbled, near to hysteria, I trowe. “Now get ye gone to yer chamber, Alix, and put on yer tunic and shoes when ye get there.”

“I’ll ask my father at dinner about the knights,” I said haughtily

“Do ask about the pilgrimage as well,” Maisry entreated. “’Tis only a half day, and he did promise.”

A nudge from Margery’s wooden paddle stopped her, and I pulled Lance by his scruff to return to the courtyard. By now the sun was out full and our motte was milling with knights, more clopping over the bridge every moment. Aye, ’twas passing strange. Only last week Maisry and I had ridden the casting cradle of the old catapult, pretending it was a monster off the firth. Only yesterday my mother and I had raced barefoot across our empty court and leaped the privet hedge into the garden.

Yet I couldn’t believe that the Scots were coming. Fiends and barbarians they might be, but they wouldn’t ride without a king, so says my father who is never wrong.

IN THE DINING SALLE, my mother was almost hidden by a giant bouquet of geroldinga apple blossoms she held in her arms.

“Mary Alix, why weren’t you at Mass, naughty wench?” she called from behind the trestle set for our meal. “Come, let’s arrange these to make our table pretty for your father’s last dinner.”

I took an armful of branches. “Where’s he going?”

She didn’t answer.

“You said my father’s last dinner. Is he riding forth?”

Her face turned pale against her low-cut ruby tunic. “I didn’t mean last.” Hastily she crossed herself. “That is, he’s going to Tomlinson Manor but should be back by sundown.”

I moved to the far end of the trestle, not knowing where to place the delicate blooms, and in so doing tripped over my new pointed shoes.

“Careful!” my father called from the door and I was swooped up from behind as blossoms fell in a shower. “That’s what comes of wearing horse troughs on your feet. To get down, you must cry
mercy
!”

He tickled my ribs and I bent double with laughter.

“What about here?”

He touched my hipbone and I screamed, “Mercy! Mercy!”

“Still my silly Tickle-Bones, I’m relieved to see.” He smiled, his tanned face so close that I could see the mix of gold and red hairs in his crescent waves, discern light and gray triangles like silver and pewter in his eyes, touch his high arched brow by leaning my forehead forward and breathe deeply of the sweet woodruff he wears on his skin. “Kiss me in our secret way.”

I pressed my lips to his forehead, each cheek, chin and lips. Then he put me down.

My mother was on her hands and knees gathering the scattered blossoms.

“Leave them, Kate. They sweeten the rushes.” He reached both hands to pull her upward and she leaned against him, her eyes glistening.

“Call the ewerer. I haven’t much time.” He kissed her, flicked a flower from her hair.

Mother summoned Joseph, our prayers were said and we began to dip our bread.

My father scanned my mother and me with bright gray eyes. “Am I under a spell, or do you both look especially beautiful today?”

I blushed, for indeed I had donned my new rose-colored tunic with a blue girtle, and braided cornflowers into my hair, the better to beguile him into letting Maisry and me go on the pilgrimage. I knew not my mother’s purpose, but she, too, was dressed in her best scarlet finery and had woven gold threads in her dark flowing mane. However, she can never look anything but enchanting for she is a wild Celt, touched by magic.

“We always want to please you,” my mother replied and pressed his hand.

“Besides, you’re riding forth,” I added boldly. “Are those knights going with you?”

He glanced at my mother who turned to feed the yammering pointer pups morsels of meat. “I’ll take a few, but the greater number will stay here. Since you ask, please stay close to your mother and
dress properly at all times. I believe I saw you this morning in most unseemly costume.”

“Why are they here?” I asked, mortified at his reprimand but also resenting the presence which made me a prisoner in my own home.

“Tell her, Kate.”

Mother raised her pale heart-shaped face and forced a false smile, which I can always tell is false because her dimples don’t show. “Your fathers called these men to guard us on a journey we’re about to take, dear Alix. Finally you’re going to see the country where I grew up, the magic circles, fells and hoary trees.”

“Benedicite!”
I clapped my hands in excitement. And Dame Margery thought the Scots were coming! Wait till she heard the truth. “When do we leave?”

“Day after tomorrow, after sundown. You’ll ride at night,” my father answered.

And my excitement diminished somewhat. How could we see fells and hoary trees in the dark? And why such a large guard?

“Is something amiss in your country?” I asked my mother straight out.

There was a long pause; then she deferred to my father.

“The west country is safe enough, but the road passes close to the border. Besides …” He looked again at my mother. “… We must protect you against abduction.”

“Abduction! Who would want to abduct me?” I supposed it was a jape, though soothly I didn’t think it very funny.

“Whoever covets Wanthwaite,” my mother explained. “Now that you are of marriageable age, some landless knight could abduct you and gain your estate.”

“Marriageable?”

She caught my rueful look downward to my flat chest and smiled, this time with dimples. “’Tis true that you’re somewhat immature, but that will change. Your father’s sisters both bloomed late and you seem closer to his family. Moreover, I was only twelve when I married your father.”

They exchanged a long melting gaze of remembrance.

“And when you return,” my father continued,
“you
, too, will be a bride and therefore safe.”

I could hardly fathom his words. A simple journey had turned to a stealthy escape by night to avoid abductors and now changed again to a quest to get me married? I tried to absorb these rapid shifts.

“I’m not ready to marry, My Lord,” I announced. “Nor do I care to journey if it be so perilous. I’ll gladly stay here with you and my mother and spare you all this worry.”

My mother raised wing-shaped brows. “Better to tell her, William.”

He nodded curtly, rose from his bench and came to sit close to me. His eyes were crystal tunnels. “Alix, you’re the usual mix of cleverness and silliness typical of your age, except that I claim you’re cleverer than most. Therefore I’m going to confide in you. You already have a suitor, here, close to Wanthwaite, and we have refused his suit.”

“Why?” I asked. “I would prefer someone close to you.”

“At first we said he was too old—he’s past sixty—and so he offered his foster son in his stead.”

I gasped, much amazed. “Do they
both
love me?”

“They love Wanthwaite,” my mother answered bitterly, her face lily-white, “and the older man is a raving madman.”

“Kate!” my father warned.

“She has to know about the evil in the world sometime. Alix, heed me well, this suitor was married when he first proposed. Naturally we pointed out that this was an impediment to his suit, whereupon he murdered his wife and three children.”

“No!” I cried.

“And impaled their heads on stakes outside his walls,” she finished grimly.

I stared, aghast. “Why don’t you tell our Lord Osbert of Northumberland? Let him punish the monster! At least then I wouldn’t have to run away as if
I
were the criminal!”

’Twas a simple question and offered an easy solution. I couldn’t understand the heavy silence that followed, nor my father’s Viking look, as my mother calls it.

“Trust our judgment,” he ordered. “Northumberland … can’t help. You’ll leave as planned.”

I set my chin and thrust out my lip, but my mother tugged on my hair and I took her signal.

“For how long? Will I be home by autumn?”

Mother stroked my braids. “The journey is long, our purpose takes time. Even I do not expect to see Wanthwaite for two or three years.”

“Two or three
years
! That’s forever!” I pulled away. “Can Maisry come with me?”

“No one. We must keep the party small,” my father replied.

Tears welled in my eyes. “But at least we can see the pilgrimage pass by tomorrow and the African snake.”

“Pilgrimage? Snake?” He looked to my mother.

“Remember? You promised the lasses on their name day that they might see the next pilgrimage that passed through Dunsmere. They’ve set their hearts on one that rides close tomorrow.”

My father tapped my chin tenderly. “Then unset your heart, Alix. You must stay inside, as I said. Do I have your word?”

“You
promised
!” I cried. “It’s my last day with Maisry in my whole life!”

“Alix, that will be all. I’ll not be crossed!” He rose and straightened the brown fustian he wears under his armor. “Kate, see to your daughter.”

She, too, rose and took his arm. “She’ll do your bidding.”

He turned, put his palm on my head. “Alix?”

I stared upward through blurred points of light. “I’m sorry.”

“And so am I, for this whole ugly business.” He lifted me close again. “What will I do here without you or your mother? I love you better than life and already hate the husband who will steal you away. Come now, our kiss once more.”

When I’d complied, he lowered me and turned to my mother who still held his arm. He clasped her close, whispered gravely as I strained to hear.

“… led by Roland …”

She pulled back, shocked, then huddled to listen.

“… men are utterly ruthless,” he finished.

They both looked down at me.

“You’ll be back by sundown?” she said in her normal voice.

“If there are sufficient knights at Tomlinson’s. Otherwise I’ll go on to Yarrow …”

“But I so want, so hope …”

“So do I.” They kissed.

“If you can’t, send a message.”

“I promise.” Gently he disengaged himself, then studied her face somberly.

And left.

We watched him speak to his squire, begin the difficult task of arming himself, mount his horse with assistance from the groom. Now he looked as great as King Arthur, tall, noble, his armor reflecting the sun like fire. He turned his courser thrice, raised his gauntlet in farewell, rode through the gate, across the bridge, and disappeared in the greenery of the park.

’TWAS A TORTUROUS AFTERNOON in the schoolroom, what with both Father Michael and Sister Eulalie much distracted by the army outside our window. I was relieved when my mother’s shadow fell across my wax tablet.

“Come, Alix, walk with me in the garden.”

“I’d best go with you, Lady Catherine,” Father Michael offered eagerly, thus bearing out Maisry’s belief that the priest loves my mother. “These knights may not be schooled in chivalry.”

“Thank you, Father, I would appreciate your company as far as the orchard.”

We said farewell to Sister Eulalie and crossed the court where the knights now stretched lazily, their armor piled in heaps beside them. All eyes followed my beautiful mother as she minced decorously before them, and I minced proudly in her wake, imitating her delicate gait. At the hawthorn bush, she dismissed the priest.

“That’s a relief,” she said impishly and took off her shoes.

Together we continued to the herb garden. She bent and broke off a sprig of celandine. “Take this with you, Alix, for freckles.”

I clapped my face in alarm. “Do I have freckles?”

“Not now, but some jealous harlot may hex you. Or here, these starry leaves will keep your dreams honest.”

I accepted them, wondering how she knew I’d dreamed about the pilgrimage.

“And the hemlock to keep your teats small,” she teased, “though that seems less of a problem than freckles. However, it’s also good against your husband’s lechery—used in small amounts, of course.”

I hung my head sullenly, still smarting at the slur to my breasts. She raised my chin to put a chaplet of hawthorn on my head. “There, Queen of the May, bride-to-be.”

“I don’t want to get married.”

“But you will,” she said gently. “And he’ll adore you wildly or he won’t get you at all, I promise. You are my pearl.”

“Will he find me pretty?” I asked anxiously.

“Let’s take inventory: high broad forehead, crowned by thick silver-gold hair like your father’s. His eyes as well, delicate traceries and infinite depths. So far you’ll do. However, you have my dark winged brows and my silly hollows in your cheeks. But soothly he’ll have to take the bad with the good.”

“I want to look like you!” I clasped her fiercely around the waist.

She pulled me away and we began to walk again.

“Most important is your mind, for a great man likes his wife to be good company. Suppose we test you. Here’s a cherry tree and it has a secret. Do you remember what?”

I looked at the fuchsia-blossomed tree in triumph. “That’s easy. The keys to our treasury are buried under the largest root.”

“Brilliant,” she said quietly. “Let’s see you find them.”

I dropped to my knees and reached around a black trunk oozing amber gum. “Ugh!” I flicked at ants that coursed up my arm, then dug for a time in the damp loose earth, and produced the metal box. “See?”

“Tell me how the keys are used.”

“I could show you.” I started toward the fruit cellar covered with grassy turf like a grave.

Her hand stopped me. “Best not, when so many people are here. Tell me the value of the coins in order.”

They were buried in a locked box, I told her, and could be identified by their weight and feel: deniers, marcs, silver livres and gold coins from Byzantium.

“Excellent. Do you remember how to open the silver trove?”

I described the intricate pattern of stones to press and pry, and she was satisfied. I replaced the keys. Now as we strolled, her humor shifted to a brooding melancholy and I wondered if I dare broach my own question. We were rapidly approaching the hedge where Father Michael waited and I saw I must.

“Mother, it doesn’t seem fair that Maisry and I should have to sacrifice our pilgrimage on our very last day together. We could leave before dawn and be back before Father returns from Tomlinson Manor.”